SIRENA. legal. she / her. eurasian. heavy nsfw content.
╰ STATUS : writing. requests are welcome and appreciated
WHO IS SHE? kazakh-filo. intl studies. xia yizhou's countess.
my blog is fully centralized on love and deepspace . ـــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ
fandoms : love and deepspace. formula one. game of thrones.
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✃ stirring in the crypt
i, unmade — caleb 夏以昼 (2/?)
f1 driver!LIs as your boyfriend (nsfw ver.)
motogp rider!LIs as your bf headcanons
this blog contains works centralized with dark, mature themes and is intended for adult audiences only. accounts that do not clearly indicate age in their bio or blog will be blocked without warning.
its with the heaviest heart i’ve ever carried that i have to share this with you. my best friend, the voice and soul behind this account, has passed away after her long fight with chronic kidney disease and severe malaria.
i saw her fight. i saw her hold onto hope when it would’ve been easier to let go. and most importantly, i saw how much she loved all of you. the people who read her words, who believed in her writing, who gave her a reason to keep creating when her body grew weaker. you gave her more strength than you will ever know. and for that, i will always be grateful to each and every one of you.
please don’t let her works fade. reread them, share them. carry them with you. that is how we help keep her alive.
thank you for loving her, for reading her, for seeing her.
f1 analyst anon here just wanting to check in & give you well wishes! the second installment of push n fracture was soooo good! i hope you have some ferrari sylus cooking bc that would be simply lovely ✨
HI LOVEEE i missed ur asks so much ☹️ thank you so much for checking in — that genuinely means the world 🥹💖 i’m so so glad you enjoyed part two of pnf 🫶
and oooh… ferrari sylus, you say? 👀 you may or may not have just unlocked a very dangerous idea in my drafts. stay tuned ✨
hi lovelies ! 🫶 i missed you all sooo much 🥹 i’m really really sorry for vanishing out of nowhere — the past few weeks have been super hectic!
i ran for student council at my college department and… i actually won president 😭🎉 can you believe???
as a lil treat for my sudden disappearance, your patience will soon be rewarded with: a colonel caleb w/ gunplay kink + interrogation rp + bdsm mini-fic cummin’ soon 😼 !
hi! i'm new in the f1 community and i happened to chance upon your f1 series while scrolling for a lads fic. i just want to say that i love how you write the hcs and i can't wait for more (i never knew i needed an f1 x lads fic of zayne until i read yours)
omg hii 🫶🏻 welcome to the f1 side of tumblr !! this message made my whole week 😭 i’m so glad you stumbled across my stuff, i had so much fun writing him, so it means a lot that you loved it! more works are definitely on the way 💌 thank you sm for reading!!
( wc : 13.7k ) ✰ essence : from paddocks to galas, caleb and rafayel never knew how to play nice. but tonight won’t end with handshakes and headlines. rafayel has a different idea to cool things down—with you between them. after all, sharing is caring, isn’t it?
⋆˙⟡ non evol au, 18+ sexual content (minors dni), dom! caleb + rafayel, smoking, threesome (m!f!m), filming / sex tape kink, slight dubcon, dumbification + corruption, voyeurism, wax play, cunnilingus, facefucking, impact play (spanking/biting/bruising), pet names, degradation + praise, body worship, spit play, choking, double penetration, overstimulation, breeding
─•──── 𖦤 ▸ one | two | three | four
the hilton’s grand ballroom was awash in a golden glow, the chandeliers hanging like constellations over the impeccably dressed crowd—red bull’s electric blue braided seamlessly with mclaren’s papaya orange: it was an evening spun from PR gold—an FIA-organized charity gala meant to plaster smiles over the wreckage of last weekend’s race. cameras swarmed the perimeter, every flash a reminder that every glance, every gesture, was being dissected live by millions.
your gown answers to the occasion: a deep burgundy halter catching lowlight like spilled wine, its fishtail hem coiled neatly at your ankles. black accents carve into the silhouette at your ribs and collarbone, a gold clasp glints at the nape of your neck. crimson nails. dark navy eyeliner. you don’t need the red bull logo stitched anywhere to be unmistakably theirs.
you sit at a joint table sponsored equally by both teams—an unavoidable diplomatic gesture after the high-profile crash that nearly tore the paddock in half. across from you, the mclaren drivers lounge in finely cut suits, every angle camera-ready. rafayel doesn’t speak to you. he hasn’t, not since that race. but when your eyes met, there’s something cold behind the way he looks at you—like he’s in on a secret you haven’t dared to name. he doesn’t blink. doesn’t budge. he holds your gaze long enough to make your dress feel too tight for your body. you hold the gaze for a breath too long. then, quietly, you look away.
caleb is nowhere to be seen.
he couldn’t possibly miss this—not with the cameras circling like sharks and sponsors salivating for damage control. not after what happened. not with all of this arranged to make him look good again. but the seat beside you stays empty. and every second that ticks by, the silence at your side grows louder.
backstage, chaos was spiraling. claire’s voice was low but fierce over the phone, her frustration barely contained, just shy of explosion. “where the hell is caleb? he was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. this is a disaster—do you hear me? a fucking disaster.” the reply came shaky, almost terrified. “we’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not picking up. his assistant says he’s still at the hotel, but they don’t know—”
claire looked like she was about to throw her clipboard at someone. her hands trembled with the effort of keeping her tone professional. “un-fucking-believable. this isn’t just some race weekend screw-up—there are cameras everywhere! the gala starts in ten and sponsors are already breathing down our necks.”
“we need a plan b. how about y/n?” a voice suggested cautiously. claire’s jaw tightened until it looked like she might crack a tooth. “no! she’s not prepared for this, and those MCL fuckers are already lookin' smug as hell.”
the youngest assistant muttered something under their breath—“this is fucking stupid.” claire didn’t even flinch. “say it louder if you want me to hear. we’re cleaning up caleb’s mess tonight, or everything we've worked for will be for nothing.”
she ended the call, drew a shaky breath, and plastered a sharp smile before returning her suit by your side, ready to salvage what she could—though the clock ticked mercilessly.
minutes dragged. then—just as the gala’s keynote speeches began, the stage lighting dimming to a soft wash of gold—the massive hilton doors parted with a hush of effort.
he had the audacity to be late.
and worse: to arrive like that.
the room shifted—conversations faltered, champagne flutes suspended in air, the golden light catching on sequins and stunned expressions as heads turned. he didn’t rush. he didn’t apologize. caleb was dressed in a deep charcoal suit, the open collar, the absence of a tie—not red bull’s formalwear colors, and definitely not something the PR team approved. there were no sponsor pins. no lapel branding. no glittering crest to remind the room who he drove for. he didn’t nod at sponsors, didn’t even spare them a glance at all.
he didn’t look at anyone but you.
when he passed behind rafayel’s chair, his side briefly brushed the back of it. rafayel didn’t react nor did he lift his head. just tipped his glass with a flick of his wrist, smirk playing faintly at the corner of his mouth. so he showed up after all.
caleb doesn’t respond. his fingers brush your shoulder as you shift to make space for him. you hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been gripping the handle of your purse until you let go and see the deep creases in the leather.
he sat beside you, hand resting loosely near yours on the tablecloth. “you look tired,” he murmured, gaze still fixed somewhere far away. “did they bore you that much already?”
“glad you decided to show up,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the sudden rush of emotions crashing through you. caleb’s expression remained unreadable, “wouldn’t miss it.”
rafayel shifted slightly on the other side of the table, fingers tapping an idle rhythm against his wine glass. “fashionably late, as always. nice of you to finally join us, mr. xia,” he drawled, voice smooth and mock-friendly. “we were starting to wonder if you'd be late for your own apology tour. you missed the speeches—but then again, you’re not exactly a crowd-pleaser tonight.”
caleb’s smile was slight. half-assed. “don't look so tense now, rafa,” he drawled, coating the name in mockery. his tone was deliberately soft, the kind that condescended by pretending not to be. “i’m here now. that’s what really matters, right?”
rafayel smiled. the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “of course,” he said brightly, but his grip on the glass in his hand tightened just enough for the knuckles to pale. “wouldn’t want the star of the circus to miss the show.”
the air between the two now feels like an electrical circuit just waiting for a break. you sighed quietly and force your gaze back to the champagne flute in front of you.
this night is far from over.
the night didn’t pause for any of you.
a silent auction was in full swing on the mezzanine, led by an alpine representative with unnervingly white teeth and a voice smooth enough to convince billionaires they were saving the world. paddock-used helmets, signed team memorabilia, exclusive hospitality weekends—your name had already begun to circulate alongside a few bid cards, even though you hadn’t so much as touched a pen.
an auctioneer took the stage as he introduced the first of several lots: a signed helmet from verstappen drew an immediate bid, the paddock pass beside it fetching a surprising sum from an anonymous benefactor. a round of applause followed the announcement of a record-breaking bid—a one-on-one karting session with an F1 driver, the winner getting to choose from a curated lineup. you weren’t surprised when someone offered an obscene sum for rafayel, nor when a red bull sponsor claimed caleb with a smirk and a wink at their marketing team.
an hour slipped by like that: presentations, speeches, toasts delivered in a dozen languages spanning every continent. you found yourself lingering near a side table while an older aston martin sponsor recounted tales of monaco hospitality passes. you nodded at the right moments, smiled when expected, but your focus had already started to shrink. one part of you listened to the story, but the rest was busy plotting your escape, searching for any opening to slip away unnoticed.
finally, when the conversation lulled for a moment, you saw your chance and slipped away from the glittering crowd, gradually fading into a distant murmur as you made your way toward the balcony door. with a gentle push, the heavy glass swung open, and then closed behind you with a muted, final click. you exhaled sharply, shoulders sinking as the night air rushed to greet you, crisp and bracing against your overheated skin.
you leaned your weight against the balcony railing, the cold, rusted iron biting sharply into the skin of your forearms, grounding you in the quiet night. one steadying breath. then another, deeper this time, as the sharp edge of tension began to dull. your heartbeat slowed, but your hands moved before your mind fully registered the motion—the clutch in your hand gave a faint, familiar creak as you carefully unzipped it, fingers gliding over the smooth surfaces of your compact, the finish of your lipstick. and then, tucked deep within the lining like a hidden treasure, your fingers closed around the soft crinkle of a cigarette pack.
you tapped the cigarette gently against the iron railing, the muted clink echoing softly each time it struck the cold metal. one, two, three. then, with a steadying breath, you brought it to your lips. the filter felt cold and foreign against your mouth. you flicked the wheel once, no flame.
you tried again. the flame sputtered—then vanished, swallowed whole by the wind. “goddamn it,” you muttered, your voice tightening, pitched low and fraying at the edges. “jus’ fucking—light.” another flick. harder. louder. the click of the wheel cracked through the night like a slap, but still, no fire.
“stupid piece of shit,” you snapped, the words spilling out hot and helpless before you could catch them. then you stopped yourself, jaw locking, and let out a dry, humorless scoff. you stared down at the lighter in your hand like it had betrayed you personally. your shoulders sagged. of course it wouldn’t work. why would anything tonight go the way you needed it to?
the wind caught your hair and dragged it across your face as if laughing at your failed moment of defiance. you let the lighter fall to the railing with a muted clack, the cigarette still clinging to your lips. no fire. no warmth. no relief. instead, you stared down at the unlit cigarette, lips tight around it, as if the sheer force of your exhaustion might ignite the thing.
behind you, footsteps slowed, then stopped.
“thought i might find you out here,” a voice said. you didn’t answer right away. just let out a quiet sigh, before turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of rafayel approaching. he didn’t speak again. instead, he reached into his coat pocket and wordlessly offered you his lighter—you leaned in toward his hand, your cigarette still waiting between your lips, and with a flick, he lit it for you.
“you didn’t strike me as a lady smoker,” rafayel said, voice low, more curious than judging. the light from the gala spilled onto the balcony in golden ribbons, catching just enough of his profile to make it striking: dark lashes casting shadows under his eyes, a sharp line to his jaw, mouth set in that familiar unreadable tilt.
you took a slow drag, then exhaled, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air between you. “lady smoker?” you echoed, a wry twist tugging at your lips. “what are you, eighty?”
rafayel leaned in, bracing his forearms on the railing beside yours. “so,” he said, “is this where we talk about the elephant in the race suit?”
your eyes stayed fixed on the glittering sprawl below, cigarette burning quietly between your fingers. “if by elephant you mean the guy who almost t-boned you at two hundred out of pure spite, sure. let’s talk about him.”
he gave a low, amused chuckle. “y’know, i’ve been wrecked before. worse tracks. worse weather. once even during a sandstorm in qatar. but never because someone saw me standing next to their girl.” he let that sit for a beat, then added, “and definitely never because she was wearing my colors like a flag.” you turned to him at that, shooting him a sharp glare, but he didn’t flinch. “you wore it just to start something, didn’t you?”
“obviously not—” the words came out too fast, too defensive, and you knew it the second they left your mouth. he cut you off, the corner of his mouth lifting into that crooked, effortless grin. “besides,” he said, voice dipping into something warm and insufferably self-assured, “you looked fantastic in it.”
you rolled your eyes, dragging from your cigarette again, the smoke sliding past your lips. “you’re impossible,” you muttered, eyes narrowed just enough to make your point.
“and yet,” he replied, fingers drumming lightly on the balcony railing, “you’re still here. still out here, with me.” you shrugged, eyes flickering away for just a moment.
“maybe i just needed the cigarette.”
“maybe,” he said, watching you through those half-lowered lashes, “or maybe you needed space from him.” the weight of that landed quieter than his last joke.
“...if you’re here to start something, don’t.”
but rafayel didn’t rise to it. when he spoke, his voice came stripped of its usual swagger, different from the usual sharp wit or careless confidence. “i’m not,” there was an honest weight to it now, quieter, more vulnerable. “i’m here because i don’t get it.”
you turned toward him fully now, arms still folded, “get what?”
“that you’re still with him,” rafayel said quietly, like the words physically hurt coming out. for a moment, neither of you moved. you stared at him, trying to understand what you were hearing, what he was really saying.
“what the fuck are you—”
“no.” he stepped in closer, closing the space just enough to make the air between you feel thinner. his voice stayed low, but the edge in it had sharpened. “you think that crash was about the race?” his eyes searched yours, “he nearly killed us both over a fucking laugh.”
“i didn’t mean for it to get that far—”
“i know you didn’t.” he cut you off. rafayel reached forward, two fingers slid along your jaw, feather-light, just enough to tilt your chin. he slipped the cigarette from your lips into his with ease. he inhaled once, before letting the smoke curl lazily from the corner of his lips, where something that could’ve been a smile tried and failed to settle.
as rafayel’s words slid from his lips, something twisted low in your chest, a strange, bitter churn. how can you just stand there? part of you demanded, furious. how can you let him tear caleb down like this?
caleb wasn’t perfect—hell, no one knew that better than you—but hearing those accusations tossed out so casually, felt like a betrayal. you wanted to speak up, to defend him, to shut rafayel down before his words cut any deeper. but the air between you was thick, and the weight of silence held your voice hostage. but another part of you knows these aren’t just lies thrown to provoke.
maybe he’s right.
“and i have to ask,” he said, eyes flickering down to your lips before snapping back up. his hand lifted and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “how long until he pulls something worse—”
“i’d be careful what you suggest.”
caleb stepped out from the gloom of the corridor like he’d always been there—leaning against the marble, arms crossed. his eyes didn’t glance toward rafayel. instead, they locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath catch.
behind you, rafayel shifted slightly, and you felt the faint pull of a smirk before you even heard his voice. “well, look who finally decided to join us,” he drawled, low and slow, almost amused. “you were lurking so long in the dark, i thought you might’ve gotten shy.” he turned his head slightly, eyes catching caleb through the dim hallway light—“didn’t peg you as an eavesdropper, RB.”
caleb didn’t rise to it. he pushed off the wall with quiet, deliberate movement, stepping into the light just enough that you could see the tired set of his shoulders. his voice came steady, even. “couldn’t find her back inside. figured she’d be here.”
rafayel let out a soft, unhurried laugh. “of course. you only go where she is. should’ve known, blah blah.” he spat the dying cigarette to the floor and put it out with the heel of his shoe, glancing between the two of you. “must be a lot—keeping tabs that close.”
still, caleb didn’t respond. his attention was entirely on you. not suspicious. not possessive. just quiet observation of the way you stood. the way your dress clung slightly from the wind outside. the way his watch still circled your wrist. your dress, the way your arms were folded—his brows knit the faintest degree.
you didn’t look away from him when you spoke. “i wasn’t planning on staying long.”
“i know,” he said quietly.
rafayel arched a brow, then moved with the casual grace he always wore like a second skin. he stepped to your side, not too close, but just close enough to make caleb’s stillness feel heavier. “shame,” he said lightly. “i was just about to suggest getting out of here. somewhere quieter.”
you glanced at him, but caleb beat you to a reply. “convenient.”
“isn’t it?” rafayel replied, all lightness. “you both could come. or is that against policy? do you two have a no-third-party clause?”
now caleb’s eyes finally lifted to him, steady and unimpressed. “whatever this is, i’m not interested in playing along.”
rafayel tilted his head slightly, a hint of mock curiosity in his expression. “who said it’s a game, caleb?”
caleb’s eyes didn’t move. “that’s cute. you think i believe you came over just to talk?”
“no,” rafayel admitted, tone dropping a notch. “but i think it’s honest. and honestly?” he shrugged one shoulder. “do you think that any of this,” he gestured subtly to the doors leading to the glittering ballroom inside, “is for people like us?”
then, without asking, he stepped closer and stopped beside caleb—his elbow hooked lightly over caleb’s shoulder, a gesture so relaxed it bordered on provoking. “the fireworks are done. everyone’s playing polite now,” he murmured, “tell me—do either of you actually want to be here anymore?”
caleb exhaled through his nose, a laugh in miniature. “not for the past hour.”
rafayel’s lips quirked, smug in that casual, unreadable way of his. “didn’t think so.” then his gaze found yours, eyes darker now under the warm chandelier light. “i’ve got a car waiting out back. my place is not far from here. view’s better, music’s ours, and no one trying to pitch a sponsorship deal.”
you blinked. “you’re inviting us?”
he shrugged, lazy in posture but not in intent. “just seems like neither of you are quite finished with the night. and wasting this kind of energy on cheap champagne feels like a crime.” then, leaning in just enough that his voice edged quieter.
“besides… we haven’t had any real fun yet.”
the car ride had been brief but silent. rafayel hadn’t spoken much after giving the driver the address. his penthouse tower rose like a shard of obsidian in the skyline, a private residence cloaked in the kind of discretion only the absurdly wealthy could afford. the foyer alone gleamed with high-polished marble under your heels, the kind that reflected everything back in silver-gold. art pieces were spotlighted in alcoves, each one likely worth more than the entire garage level below. and beyond the entry: floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the corner of the unit, giving a panoramic view of the city glittering below like a bed of stars.
rafayel peeled off his jacket and tossed it carelessly over the edge of a cream leather settee that looked like it had never been sat on. “shoes off,” he said simply, already tugging off his own. “the flooring is hand-laid brazilian rosewood. a few hundred k for the finish. let’s not disrespect it.”
caleb’s eyes scanned the room with slow, impassive interest. he toed off his shoes without comment, but you caught the subtle tension in his jaw—something about being invited into a rival’s sanctum, into his space. still, he didn’t resist.
rafayel returned moments later with three cut crystal tumblers and a bottle of something aged, dark, and definitely not off-the-shelf. “i don’t bring many people here,” he said, handing you a glass. “not that i’m private. i just can’t stand most of 'em.”
you wandered forward slowly, drawn toward the windows. up here, it was like watching the world from olympus. the drink in your hand was a slow-burning comfort. or maybe a distraction. the warmth it offered curled low in your stomach, but it didn’t settle the buzz beneath your skin. behind you, caleb hadn’t moved far. he stood angled toward the glass, shoulder leaning just slightly.
rafayel, meanwhile, lounged like a man with nothing to prove. one arm slung lazily across the back of the couch, fingers idly circling the rim of his glass. his shirt hung open at the collar, just enough to reveal a glimpse of skin, the slow rise and fall of his breath beneath the dim lighting.
“why’d you come?” caleb asked suddenly.
rafayel’s mouth curved faintly. “wanted to see how you’d look,” he said, tilting his head a fraction, “after pulling a stunt that actually cost you, for once.”
“and?” caleb asked. his tone tightened, just barely, like a thread pulled taut beneath a calm surface.
rafayel didn’t reply right away. instead, he rose slowly from the couch, glass still in hand, walking toward the windows where the city shimmered like a held breath. rafayel’s gaze flicked over him, “you’re wearing it well,” he said finally, “still playing god, just limping a ‘lil now, aren’t you?”
he stared at the shape of your reflection in the glass when he said it—like the words weren’t meant to be spoken directly, like looking at you any closer might’ve made them come out differently. and the warmth in your chest twisted. caleb turned slightly, catching the edge of your profile as if the nearness of you had only just registered.
you shifted under the weight of it—of both of them—and sank onto the couch, setting your empty glass on the side table with a little too much force. “do you two always talk like this?” you asked, not quite sarcastic, but close enough to deflect.
rafayel’s lips tugged into a half-smile. “like what?”
“like you’re trying to undress each other.”
that pulled a scoff from caleb, “he wouldn’t know what to do if i did.”
you couldn’t quite pinpoint when the atmosphere shifted. maybe it was the drink. maybe it was the way rafayel began moving closer, slower—or how caleb subtly repositioned himself, standing just behind you.
rafayel stopped near the far edge of the room, one shoulder leaning into the glass, his gaze turned out toward the city, though you could feel the sharp edge of it still angled toward you. “you know,” he said, voice low, thoughtful, “this place was always too quiet. feels different now.”
“you mean with us here?” you asked. rafayel’s eyes flicked to you, then to caleb, and back. a lazy smirk pulled at his mouth. “don’t flatter yourselves. i meant the noise.”
caleb shifted, the whisper of fabric as he leaned forward just slightly. his voice came just beside your ear, “he always talks like this when he wants something.”
rafayel chuckled under his breath, stepping forward. he stopped a few feet away, gaze cutting sharp between you and caleb. “look at you,” rafayel murmured, eyes dragging down the line of your figure before flicking toward caleb, “always hovering behind her like you’re afraid someone might take a bite. what are ya, a guard dog?”
rafayel tilted his head, eyes glittering. “why’d you come here, red bull? if you’re not planning to play nice, you’re standing in the wrong penthouse.”
you weren’t sure who moved first—whether it was rafayel stepping closer or caleb pressing in a fraction more behind you—but suddenly you were caught in the narrow space between them. your breath hitched, and rafayel’s gaze dropped to your lips.
“we don’t have to pretend,” he murmured. “we’ve all been circling this for a while now.”
your heart pounded, loud in your ears. you should’ve stepped back. should’ve said something to cut the tension. but instead, your body stayed rooted—caught in the gravity between the two of them.
“you came here because you knew i wanted her, too.”
that broke something. a flicker of something darker passed through caleb’s face before he stepped forward into rafayel’s space. their chests didn’t touch. only because rafayel didn’t flinch. didn’t budge. he stood like he always did—casual, cocky—but beneath the surface, you saw the tension riding his spine like a live current.
“she’s not a prize—,”
“she’s not,” rafayel echoed, quieter now, but no less intense. his eyes flicked to you and then back to caleb. “but if you’re going to treat her like one, don’t expect me to pretend i wouldn’t kneel, too.”
caleb didn’t flinch. but something in his jaw locked, and the breath he drew came slow through his nose. the tension coiled through his frame like a bowstring drawn too tight, and for a heartbeat, it seemed he might snap.
but rafayel beat him to it. without warning, he shoved caleb hard.
caleb staggered, caught off guard, the sudden contact knocking him back a step—then another. the backs of his knees struck the couch, and he dropped into it hard, hands splaying across the cushions to catch himself.
“then show me,” rafayel said, “show me what all that restraint gets you.”
you stood frozen, watching as caleb stared up at rafayel, eyes narrowed. and then slowly, deliberately, he sank back into the cushions, never looking away.
then rafayel turned to you fully. gone was the easy grin, the arrogance still lingered—yet his smile curved. “well?” he asked, holding out a hand. “you coming, or should we start without you?
beside you, caleb didn’t speak. but when you glanced back—just enough to catch the edge of him—he wasn’t bristling. wasn’t fighting it. his jaw was tight, yes, but it wasn’t defiance that held it tense, but one of restrained agreement.
then rafayel moved again—his hand slipped into the inside of his coat and came back with a small camcorder, like it had been sitting there all night, waiting for its cue. with a practiced flick, he popped the screen open. it whirred softly to life, the faint mechanical buzz almost too quiet to catch over the hum of the city beyond the windows.
“snagged it off some himbo journalist back at the gala,” he said, voice light, almost bored, like this was nothing more than a party trick. “guy wasn’t even watching his gear.”
he gave the camera a lazy shake, lips curling. “it’ll be our little secret.” rafayel’s thumb ghosted over the zoom toggle, though he didn’t press it.
“you don’t have to say yes,” he said, voice low now. quiet enough to be intimate. “but if you do—,” the camcorder lifted, angled just enough to center your face in the frame. then his other hand rose, and his thumb traced the edge of your bottom lip— “you better mean it.”
your hand moved before thought could catch it, fingers curling around rafayel’s. without a word, he sat back onto the couch like he’d been waiting for the invitation all night. his legs parted in silence. the leather beneath him sighed with the shift of his weight, and with an almost lazy flick of his wrist, rafayel tossed the camcorder through the air like it weighed nothing. caleb caught it without so much as a glance, his eyes never leaving you, his expression unchanged.
rafayel’s voice came a beat later, “make yourself useful, red bull. unless you’d rather be in the frame.”
caleb didn’t respond. didn’t so much as twitch. instead, he just looked down at the camcorder, adjusting it in his grip. then slowly, he lifted it. brought it to eye level, and aimed it squarely at you.
rafayel’s hand slid from yours to your waist, and with the ease of someone who already knew the shape of your body without touching it, he guided you forward—up and over—until your knees settled on either side of his hips. your dress hitched higher with the movement, the fabric bunching around your thighs. his hands were still loose at your waist, but his gaze had grown heavy. like he was holding something back not because he wanted to, but because you hadn’t told him he could let go.
beside you, caleb’s silence was the kind that made your breath hitch, made your hands clench faintly in the fabric of rafayel’s shirt. he hadn’t expected you to move first. hadn’t expected the sight of you in someone else’s lap—his rival’s lap—to cut as deep as it did.
“you just gonna sit there all night?” rafayel drawled, his voice smooth, almost lazy. he let the words hang for a beat, then tilted his head just enough to provoke, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “what’s the matter? don’t tell me you’re plannin’ on chickening out.”
“watch your mouth,” caleb said finally, laced with heat that simmered just under the surface. “keep talkin’ like that, i might forget we’re not on track anymore.”
rafayel breathed a low chuckle, unbothered, lips brushing against your temple. “funny. you don’t look like you’re remembering, either.”
caleb drew in a breath, like he needed the oxygen to keep from losing the last tether of reason. and then—he stood and stepped closer.
the couch dipped ever so slightly under the weight of his knee, pressing into the cushion space between rafayel’s legs. caleb’s vacant hand found the curve of your spine next. featherlight. just the pads of his fingers trailing down from the nape of your neck to the small of your back.
his hand flattened against your lower back, keeping you steady against rafayel’s lap—close enough to feel how tightly wound he’d gone beneath you. heat licked up your spine like flame to oil—it was all too much and not enough at once. “careful,” he murmured, gaze still fixed on caleb. “you keep pressing in like that, i might start to wonder if you’re the one trying to straddle me.”
rafayel’s hands found your waist, steadying. he didn’t drag you closer. didn’t push. just looked up at you like he was memorizing your face in this precise moment—your flushed cheeks, parted lips, the uncertainty you wore like a second skin.
you leaned in first.
your mouth brushed his, he barest touch, just enough to feel the heat of him. and when he didn’t move, you pressed closer, your lips catching his fully this time. the glass he’d been holding was long forgotten on the table behind you, his hands now fully occupied: one braced at your hip, the other sliding up the length of your spine with aching slowness. rafayel kissed like he had time. like he wanted you to feel the want in every single second of it.
you felt caleb behind you, but when you broke the kiss and turned toward him, you didn’t have to ask. his hand came to your jaw, guiding your face to his like he couldn’t help it anymore. his lips met yours in a kiss nothing like rafayel’s—his mouth was warm, desperate without being rough, like he’d been holding back too long.
“fuck,” rafayel whispered again, this time against your collarbone, his mouth brushing skin but never staying long enough to satisfy. “do you even know what you’re doing to us?”
you shifted your hips, purposefully grinding down against the growing bulge in rafayel’s trousers—and the low sound he made, deep in his throat, sparked something primal between all three of you.
“a-ah—fuck,” rafayel choked, hands tightening on your hips. “god, you—f’wahh…”
you leaned into caleb’s touch as he dragged his fingers along your waist, grazing the swell of your breast through the thin fabric. his breath stuttered near your ear when you arched just slightly into it.
beneath you, rafayel tipped his head back—offered it like a sacrifice. his throat, flushed and exposed in the low light, pulsed beneath the drag of his breath. his lips parted, his gaze heavy and dark, stuck on you like he didn’t know how to look away. “take what you want,” he added, roughened, eyes half-lidded but watching.
rafayel’s head dropped forward, forehead pressing to your chest, breath hot against your skin. “mmh’ah…,”his voice came low, like it was scraped from his throat. “fuck—tell me what you want,” he muttered, voice fraying at the edges. “anything, baby, i’ll give it to you. just say the word.”
caleb’s hand drifted lower, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress again, the pads of his fingers grazing the heat between your thighs like he knew exactly what it would do.
“c’mon, baby,” rafayel said again, voice rough as gravel, lips brushing the base of your throat now. “tell me what you want me to do.”
“what do i want?” you echoed lazily, hips shifting just enough to make him moan again, soft and wrecked. “i haven’t decided yet.”
rafayel groaned, a sound so guttural it felt stolen from his chest. his hips jerked beneath you, involuntary. “fuck, make up your mind,” he gasped, half-laughing through clenched teeth. “if you don’t, then i will.”
you leaned your head, just barely, lips brushing his in a slow, teasing kiss that left him chasing the contact even as you pulled away. your hips shifted with slow precision, and the sound he made in return, that wrecked, aching moan, was all the answer you needed.
behind you, caleb’s breath fanned hot against your bare shoulder. his hands hovered near the hem of your dress, tense with anticipation, twitching like he didn’t know where to start.
“caleb...,” you whispered, turning just enough to brush your mouth against his in a soft, teasing kiss. “take ‘em off for me?”
slowly, one hand slid beneath the fabric, fingertips skimming up the inside of your thigh—but then he changed course, lifting instead. the hem of your dress inched higher under his touch, rising over your hips, your waist, the curve of your ribs. his palms followed, dragging heat along your skin as the material peeled away.
when the fabric cleared your hips, the first hint of lace peeked through—black, delicate, tied at the sides in neat little bows. his breath caught, but he didn’t stop. the dress kept rising, and you let him lift it all the way, arms raised, baring more and more of the lingerie until it sat fully exposed beneath the low light. the halter unknotted with one simple tug, slipping off your body before caleb tossed it aside blindly, too focused to care where it landed.
his hand dropped, slid down your side again, this time with more urgency. his fingers found the ribbon on one side and tugged. the lace slackened, still clinging only by the bow on the other hip.
you raised your hips a little more as caleb tugged the other bow down until it fluttered loose against your thighs. rafayel’s fingers were there instantly, catching the lace as his breath shook against your stomach.
“fuckin' hell,” he whispered again, lips brushing against the curve of your bare hip like he was praying with his mouth. “aren’t you a pretty little thing?”
his laugh came low and cracked, breath hitching as he slid down the couch, dragging you with him—until your knees framed his shoulders and your bare cunt hovered just inches from his face. his hands gripped your hips tight, thumbs pressing into your skin like he was anchoring himself.
“finally,” he muttered, voice all gravel and heat. “about fucking time.”
then his mouth was on you. he moaned the second his tongue met your cunt, loud and obscene, like the taste of you broke something in him. the sound vibrated through you, deep and wrecking, and you gasped, hand flying to his hair, curling tight in his curls on instinct.
then his mouth was on you. he moaned the second his tongue met your cunt, loud and obscene, like the taste of you broke something in him. the sound vibrated through you, deep and wrecking, and you gasped, hand flying to his hair, curling tight in his curls on instinct.
“a-ah fuck!—raf, y-you—” your voice cracked, hips twitching. “oh god—”
he buried his face deeper, tongue lapping through your folds like he had all the time in the world and no intention of mercy. his nose bumped your clit, his breath hot and ragged as he sucked, kissed, fucked you with his mouth like he needed you to fall apart on his tongue. he dragged his tongue through your folds, sucked hard at your clit, mouth working like he had no intention of coming up for air.
“fuck, baby,” rafayel groaned, voice muffled against your cunt as his tongue dragged slow, greedy strokes through your folds. his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you spread wide above him, keeping you where he wanted you—right on his mouth, trembling and wet and grinding down like you couldn’t help yourself.
you gasped, head tipping back as rafayel’s tongue circled your clit again with slow, reverent precision like he wanted to worship every part of you while caleb watched. he knew. he liked being watched. it made him bolder, sloppier. his tongue licked deeper, and you cried out, one hand fisting in his curls, the other clutching the couch for balance.
your body jerked—hips stuttering against his face. he moaned in response, hands flexing on your thighs like he wanted to leave marks there. he tilted his head just right and gave a rough, dragging suck that made your vision blur.
“fuckfuckfuuuuck—mngh ’fayel—!” you gasped, heat curling in your belly.
caleb was already palming himself through his pants, still filming. he adjusted the focus again, angling the camcorder down between your thighs, capturing every slick movement of rafayel’s mouth, every twitch of your hips.
“look at her,” caleb muttered, mostly to himself—but still loud enough for both of you to hear. “fucking dripping. she loves the camera. loves putting on a show, don’t you, baby?”
your breath caught—eyes shut, chest heaving. rafayel looked up at you from between your thighs, lips swollen, pupils blown, smiling—and then went back in with a slow, punishing lick, drawing a strangled moan from your throat as your hips bucked again.
“mm-hmm.” caleb’s voice was rough silk, lazy and warm and just a little taunting. “you look real pretty like this, ray.” the camcorder gave a soft click as caleb adjusted the zoom.
you leaned back, spine arching, then slowly straightened—your body a silhouette of composure against the chaos of rafayel’s mouth. you reached on the couch beside rafayel’s head, fingers dipping into the crumpled fabric of rafayel’s discarded coat, which lay tangled on the couch. your hand found what you were looking for instantly—his lighter.
the soft flick of the lighter split the air, and rafayel shuddered.
caleb’s breath caught behind you. “fuck,” he whispered, “you’re unreal.”
you brought the cigarette to your lips, lit it with a slow, practiced flick, and took the first inhale—deep and steady. smoke curled from your mouth as your hips rolled forward into rafayel’s face, and the contrast—you, shaking but still so poised, him, messy and desperate—was obscene.
“such a good mouth,” you whispered. “maybe i’ll let you keep it.”
rafayel groaned like you’d touched him—like the words alone had gone straight to his cock. his tongue moved in tighter circles, slower now, hungrier somehow, savoring the slick weight of your cunt against his mouth. he licked like he was trying to etch the shape of you into memory. each moan he pulled from you was soft, controlled, until your thighs began to twitch, your breath grew uneven, and your hips started to rock into him.
“fuck yes,” you breathed, the words splintering as they left your mouth, soft and sharp at once. your voice broke around the edges, every bit of composure unspooling as your thighs tightened like a vice around his head. “‘m gonna cum—don’t stop, don’t—”
rafayel wasn’t stopping. he couldn’t. not when you were starting to fall apart above him. not when you were trembling like that, cigarette still clutched between your fingers, smoke still curling lazy through the air like you had all the time in the world—even as your hips started to roll harder, rougher, dragging wet sounds from between your legs every time your cunt met his mouth.
your eyes met the lens, and you smiled stupidly, smoke slipping from your lips like an invitation. then you rolled your hips again—deeper this time, rougher—drawing a choked moan from rafayel so loud it bordered on obscene.
a show, after all, deserved a proper climax.
you came with a soft cry, body shaking, hips grinding down against rafayel’s mouth as he kept licking through it, obedient, like your pleasure was the only thing keeping him breathing. your breath slowed, hips still twitching slightly from aftershocks.
rafayel had gone quiet, except for the soft, broken sounds slipping from his mouth as he rested there—his cheek against your inner thigh, lips parted, the heat of your climax still on his tongue.
your fingers dragged lazily through his curls as you leaned back, your head tilting backwards to look at the man behind you.
caleb was still watching, the camcorder slack in his hand now, forgotten in his lap.
“c’mere,” you said. caleb didn’t move for a second. just breathed. hard. then he rose, slow and careful, as if the space between you were something sacred. when he reached you, he didn’t speak—his eyes said enough.
you took one last inhale from the cigarette—then, as the smoke sat heavy in your mouth, you leaned in and kissed him.
a gasp broke from caleb’s throat, stuttered and ruined, as your lips parted against his and you exhaled the smoke directly into his mouth. he groaned into the kiss, one hand fisting tight at your hip, the other twitching against your thigh like he wanted to do something but couldn’t, wouldn’t, not yet.
rafayel whimpered softly below you, shifting just enough that his nose brushed your inner thigh again. he was still hard, still untouched, still desperately aching.
you pulled from the kiss with a sigh, smoke still clinging to your breath. caleb stayed close, lips parted, eyes glazed—staring like he was half-drunk on the taste of you.
“you’ve been so good,” you tilted your head, reaching out to run your fingers through rafayel’s hair, combing it back with practiced ease. then your fingers dipped lower, slow, brushing his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the faint smear of you still wet on his skin.
“want a taste?” you asked.
rafayel’s tongue darted out to catch your fingertip as it passed his lip. he leaned in, eyes locked on yours, and bit down soft on the pad of your finger, teeth dragging just enough to send a pulse down your spine.
he let go with a soft pop, eyes never leaving yours. you guided the cigarette toward his lips next, the ember still alive, the smoke winding like silk between your bodies.
“just one,” you murmured, holding it steady between two fingers. “a reward.”
rafayel opened his mouth without hesitation, lips wrapping around the filter like he was kissing you through it. you watched, gaze flicking down, as he took a slow, deep drag—his cheeks hollowing, breath pulling thick and heavy through the paper.
you took the cigarette back, fingers brushing his lower lip, and let the smoke linger between you both before you spoke again. “open your mouth, baby.”
he did so with no hesitation, tongue falling out slowly, mouth open like he was ready for another taste of you—anything you gave him.
you brought the cigarette back to your lips, took a long, slow drag. his eyes flicked down, watching the hollow of your throat move as you inhaled, the tip of the cig glowing bright red. you held the smoke in your lungs, and him in your gaze.
then, without a word, you pressed the burning tip onto his tongue.
rafayel gasped—a jagged, choked-off moan ripped from his throat as the ember hissed, extinguishing in a soft sizzle against his flesh. rafayel moaned again—louder this time, shameless, hips jolting up as if the pain punched straight through his spine and into his cock. and fuck, he was hard. so hard. already straining in his jeans. his tongue barely trembled, the faint burn blooming red across it, but he held it there.
“h-hurts,” he rasped, voice cracking. “fuck, it hurts—feels so good, plea’aghh…”
you let the spent cigarette fall from your fingers, watched ash scatter near his thigh, right by the obscene bulge between his legs. he twitched, hips rolling forward like he was trying to fuck the air. his hands fisted the floor on either side of him, nails digging into the floor, but his eyes—his fucking eyes—never looked away from yours.
and then he smiled. that sick, blissed-out grin—eyes glassy, lips slick, tongue still trembling where the ember had kissed it. blood bloomed faintly, welling up slow from the seared flesh. “you still hard down there, rafa?” caleb asked, voice hoarse, the mockery curling around his words as he stepped in closer, camera steady in one hand, the other reaching past you to hook two fingers into rafayel’s mouth—tugging slow at his burned, swollen tongue, stretching it out for the lens.
“so what are you gonna do next, ray?” caleb asked, voice low, curling with cruel amusement as he circled in closer, the camera still focused on rafayel’s spit-slick, blood-bright lips. “you gonna beg her to keep going,” he drawled, tilting his head as if genuinely curious—,
“...or do you want me to take over now?”
the sheets were already ruined—creased, damp, tangled from how you'd been pulled across them again and again. rich egyptian cotton twisted low around your waist, doing nothing to cover the slick between your thighs or the raw flush climbing your chest. caleb’s shirt was discarded on the floor, half-soaked in sweat and spit, the only article of clothing anyone had bothered with earlier. rafayel’s belt still dangled from the edge of the bedframe.
the room itself was soaked in heat, the air was thick with sweat and sex, and the faint burn of expensive cologne clung to your skin where both men had touched, kissed, tasted. the camera stood steady on the bedside dresser, red light blinking as rafayel knelt behind you and caleb rose from between your legs, both naked, both hard, both looking at you like you were the altar they built this night around.
you were already trembling—naked, breathless, stretched out between them like something sacred. “a-ah—mmnh,” you whimpered when rafayel pressed his body to your back, cock heavy and hot against your spine as he rolled his hips in slow, mocking thrusts. his fingers tilted your chin, angling your mouth up to his as he kissed you deep, tasting you like he owned every noise spilling out of your throat.
caleb moved lower, tongue sliding over your clit with obscene focus. one hand gripped the back of your thigh to keep it open, the other tightening its grip on your waist, holding you down as he licked you with slow, punishing strokes. his moan rumbled against your cunt when you bucked, and he didn’t pull back.
rafayel leaned in, mouth brushing the edge of your ear as his grip locked tight around your middle. “what’s wrong?” he murmured, “thought this was what you wanted.”
you choked on a gasp, head falling back onto rafayel’s shoulder. he caught you with a grin, one arm wrapped tight around your waist as caleb licked you again, slower this time.
he didn’t let you escape. his hand slid down your front, fingers ghosting over your throat, your breasts—down until they joined caleb’s mouth between your legs, just enough to spread your folds wider for him. you were dripping, thighs slick, pussy swollen from attention, and still they were patient.
caleb sucked harder, tongue locking around your clit with brutal precision. your whole body snapped tight—back arching, legs shaking—as your orgasm slammed into you without mercy. it ripped a cry from your throat, raw and wrecked, loud enough to make both of them pause, just to feel it.
rafayel’s arm stayed locked around your waist, holding you still as you thrashed, trembling through it. caleb didn’t move, didn’t let up—he just kept licking, slow and deep, tongue fucking you through the aftershocks while your cunt pulsed around nothing.
“fuck—look at that,” caleb groaned, voice gone to hell, chin slick with you. “so fuckin’ pretty when you’re all over my mouth.”
he pulled back just enough to drag his thumb through the mess between your legs, then pressed it flat against your clit, watching you twitch.
“but we’re not done with you just yet.”
slowly, rafayel slipped off the bed in a smooth, silent movement. you thought maybe he'd finally take you then—finally press you into the mattress and fuck you until your legs gave out—but instead, he crossed the room with unhurried steps, the lean lines of his naked body bathed in that same golden light.
his hand reached for the camera on the dresser. checked the screen, then looked at you through the lens like he was lining up the most intimate shot of your ruin. you could feel the lens tracking the glisten between your thighs, the slack of your mouth, the red ghost of caleb’s handprint on your hip.
rafayel didn’t come back to the bed right away. instead, he stood by the drawer, and pulled out a thick black candle, half-melted with hardened drips crusted along the sides, and your breath caught. you hadn’t even seen him light it, but now the room filled with the faint scent of smoke and heat.
“don’t move,” rafayel said low, and before you could even ask, his fingers tangled in your hair—and he tugged, lifting your head just slightly as he moved, positioning himself above you, knees bracketing your shoulders.
you didn’t even get a full breath in before the first splash of hot wax landed just beneath your ribs.
“ah—ahfuck! what the hell are you—” your cry came out broken, high-pitched, hips jerking in reflex.
another splash of wax hit lower—just above your hipbone this time, and the heat sent your breath stuttering out in a half-sob, half-moan. you squirmed, thighs tensing, but caleb’s weight kept you pinned, wrist draped heavy across your stomach.
“that’s one,” he said, voice low, eyes never leaving your face. “you move again, we start over.”
“ngh—rafayel, i-i can’t—!” you gasped, chest rising in a frantic stutter. another moan cracked out of you, softer, wrecked. “s’t–too hot—!”
he leaned in close, voice calm, low. “you’ll live.”
caleb’s mouth curved into a grin, “you hear that, baby? he’s feeling generous tonight.”
you tried—tried so hard—to stay still, muscles taut with effort, thighs trembling. drip. another line of wax slid hot and slow down your stomach, closer to your navel. caleb pulled back with a low click of his tongue.
“two.” his voice was rougher now, “thought you wanted to be good for us.”
the wax dripped again—this time over your inner thigh, dangerously close to your soaked cunt. caleb leaned in, mouth dragging across your skin, catching the wax before it cooled. his teeth grazed over where it had hardened, peeling it from you with excruciating patience before spitting it aside.
then came another. higher—between your breasts, sliding toward your belly in a molten trail that stopped short as it cooled. rafayel followed it with the camera, recording each twitch, each glint of heat on your skin. the red light blinked, catching every arch, every gasp, every tremble.
“three,” caleb muttered, voice low and rough, his grip tightening just enough to keep your head tilted. “this how you behave when you’re gettin’ exactly what you wanted?”
“p-please—” your voice cracked, hoarse and desperate, hips jerking without control. “c-can’t, it’s too much—”
“too much?” rafayel echoed, all false concern, voice smooth as silk as he angled the camera across from him to capture the tremble in your thighs. “doesn’t look like it from down there. your cunt’s fuckin’ dripping.”
“caleb—f-fuck, ray—please,” you sobbed, tossing your head back into the bed, body twisting helplessly. “please let me cum—i’ll be good, i’ll be so good, i promise—!”
he didn’t answer. his thumb pressed cruelly into your clit, circling with slow, grinding pressure while his fingers fucked deep, dragging over the spot that made your legs spasm and your moans break into ragged little gasps.
“last warning,” rafayel said, holding the candle directly over your inner thigh again. “if you cum before it hits, we start over.”
your whole body trembled. your hands scrabbled helplessly at the sheets, at caleb’s wrist, at your own skin—anything to ground you while the orgasm clawed its way higher, tight and brutal and begging for release.
and then—
the wax spilled. slow. thick. scalding.
a thick, molten stream, landing just beside your folds, nearly touching your cunt—and the moment it did, you shattered.
you came with a broken cry, body seizing around caleb’s fingers, slick gushing as every nerve lit up and flared. caleb cursed beneath his breath, watching the way you clenched, the way your whole body twitched under the aftershocks.
“fuckin’ knew you would,” he muttered, dragging it out.
rafayel reached forward, thumb swiping a drop of wax from your stomach, then brought it to your lips—smearing it slow across them, coaxing your mouth open with the heat.
caleb leaned in again, tongue dragging over the line between your ribs, your stomach, your thigh—before pausing near your cunt, catching the last molten spill before it cooled. his teeth scraped where it hardened, peeling it from you, only to spit it to the side again, mouth open against your skin.
hot breath. a soft bite.
your lips were still parted, breath shaky, when caleb shifted—his soaked fingers slipping free with a wet drag that made you whimper. your cunt clenched around the emptiness he left behind, thighs slick and shaking.
caleb was still crouched between your thighs, tongue dragging a lazy, wet line up the inside of your leg—unhurried, like he was savoring you. then, without looking, he caught the camcorder mid-air as rafayel carelessly tossed it his way.
suddenly, caleb’s hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head up just enough to force your eyes open, dragging you to sit up on the bed.
"up," he said simply, seemingly unbothered.
you went without resistance—dazed, pliant, wrecked—but he didn’t kiss you this time.
instead, he let his cock slap against your cheek, the weight of it landing with a wet, heavy sound. then his hand wrapped around your jaw, fingers pressing in hard until your mouth dropped open on instinct.
“go on,” he murmured, tone dark and amused. “show ‘em what that pretty little mouth is meant for, yeah?”
you looked up at him, dazed—lashes spiked with tears and sweat, lips swollen and slick, parted like you were made to be used. caleb adjusted the camcorder with one hand, angling it down toward your face, while the other clamped firm around your jaw, thumb digging into your cheek until it hurt.
he smirked when your tongue flicked out, barely teasing the tip of his cock—like you thought teasing would save you.
“c’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low. “wider, baby,” he tilted your head back, wrist tangled in your hair now, holding you perfectly in frame. “you wanted to be good, yeah? prove it t’ me.”
the lens watched as your lips closed around caleb’s cock slowly, obediently, cheeks hollowing as he slid past your tongue. he groaned low, sharp, letting the camera catch the exact moment your throat took him.
“there ya go,” he hissed, grip tightening. “fuck—that’s it.”
you gagged around him, nails digging into the skin of his thighs, but caleb didn’t stop. he held your head in place with one hand wrapped tight in your hair, the other tilting the camera just slightly to catch the strings of spit dripping from your lips.
he didn’t ease you in. his hips snapped forward and you choked, eyes flying wide as he bottomed out. your gag reflex kicked hard, and he held, cock thick and heavy at the back of your throat, hand gripping your hair mercilessly.
“keep those pretty eyes open,” he growled, as your hands clutched the sheets, trembling as he fucked your mouth like he owned it. his hand at your neck held just enough pressure to make the edges of your vision blur.
“fuck, look at her,” rafayel muttered from where he kneeled between your thighs. you couldn’t see him, not fully, but you felt him—his hands gripping your hips, then sliding up, tracing the curve of your spine with a cruel kind of tenderness.
and then—
smack!
his palm cracked across your ass, loud and open, the force of it vibrating through your body. a cry tore from your throat, muffled by caleb’s cock, and another hit followed—then a third, harder, enough to make your legs quake.
rafayel leaned in, kissed the spot he’d just marked, then bit.
teeth sank in just above your ass cheek—sharp, possessive. you yelped around caleb’s cock, and he moaned, “ah fuck…she’s tighter when you hit her,” he muttered. “keep goin’.”
rafayel slapped you again—your thigh this time, harder—and bit the other side to match.
caleb didn’t ease up. if anything, he got meaner the longer you choked on him—hips snapping harder, faster, forcing himself down your throat until your nose was flush to his pelvis, spit spilling in ropes from the corners of your mouth.
your vision blurred. the sound of his cock dragging over your tongue was wet and obscene, loud in the space between the slap of rafayel’s palm and the low, strained groan caleb let out through gritted teeth.
“you’re not gonna tap out, are you?” he rasped, hips rocking deeper, jaw clenching when you gagged again. “drooling like a bitch in heat. fucking beautiful.”
rafayel’s hands are not just spanking but grabbing, bruising, dragging nails down your ass, over the backs of your thighs, leaving raised welts in their wake. he didn’t bother soothing the pain. didn’t kiss it better. only pressed a new bite into your hip, hard and mean, like he wanted to brand you.
then he spit—right onto your swollen, soaked cunt—and slapped you again, hard enough to knock a fresh cry out of your throat around caleb’s cock.
“you’re such a fucking sight,” he rasped. “isn’t she, ray?”
rafayel had his cock in hand now, hard and flushed, precum slicking his tip as he stroked himself slowly, his eyes devouring the view.
you started to shake. air starved. jaw aching. eyes glassy. caleb held your head in place and fucked your mouth like he owned it, like it was the only place he’d ever finish again. his breath hitched, low and harsh, and he held you there until your hands clawed at his thighs, the edges of your world going dark.
only then did he pull back, cock slick and twitching, your spit connecting the head to your lips in a string that broke when you gasped violently for air.
“look at that mess,” rafayel growled, not even giving you time to recover. his hand tangled in your hair, yanking you upright just as caleb shifted back.
“pretty little thing…”, his teeth sank into your shoulder, brutal and deep, and you cried out—head thrown back, body jolting as another slap landed across your already raw skin.
your cunt was already wrecked, dripping from your last orgasm, the skin of your ass welted and glowing from rafayel’s brutal hands. spit and wax still clung to your stomach, dried in patches that cooled your flushed skin. caleb had your face slick with spit, lips swollen from how deep he’d fucked your throat. your lip was split open just barely, kissed by teeth and friction, and the camera caught it all. and they weren’t finished.
not even close.
caleb set the camera on the edge of the bedside table, angled with deliberate precision—just wide enough to catch everything. you. him. rafayel. all of it.
“sit the fuck up,” caleb muttered, voice low, rough with restraint. “no—like this.”
he didn’t wait for you to comply. just grabbed you—fist curled in your hair, the other locking around your throat—dragging you down the bed like you were nothing more than a doll to be put in place. he manhandled you, shoving you halfway over rafayel’s thigh, your knees bent awkwardly, legs wrenched wide, cunt slick and exposed, ass hanging off the mattress in a messy, leaking sprawl.
rafayel stood behind you, slow strokes around the base of his cock, like he wasn’t in any rush. like watching you fall apart was enough to get him off. his grin was lazy—eyes on your shaking thighs, on the way your cunt pulsed open and empty.
below you, caleb moved in—settling between your body and the bed like he belonged there, his gaze dropping to your cunt, where slick dripped down your folds and onto the sheets, hot and wet, needy. His cock twitched, heavy and flushed, already nudging against your swollen entrance.
“caleb—! wait, i—” your voice cracked, hips shifting back in panic even as your cunt clenched down on nothing.
“shh, sweetheart,” he cooed, mocking your desperation, one hand steadying your hip while the other dragged the fat, slick head of his cock through the mess between your legs. you whimpered when it caught on your clit, body jolting, a broken little gasp tearing from your throat.
“you’ll take it,” he murmured, angling his hips. “we’ll make it fit.”
and then he pushed in.
you screamed, the sound torn from your throat—loud, shattered, barely a word.
“ah—ah, fuck, caleb—!” your voice cracked, slurred by shock.
the stretch was unbearable—too much, too fast. your hands clawed at the sheets as his cock forced your cunt open, inch by inch. the squelch of him sliding in echoed between your thighs, louder than your gasps, louder than the strangled moans falling from your lips as your body tried to take it, tried not to break.
your cunt fluttered, overwhelmed, as if trying to push him out—clenching down around him like it couldn’t decide if it wanted more or less. it only made him groan, hips grinding deeper.
“fuuuck,” caleb hissed, voice cracking as your walls sucked him in. “still so fucking tight—jesus, baby. you tryna milk me already?”
you sobbed. voice pitchy, pleading. “t–too big ah!— i c–can’t—!”
“yes, you can,” caleb snarled, hand tightening around your throat as he slammed his hips forward, burying himself to the base. the force knocked the air from your lungs, vision white at the edges. “you hear that, cunt’s gripping me like she doesn’t wanna let go.”
“g–god—fuck, caleb—!” your moan cracked open around his name, head tipping back helplessly, mouth slack and drooling. your body tried to recoil from the stretch, but caleb held you there, impaled on his cock, grinding deep like he wanted to rearrange your insides.
“fuck,” caleb hissed, dragging his hips in a slow, punishing grind. “such a sweet little thing f’me, huh?”
rafayel moved in behind you, cock heavy where it pressed against the mess dripping down your thighs. he let the swollen head drag through the wreck caleb left behind—slick and spit smeared in lazy strokes across your overstretched cunt.
you whimpered—high, hitched.
“n–no, i—i can’t—”
“breathe,” he said again, softer this time. mocking soft. his hand found your jaw, tilting your head to the side, guiding your cheek down against the soaked sheets like you were a doll in his hands. “you’re doing fine.”
his thumb traced the edge of your mouth, dragging through the spit that clung to your lips, smeared across your chin from when caleb had fucked your throat raw. he pressed it into the corner of your mouth—then, with the same hand, he slid his thumb past your lips, pressing it down flat against your tongue.
you whimpered around his thumb, tongue twitching under the pressure. your body was still shaking—nerves fried, cunt spasming weakly from everything caleb had already wrung from you.
rafayel groaned at the feel of your mouth, hips rolling forward to grind the thick head of his cock right against your entrance.
“ready?” he said, voice low, barely a breath.
and then he pushed.
your scream punched out of you like a sob, loud and broken, your body caught between them—caleb still buried deep in your cunt as rafayel started to force his way in beside him.
“oh—oh my god—please!, i—it’s too much—!”
rafayel groaned, fingers digging into your hips as he shoved deeper. “nah, baby,” he growled. “this? this is just enough.”
rafayel’s cock stretched you beyond reason, the two of them fighting for space inside you, your hole fluttering, clenching, burning. your back arched violently, legs kicking uselessly as you choked on your moans.
caleb groaned, guttural. “she’s clenching so hard she’s shaking. fuck, pipsqueak.”
“p–please—p-please, i—i can’t—”, you cried, head thrashing, the stretch overwhelming.
“this is what you wanted, right?,” rafayel whispered against your shoulder, the scrape of his teeth just shy of a bite. “now take it.”
and then he bottomed out.
the thrust was full, brutal—his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs, forcing caleb deeper by sheer pressure. your scream didn’t even have sound anymore—just the wrecked gasp of your body trembled like it couldn’t hold the weight of them. like it didn’t know how to hold itself together anymore. and still—they stayed. filling you so deep it felt like you’d never be empty again. never be yours again.
“fucking hell,” rafayel grunted, hips pressed tight as he bottomed out, his cock heavy and unforgiving where it throbbed beside caleb’s inside you.
your breath hitched—then collapsed into a sob.
“a-ah—nnh’ please—” the sound spilled out of you before you could stop it, torn from somewhere between pain and need. your whole body shook, fingers clenching uselessly in the sheets, eyes blown wide and glassy with tears. you didn’t know if it was too much or not enough.
your next moan cracked halfway through. “h-haah—f-fuck—”
they moved together.
caleb started first, driving up from beneath you, slow and deep, his cock dragging thick through the swollen mess of your cunt. the friction made your back arch, another sharp cry breaking from your throat. rafayel followed right behind him, hips snapping forward like he wanted to force every inch of you to remember him.
“a-ah, ahhh please—fuck, it’s—haa—i c-can’t—!”
the words barely made it past your lips, choked and slurred between breathless sobs. your voice cracked each time rafayel bottomed out, and caleb gave you no time to recover—cock dragging so thick and slow it made your whole body spasm.
you couldn’t speak. couldn’t think. all you could do was feel—stretch and burn and pleasure and heat. your pussy spasmed violently, orgasm tearing through you so sudden it hit like a punch, your whole body seizing between them. your head dropped back, mouth open on a broken cry as you clenched around them both, cunt fluttering helplessly.
caleb’s hand slid back around your throat and pulled, lifting your head by the neck like he was reeling you back into him. your spine arched instinctively, breath caught sharp in your throat, mouth dropping open with a strangled, gasping moan.
“where’s that pretty voice gone, huh?” he growled into your ear, tone rough and thick with heat, breath scalding against your sweat-damp skin. “don’t go quiet on us now. let ’em hear how sweet you sound.”
you tried to speak, but all that came out was a whimper. before you could catch your breath, another slap followed. and another. each hit blurring into the next, the sting sharp and blooming, cutting perfectly against the pressure of them inside you. you couldn’t separate the pain from the pleasure anymore.
“ah—f-fuck—ahh—!” your moans punched out with each snap of rafayel’s hips and every smack of his palm, your thighs trembling, jaw slack under caleb’s grip.
“that’s it,” caleb rasped, his hand flexing tighter. “there she is.”
“say it,” rafayel hissed, breath hot, voice cut sharp through the slap of skin and the wet, wrecked mess between your thighs. his pace didn’t falter—if anything, it got meaner, cruel rhythm pounding into your overstretched cunt like he was trying to fuck the words out of you by force. “tell us who you fucking belong to.”
your mouth opened, but all that came out was a high, cracked moan—too breathless, too gone. your body seized between them, legs twitching like you couldn’t hold the weight of them anymore.
“nnh—ahh—i—f-fuck—”
your voice broke, and they didn’t slow down.
caleb's grip cinched harder around your throat, just enough to steal the edges of your breath—just enough to make your body panic in the prettiest ways.
“use your words, baby,” he growled against your ear. “or don’t come at all.”
“y-you—” you gasped, tears blurring your vision. “b-both—i-i’m yours—i’m fucking—”
“louder.” caleb’s snarl was sharp, his hand flexing—your body jerked.
“yes you fucking can,” rafayel snapped, nails digging into your hips as he slammed in again, forcing your body forward like it didn’t belong to you anymore.
the room filled with noise—wet, brutal, filthy sounds of skin on skin, the slick drag of cock against cock inside you, your own cries breaking over and over as another orgasm hit without warning. it ripped through you like a wave crashing, your entire body collapsing between them, shaking violently, every nerve lit up and raw.
caleb’s hand slid from your throat to your jaw, fingers digging in tight, forcing your head back. you barely registered the way he leaned in until the warm hit of his spit landed on your tongue.
“swallow,” he said—your lips closed around the taste of him, and you choked on a sob, tears streaking down as your body jolted with another sharp thrust. caleb leaned in, tongue slow and cruel as he licked the tears from your cheek.
“shh, shh,” he cooed, mockingly sweet as his cock drove deeper, harder—pace turning feral. “don’t go soft on us now, pipsqueak.”
you whimpered—shattered, spent, yet somehow still trembling on the edge of another high. your cunt spasmed again, overstimulated, fluttering around them both, and you knew—they were going to fuck you straight into the floor if you let them.
and god, you would let them.
rafayel spat onto your back, the heat of it stark against your skin. he smeared it in slow, filthy circles, rubbing it down your spine like a mark that branded you theirs. his fingers sank into your hips, holding you steady as your thighs trembled violently.
caleb groaned low—raw, frayed. it broke out of him like it hurt. you could hear the edge in it, the unraveling. every word that followed sounded like it was clawed from his throat.
“don’t pull out,” he bit, barely more than a growl. “leave it in her.”
rafayel didn’t hesitate. just grunted, thick and low. “wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
he adjusted the focus again, zeroing in on the slick mess where your bodies met. the shutter flicked once, signaling that he had taken a photo.
“still rolling,” caleb breathed, close enough for his voice to crawl over your skin. his mouth was at your jaw, breath warm, trembling.
“go on, baby… give ’em a fucking show.”
your body jolted between them, overstimulated and spent, and still they didn’t stop—rafayel driving in from behind with sharp, punishing thrusts, caleb fucking up into you slow and deep, dragging every raw nerve along the edge.
“a-ah—f-fuck—caleb, i—i c-can’t—!”
your moan cracked, slurred, wrecked from the way they filled you, stretched you, used you.
“yes, you can,” caleb muttered, teeth gritted, hand curling around your throat again—not squeezing, just holding you there, grounded in his grip. “you’ll take it, baby. all of it.”
rafayel was panting now, loud against your back, hips stuttering.
“she’s shaking—fuck—shit, i’m gonna—”
your cunt clenched, involuntarily, fluttering around both of them, and they felt it—both of them groaning in sync.
“gonna fill you up,” rafayel snarled, voice cracking, pace breaking down. “fuck—feel that? feel how close i am?”
you whimpered, sobbed through it. “i-i feel it—please—please just—fuck, don’t stop—”
his thrusts turned rougher, sharper—each one dragging you closer to the edge again even though you thought there was nothing left. your moans got higher, tighter, every sound punching out of you in helpless bursts.
“g-god—caleb—raf—ah—please—!”
then caleb groaned, deep and wrecked, hips slamming into you one last time as his body went taut, breath punched out of him.
“fuck, i’m cummin’—fucking take it—”
rafayel followed seconds later, thrust grinding in and holding, the heat of him pulsing inside you. his hand slapped against your ass once more, then held you down as he finished, every sound out of him rough, broken, lost in you.
you sobbed, trembling, barely coherent as caleb shifted—still buried inside you, still keeping their combined release sealed deep in your cunt—and reached for the recorder from the bedside table with one hand, fingers slick with sweat and spit.
he adjusted the angle lazily, tilting it to catch everything: your ruined body, your twitching thighs, the mess leaking down between them. the sight must’ve satisfied something in him, because he finally exhaled—shaky, spent—and let the camcorder drop to the floor near the bed.
your body felt boneless—like the moment they let go, you might slip straight through the sheets, weightless and untethered. every inch of you buzzed, overstretched and glowing at the seams.
caleb was the first to move, slow and careful, like you might splinter if he breathed too hard. eased back with a sharp hiss, hands steadying you—one braced at your thigh, the other gliding down your side like an apology.
“easy,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, barely above a breath. “got you, pipsqueak. just… breathe.”
your chest rose, shallow and uneven. your lips were parted, but no sound came—just the faint catch of breath like a ghost of a moan, stuck between a sob and a gasp. your fingers twitched, curling weakly into caleb’s chest like you didn’t know where else to go.
rafayel leaned in next, close but unhurried, the heat of him steady. his hand slid beneath your head, cradling it like you were something delicate—something worth handling gently. his eyes met yours, sharp but clear now, voice dipped into something quiet.
“you with us?”
you nodded, just barely. it was enough.
“good girl,” he whispered, his thumb brushing beneath your eye, sweeping away a stray tear you hadn’t even noticed. “there you are. that’s it, stay right here.”
“hurts,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed. “it—still hurts.”
“i know,” caleb said, “we’ll fix it. stay with us, baby. we’ve got you.” his forehead pressed to yours, breath steadying as he breathed for both of you.
you whimpered when rafayel’s hands settled at your hips, gentle this time, a stark contrast to the bruising grip he held you with just a while ago. he brought a warm towel to your thighs, but the moment the cloth met your skin, you flinched. your legs twitched like you wanted to close them, but couldn’t.
“it’s okay,” caleb murmured from behind you, “i’ve got you.”
caleb pulled you back into the bed with him—one arm firm around your stomach, the other dragging the blanket over your body. you were already clean—rafayel had wiped away every trace with care that didn’t match the mess they’d made—but caleb still kissed the crown of your head.
your breathing slowed. your fingers, once curled so tight into the sheets and their skin, finally loosened. your body gave in at last—sinking into the heat of their arms, into the steady weight of them on either side of you. the trembling eased, not gone, but dulled into something bearable beneath their touch.
you sniffled, voice thin and shaky. “i feel… m-messy.”
“…you’re perfect,” rafayel whispered, the words barely more than breath.
he pressed a kiss to your shoulder—soft, lingering—then another, trailing slowly upward. each one warmer than the last. the curve of your neck, the edge of your jaw. like he needed to relearn every part of you now that the storm had passed.
you shivered, not from cold, but from how gently he touched you now. like you were fragile. like he didn’t want to wake something still trembling inside you.
his voice came again, quieter this time, lips brushing against your skin.
“always have been.”
caleb’s hand stayed at your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles against your skin; rafayel’s fingers threaded through your hair, grounding you with every gentle stroke.
the last thing you felt was the press of two mouths—one at your temple, one behind your ear—and the sound of them breathing around you, slow and steady, syncing with yours like they were lulling your heart into rhythm.
you didn’t even notice when your eyes finally closed.
morning crept in slow.
you didn’t open your eyes at first. just lay there, still and quiet, letting the warmth of the sheets sink into your skin. everything felt heavy—your limbs, your breath, the ache blooming low in your body like a bruise that pulsed instead of throbbed. familiar. almost comforting.
caleb was still beside you.
you felt him before you saw him—his arm draped over your waist, weighty and warm, hand splayed across your stomach like he’d fallen asleep mid-touch. his chest rose and fell in soft, even rhythm. close enough that each breath brushed the curve of your shoulder. he hadn’t moved much. his curls were a mess, lips parted, skin still kissed with the heat of the night before.
rafayel was gone.
you could feel it in the quiet. the space where his body had been was still warm, just barely. the pillow at your back held the faintest imprint of his head, a dent in the sheets where his weight used to be.
your eyes opened slowly. the light through the curtains was soft—golden, muted, like it didn’t want to wake you too harshly. your body ached in a way that settled deep, stretched and sore. the sheets clung to your skin—warm, a little damp with sleep, the scent of them still thick in the air. salt and skin. sweat and something sweeter.
you sighed, quiet. the sound barely stirred the air.
caleb didn’t wake.
so you stayed there, curled beneath the blanket, skin flushed and worn, body half-claimed and half-floating, eyes open to a room still echoing with ghosts of touch and breath.
after a while, you moved—just enough to reach toward the nightstand, fingers dragging heavy across the sheets. your hand fumbled for a second before it found your phone, still half-buried beneath a crumpled hoodie and the edge of a pillow.
the screen lit up, harsh and blue in the golden light.
you winced.
your thumb dragged across the glass on instinct, automatic, muscle memory overriding thought. no notifications—just the dull stack of time passing in quiet hours you hadn’t noticed.
you opened an app. didn’t register which one. just scrolled.
posts blurred past—photos, headlines, clips of things that didn’t feel real. people laughing. news cycling. a voiceover you didn’t recognize spilling out from a reel you didn’t mean to tap. everything felt far away. like it was happening in a world you’d stepped out of.
you kept scrolling.
your body stayed still, tucked beneath the blanket, the ghost of caleb’s hand still curved against your ribs. your eyes were open, but your mind wasn’t really there—floating somewhere between the press of last night and the pull of this morning, dazed and raw and too full of everything to think straight.
you could still feel their mouths, their hands, the way your body had been passed between them like something they’d never get enough of. your chest felt too tight. your breath came too shallow. but your fingers moved anyway, aimless, scrolling.
and then you blinked.
a headline stared back at you—bold and red, too sharp against the white background on your screen.
“f1 stars caleb xia and rafayel qi absent for final gala speech — ‘unreachable,’ sources say.”
the breath in your lungs caught.
your eyes dropped to the photo beneath it. the angle was terrible, the lighting worse—clearly taken from the far end of the venue, probably with someone’s phone. but it didn’t matter. you knew it the moment you saw it.
there you were. the shimmer of your dress, caught in motion. rafayel’s hand pressing low on your back. caleb beside you, jaw tense, caught in profile, the line of his mouth sharp like he’d just snapped something under his breath.
the article was vague, wordy in the way gossip tries to sound official. phrases like “unreachable,” “seen leaving prior to scheduled remarks,” “reportedly left through an alternate exit.” it didn’t say anything meaningful. it didn’t have to. the comments already knew how to spin it.
your fingers tightened around the phone. you scrolled.
comments flooded the post—
where did they go?
was there a fight?
caleb looked pissed af in that last clip.
…wait is that y/n?
you were about to close it when your eyes snagged on something further down. a new paragraph. a fresh update.
“speculation intensifies after a now-viral instagram story, still live on rafayel qi’s verified account, appears to show an intimate scene involving the missing drivers.”
just a still frame of the room you were still lying in.
the same crumpled sheets. the same muted light. the edge of the bed, and a spill of clothes slouched over the corner like they’d melted off bodies—rafayel’s shirt, caleb’s jacket, your dress, something small and lacey, twisted inside-out—half-hanging from the edge of the mattress.
and next to it, the camera. screen lit, frame frozen. it was unmistakable.
your throat closed.
on the tiny camcorder screen—you could see yourself.
you were astride something—your naked back arched toward the lens, your thighs spread. your eyes looking right at the camera—smoke swirling from between your teeth, lips parted in a lazy, stupid smile. beneath you, just barely visible, rafayel’s face. his hands. his grin.
and the tags were right there.
@ calebxia, @ yourusername
“what the fuck…”, you whispered it first. just breath.
then again, louder, hoarse and sharp and disbelieving.
but you didn’t turn. your hand was shaking now, still gripping the phone, your pulse thudding too loud in your ears.
the story was real. still up. still public.
and now—everywhere.
dividers by @omi-resources and @ saradika-graphics
taglist : @mcdepressed290 @yriexa @13tter
# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !
hi guys so sorry for the lack of updates but i’ve recently been violently humbled by the consequences of living off instant noodles, coffee, and 3 hours of sleep for the past two months 🙂↕️ anyway i’m alive (barely), rehydrated and currently being bullied by my doctor to eat a vegetable. hopefully i can publish part two of push n' fracture by the end of the week. love u all <3
f1 analyst anon back again lol wanted to hear what driver you would pair with each driver at the constructors you assigned them to~
hello, love !! sorry for the delay in replying to your ask! past two days got a bit hectic, but i really appreciate your patience. ♡
✧ caleb — red bull [ paired with max verstappen ]
on track : they’re both solo warriors, not team players. caleb’s obsession to be the best would immediately threaten max’s empire at red bull. verstappen is used to being the unquestioned #1, but caleb doesn't recognize hierarchy—he’d come to win, not to support. expect wheel-to-wheel battles, ignored team orders, and outright refusal to yield to one another. neither would ever want to be the first to brake. they’d be so focused on beating each other that the team might suffer—until one is clearly superior. that said, red bull loves a good villain arc, and this would be it. caleb and max are two apex predators in a power struggle—one playing chess, and the other playing blood sport.
off track : no public fights, no screaming matches. instead: icy silences, backhanded praise in interviews, calculated glances across the garage. max has always operated as the top dog at red bull, but caleb doesn’t defer—he disrupts. caleb’s presence alone is a statement: the pretty poster boy with fangs, media-friendly until he isn’t. he knows exactly how to weaponize charm and fan frenzy, and he’s not afraid to use it to tilt the scales in his favor. they’ll walk past each other in the paddock without so much as a nod, yet each is acutely aware of the other’s every move. during debriefs, neither will admit fault, neither will compromise on strategy. PR is in hell, especially when clips go viral of caleb smirking as max storms past, or max deliberately standing between caleb and the camera. they might sit side by side in the post-qualifying press conference, both on the front row, and not exchange a single word—and yet there’s a mutual fixation. they watch each other’s onboard footage, dissect tire degradation charts just to see who pushed harder. caleb wants max to acknowledge him as equal. max needs to prove caleb is not. they’d never admit it, but neither has driven this brutally since the other arrived.
✧ sylus — ferrari [ paired with charles leclerc ]
on track : they’re like a symphony—aggressive when needed, but never at the cost of each other. if sylus is leading, charles won’t divebomb unless he knows it’ll stick. if charles is vulnerable, sylus will cover him from behind without being asked. they communicate via radio in clipped, professional tones—no dramatics, just data and timing updates. yet, when the race is done, there’s a knowing glance exchanged over the fence, a subtle acknowledgment of the battle fought and respect earned. they don’t race each other—they understand each other. even in battle, they’re artists, not warriors.
off track : neither seeks the spotlight off-track, but their connection runs deeper than most notice. they often find themselves drawn together in the early mornings or late evenings, when the paddock is empty and the weight of expectations presses heaviest. sylus rarely speaks, but charles knows how to read the subtle shifts in his expression. their conversations are sparse but meaningful, often about the ghosts they race against just as much as the competition in front of them. charles might break the silence with a soft joke or a shared memory from karting days, but mostly they listen—an unspoken pact to hold space for the other’s quiet struggles. they don’t do flashy gestures or social media antics. instead, their bond is found in small acts: sharing updates, covering each other in press rooms. when one falters, the other is there—not with words, but as solidarity for their shared loyalty in ferrari.
✧ rafayel — mclaren [ paired with lando norris ]
on track : their racing style is a perfect blend of recklessness and playfulness. when they’re on track together, the race almost feels like a high-stakes game of tag— aggressive but never careless. they push each other to the limit: rafayel’s impulsiveness sometimes forces lando into quick reflexes, while lando’s smooth precision challenges rafayel to refine his raw speed. neither is content playing second fiddle; their battles are fierce but rarely hostile. pit walls have to stay alert to prevent the friendly rivalry from spilling into costly contact.
off track : this is a chaotic besties pairing if there ever was one. rafayel and lando are a constant source of energy and entertainment—the paddock’s favorite pranksters and meme lords. they thrive on banter, shared twitch streams, and goofy challenges that break the tension of the race weekend. despite the jokes, they’re deeply loyal. when one struggles—be it from pre-race pressure or personal issues — the other steps in without hesitation. whether it’s dragging each other out for late-night karaoke, swapping playlists, or a simple message to check in, they’ve built a brotherhood stronger than most in the paddock.
✧ xavier — mercedes [ paired with kimi antonelli ]
on track : when they’re racing together, they rarely engage in aggressive duels; instead, they try to ensure both cars finish strong and maximize points for the team. if one driver encounters trouble, the other adjusts their pace to protect team strategy without sacrificing rhythm. while they don’t often exchange wheel-to-wheel battles, the few times they do it’s a clean, respectful dance—no drama, just cold, professional racing. the team relies on their mutual understanding and discipline, knowing both drivers put the championship and the team’s success above personal glory.
off track : xavier and kimi share a low-key friendship based on mutual respect and a quiet understanding of the immense pressure they face. neither seeks the spotlight, and their interactions are often understated but deeply genuine. they share a mutual appreciation for discipline and routine, whether it’s a strict training schedule, pre-race preparations, or the way they unwind after a long weekend. they often find solace in quiet moments: reviewing race data together, sharing a coffee away from the noise, or simply sitting in silence before the storm of a race weekend.
✧ zayne — aston martin [ paired with fernando alonso ]
on track : as the veteran, fernando often mentors zayne through tricky race situations, guiding him when to conserve and when to strike. zayne, meanwhile, pushes alonso to stay sharp and to embrace a slightly more daring approach at times. their wheel-to-wheel moments are tense and thrilling, but always underpinned by mutual respect. they share a fierce competitive streak but know that their real strength lies in working together to maximize aston martin’s points haul. they can switch seamlessly between opponents and allies, sometimes locking wheels with rival teams one lap, then covering each other the next.
off track : zayne admires alonso’s resilience and occasionally cheeky humor, while alonso appreciates zayne’s fresh perspective and dedication to carve his own legacy. they often spend downtime training together, exchanging stories from their different racing journeys, and sharing a dry joke or two. while alonso can be blunt and fiery, he’s quietly protective of zayne, seeing him as the future of the team and willing to shield him from unnecessary pressure. their bond is built on trust, respect, and the shared goal of restoring aston's former glory.
absolutely in love with f1!caleb, i know you’ve got a fic w him and raf together in the works but was wondering if you’d be doing more solo caleb f1 stuff? or just caleb writings in general you rule <3
you absolute angel 😭 thank you!! and YES caleb is my main so don’t even worry, i’ve got plenty of both f1!au and general caleb stuff coming (he lives rent free in my brain tbh). got some ideas for angst n darker fics too 👀 also if there’s a dynamic or literally anything you wanna see for the LIs, my inbox is always open 🫶 thank you sm for asking!! means the world <3
f1!zayne : brat-taming · impact play + bdsm · facefucking · breath play
f1!caleb + f1!rafayel : dumbification · sex tape · threesome · wax play · biting
Voting ended onJun 4, 2025
hi, lovelies !! just dropping something a little fun-wanted to know what you'd like to see next from me so here's a little poll to guide what's next ^^
second option will be the continuation of my previous caleb fic "push n' fracture !"—yes, rafayel's involved now. and yes, it gets even messier (with a lil bit of exhibitionism) ;p !!
this space means so much to me, and getting to share my stories (and all the feelings that come with them) with you makes it even more special. thank you for being here, for reading, for caring, for screaming in the tags with me lol
take a second to vote if you can—i can't wait to bring the next piece to life for you. you guys are the best, always. ♡
— ! essence : caleb doesn’t do rivals. especially not when they’re plastered across your skin. jealousy twists into something sharp and dangerous as possession takes over, and the line between love and obsession blurs. this is about claiming what’s his, no matter the cost.
— ! precautionary : fem!reader, use of ‘y/n’ and feminine pronouns, f1 rider!caleb, sexual content, jealousy, possessiveness, intense physicality, car crash (non-fatal), semi-public setting, slight degradation, overstimulation, roughness, dom!caleb, rivalry-based tension, angry sex
— ! writer’s foreword : just crash-landed home from, brain leaking out my ears, and what did i do? rest? recover? touch grass? no. i opened my laptop and immediately started writing this unholy, feral filthfest. if this fic makes no sense or feels like a fever dream, blame the caffeine overdose and my sleep deprivation. also, send help (and snacks). preferably both.
— ! soundtrack in play : ohmami by chase atlantic
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minors dni. this work contains dark, mature themes and is intended for adult audiences only. accounts that do not clearly indicate age in their bio or blog will be blocked without warning. this is for my safety and yours—respect boundaries, respect creators.
you weren’t even wearing his team hoodie.
no red bull colors. no little sticker of his number on your cheek like you wore in monaco. no subtle sign that you were his—not even a glance in his direction. instead, your shirt clung to your skin in the dry desert heat, speckled with sun and cropped enough to bare your ribs when the desert wind blew. that tight mclaren crop tee clung to your skin, the bright tarocco tone screaming his rival’s colors as you stood too close—way too close—to rafayel.
it all started with a laugh. just a laugh. nothing more.
you’d meant nothing by it—just a shared joke with rafayel in the hospitality lounge before qualifying. rafayel leaned toward you with that signature half-grin, elbow on the counter of the lounge, head tilted just enough to make it intimate. charming. relaxed. fucking smug. his hand had brushed your arm when you’d thrown your head back, the soft trill of your giggle carried into the desert air. head tipped back, fingers brushing his arm as you caught his eye and giggled at something he said. a soft, unconscious motion. a friendly exchange. nothing malicious, nothing overt.
you should’ve known. you should’ve seen it in the way caleb’s jaw locked during the driver briefing—helmet held by its chin bar, fzipped up to his collarbone, gloves hooked around two fingers—and for the first time in his career, he wasn’t thinking about tire temps or DRS zones. his jaw flexed tight enough to cramp as he watched rafayel lean in closer, and watched you—his girl, the girl who should never let anyone that close—giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear like it wasn’t a fucking dagger straight through his sternum.
“caleb,” his engineer’s voice crackled through the headset. “you alright, mate? you seem out of it—everythin’ okay?”
he didn’t answer right away. swallowed hard, blinked once. his grip clenched tighter around his helmet, the carbon fiber started to dent. “…peachy.”
he didn’t look at rafayel again. didn’t need to.
he’d already decided.
i’ll deal with you later.
P2 on the grid.
of course it was P2.
rafayel sat in his mclaren like he already had the win wrapped around his fingers, one gloved hand drumming rhythmically on the top of his wheel, the other giving a little mock salute to the crowd through the visor cam. caleb didn’t look at him. his gloves were already tugged tight, helmet sealed, eyes locked forward—but all he saw behind the visor was the orange shirt stuck to your back in the heat with the stupid bold mclaren settled on the fabric right over your heart. his number and name nowhere in sight.
“radio check,” his engineer called.
he didn’t respond.
“caleb? radio check, mate?”
his voice finally came through, taut and venomous. “loud and fucking clear.”
there was a beat of silence. a pause on the line, “you good, man?”
he forced a breath through his nose. “let’s just get this over with,” over the loud hum of the engine, all he could hear was the echoes of your laugh with that shithead rafayel.
“five lights on,” the race director counted. “and it’s lights out and away we go—!” rafayel’s launch was clean—but caleb was rabid. the red bull fired forward like a predator loosed from the leash, barely missing P3 as he launched straight into turn 1 side-by-side with the mclaren. rafayel closed him off with a hard brake, forcing caleb out wide on the dirty part of the track, but caleb didn’t lift — not even when his front wing came within centimeters of rafayel’s rear.
“he’s driving like he wants to fuckin’ kill me,” rafayel spat over comms, his voice crackling. caleb didn’t respond on his own. he was too busy chasing. he spent the first dozen laps locked inside DRS range, not even trying to overtake clean—no, every move was calculated pressure. he drove like he wanted rafayel to feel him breathing down his neck. every brake was late. every corner exit was close enough to make the mclaren engineer panic.
“back off, caleb!” his own team barked at one point. “you’re risking a collision!” but caleb didn’t care. he wanted him to feel cornered. to know that he was prey. because he was. you don’t put your hands on her, he thought darkly as he tailgated out of turn 10, and walk away unscathed.
you were on the pit wall by then—wearing orange, still—and caleb saw you glance up at the timing tower. every time his number lit up right behind rafayel’s, you tensed. he saw it.
good, he thought. watch me. watch what i do to the man who touches what’s mine.
it built slowly—tire wear creeping in, temps rising, his rear losing grip in sector 3. still he stayed out, defying every team call to box. lap 26, rafayel’s tires began to fail. the tires wore down. rear traction faded. lap times dropped. still, he didn’t box. ignored every pit call.
“caleb, come in, we’re losing compound.”
“negative.” his voice came back hoarse. “i’ve got him.”
lap 28, rafayel’s grip was breaking—caleb could see it in the rear twitch. turn fourteen, he closed in so tight the slipstream pulled bits of rubber into his halo. he could’ve tapped the diffuser with his nose cone if he wanted. could’ve unstitched the seams of that mclaren.
“final lap,” came the call. “no funny shit, caleb.” but it was too late for that. he already knew where he’d do it. turn 13. fast. blind. unforgiving. he waited for the right moment, nudged inside, and turned in early.
the contact was immediate.
carbon fiber shredded. both cars locked up in a scream of tire smoke and screeching brakes. rafayel’s mclaren spun violently off the racing line, back end slammed against the barriers, dust pluming into the air. caleb’s red bull skidded into the gravel with a thunderous jolt.
yellow flags. double waved.
red flag. the race was over.
rafayel was out. caleb’s engine stalled in the gravel. static choked the radio. “what the fuck was that?!” screamed race control. he didn’t answer. not until he saw the red flag and the dust settle. not until he saw your face on the edge of the pit wall go white.
he didn’t attend the press conference. didn’t even unbuckle until a marshal banged on his cockpit. his PR rep trailed after him with panicked eyes and a clipboard full of damage control bullet points, but caleb walked right past him, suit still half-zipped, jaw clenched hard enough he could swear his teeth would crush with the pressure. they tried to stop him. camera caught his shoulder. reporters called his name—he didn’t even turn his head.
no interviews. no apologies. no explanations.
let them speculate. let them talk.
he didn’t give a single damn.
because rafayel wouldn’t touch you again.
not after this.
you didn’t speak the entire drive back.
he’d refused the medical tent. ignored the swarm of reporters like they weren’t even there, brushed past the PR team screaming his name with a pace so brutal you’d had to jog to keep up. he didn’t speak. didn’t even look at you. just reached back once—wrist tight, fingers wrapping around yours—and yanked you with him through the mess of the paddock and straight into the red bull private lot.
the silence was suffocating. not tense in the way people usually meant it—not awkward, not uncomfortable. it was a pressure chamber. the kind that made your ears ring and your chest hurt. you could hear every turn signal click, every swipe of the wiper across the windshield, even the way caleb’s grip on the wheel creaked under his gloves. he hadn’t taken them off. still in his fireproofs, zipper low on his chest, collarbone glistening with sweat and dust, jaw locked so tight it looked like it might snap.
the door slammed shut behind you with a vicious bang!—a sound that echoed like a gunshot off the walls—and it made your shoulders jerk involuntarily. he didn’t say a word. didn’t glance back. just stalked across the living room like the adrenaline was still burning through his blood, ripping open the fridge like something in it might anchor him, steady the fury in his bones. but even from where you stood, you could see the tremor in his hand. the way his fingers gripped the handle too hard. the tension still coiled in his shoulders like a spring wound to the point of rupture.
he wasn’t calming down. not even close.
the silence throbbed around you, thick and charged. you shifted on your feet, breath shallow, heart hammering like it wanted to crawl out of your throat.
“caleb—” you started, voice small.
“take it off.” his voice was low, sliced through the air like a whip.
you froze. your mouth parted, a breath catching in your throat. “w-what?”
he closed the fridge slowly. deliberately. then turned.
his eyes were black beneath the heavy shadow of his brow, dark and molten like they hadn’t cooled since the second his front wing clipped rafayel’s tire in that brutal turn. he took a step toward you, slow and controlled, like a predator choosing exactly how to pounce. “the fucking shirt,” he said, voice low and thick with venom. another step. “take it off before i rip it off ‘ya.”
your stomach dropped. you looked down instinctively. that stupid, traitorous mclaren tee still clung to your sweat-damp skin, streaked with grime and faint splashes of champagne from a podium that wasn’t his. that bright orange logo burned against your chest like a brand, and suddenly it felt radioactive.
you didn’t move. you hesitated.
and that was all it took.
two strides, and he was on you.
your back hit the wall so fast the impact knocked the breath from your lungs. the world narrowed—your heartbeat screamed in your ears, adrenaline flared under your skin, and caleb was there, crowding you in, body a furnace, heat rolling off him in waves. his fingers hooked the hem and yanked—not teasing, not even urgent. violent. the fabric caught against your arms, dragged over your skin so fast it left a burn, your hair tangled and pulled, nipples tightening into stiff peaks in the sudden rush of cold air.
caleb tossed the shirt onto the floor like it disgusted him.
“you wanna wear his colors?” he muttered, voice low and curling with fury. his breath hit your collarbone, his words too close, too hot. “wanna sit there in his fucking garage and giggle at his jokes while he stares at your tits through my windshield?”
tone wasn’t raised. he didn’t have to shout. it was the quietness that made it worse—quiet like a threat wrapped in velvet. quiet like a knife at your ribs.
you breath stuttered, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. “c-caleb, i wasn’t—he didn’t—”
“shut it,” he snarled it, close enough for your lips to brush, and the force of it made your breath stutter. his hands came up—hard—gripping your waist, rough fingers digging into your hips like he meant to leave marks, like he wanted to brand you into him, carve out any memory of someone else’s eyes on your skin. caleb dragged you forward, chest to chest, his heart thudding against yours like war drums.
“i don’t want your pathetic excuses,” he ground out. “you don’t wear his name. you don’t smile at him.”
the silence after was suffocating.
his fingers curled tighter around your sides. his mouth hovered near your jaw, breath ragged and warm, chest heaving with every inhale like he couldn’t catch it. rage coiled off him in waves, not loud anymore—just molten, buried deep, a kind of fury that didn’t explode. it consumed. slow. controlled. and it was deadly.
and it was all aimed at the thought of him touching you.
of you letting him.
caleb’s thumb ghosted over your ribs, rough and possessive, tracing the bare skin now exposed in the absence of that damned shirt.
his mouth crushed against yours before you could speak—hot, brutal, punishing. all teeth and fury, like he wanted to bite the silence from your tongue, like tasting you was the only thing anchoring him to the present. he didn’t kiss you so much as devour you, lips bruising, jaw tense with barely-contained rage, breathing you in like you were air after drowning.
his hands were everywhere—frantic, careless. they slid down the arch of your spine, fingers pressing into every vertebra like he meant to memorize the shape of you, then sank lower, palms gripping your ass with bruising force. he hauled you against him so hard your breath fled, pelvis grinding to his through the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. he was already half-hard. already throbbing through the thin barrier between you. the press of it against your lower stomach made your knees tremble.
and then his gaze dropped.
his eyes caught on the denim. the sound that tore from his throat was less a breath and more a mocking scoff.
the low-rise shorts clung to your hips like sin, skin peeking out from under the frayed hem, teasing with that reckless kind of innocence that only made his fury burn hotter. they sat just high enough to hint at modesty but dipped scandalously low, hugging the softness of your waist like a taunt.
slowly, he reached down—deliberate, fingers flexing—and let his hand splay flat over your stomach. his palm was hot against your skin. the heel of it rested against the waistband, and then—without breaking eye contact—he slipped his thumb beneath it. just the barest intrusion. a single brush of rough skin over the delicate swell of your mound, not enough to touch you properly, but enough to make your whole body jerk with a whimper.
“these,” he sneered. “you wore these to the paddock? while he was watching?” his voice dropped into a guttural rasp. you opened your mouth to protest, but his voice cut you off—deeper now, dipped into something feral.
“he was probably fucking imagining what you looked like bent over the pit wall in ‘em,” caleb rasped, and the way he said it—like it sickened him, like it possessed him—made your stomach twist.
his eyes darkened—and in one swift, brutal motion, he popped the button on the shorts with a flick of his thumb. the metallic click echoed in the room like a shot. then his fingers gripped the zipper and yanked it down so roughly you gasped, fabric jerking against your hips before it slid down to your thighs, pooling at your feet in a useless, tangled heap.
he didn’t stop. his hand moved fast, unforgiving—already pulling your panties to the side before you had time to react. the elastic scraped the crease of your thigh, baring you to the chill of the room and the heat of him, and still, he didn’t look away. didn’t blink. just stared down at your cunt like it had betrayed him, like it belonged to him and had wandered somewhere it shouldn’t have.
“c-caleb,” you stammered, your voice catching, high and desperate, “you’re being—,” but the words dissolved on your tongue.
because his fingers were there, already brushing against slick heat, already groaning under his breath like it physically hurt him that you were wet for this—wet for him, even now, even after everything.
you could hardly breathe.
your head lolled against the wall as his fingers fucked you open—deep, firm, unrelenting. You were soaked, the wet sounds of it obscene in the charged silence, broken only by the staggered hitch of your breath and the rough rasp of his. your thighs were trembling, barely holding you upright, and caleb didn’t let up. he wouldn’t let up.
his voice curled against your ear, low and smug and absolutely feral. “you’re not even trying to stop me.” your mouth opened but nothing came out—just a soft, cracked moan. “yeah,” he hissed. “that’s what i thought.”
he drove his fingers in deeper, curling them just right—pulling a strangled sound from your throat. your hips jerked helplessly, and he groaned as your pussy clenched, dripping all over his knuckles.
“f-fuck,” you gasped, arms scrambling for purchase across his chest, clutching at the fabric of his fireproofs like he was your anchor. “c-caleb, i—nnh, please—”
you whimpered, broken and breathless, voice catching on each gasp. “i-i didn’t mean—nnh ahhh—d-didn’t mean to—”
“you wore that fucking shirt. wore his team, his number, his name. you meant it.” his teeth dragged over your neck, biting down hard enough to make your legs quake. “don’t act like you don’t like this. like you don’t love being fucked dumb right after i almost took him off the track.”
you sobbed out a noise that barely resembled his name—“p-please, i—oh, god—”
his fingers hit that spot again, and your body jolted, hips rocking into his palm like you couldn’t help it. the muscles in your stomach tensed, fluttering around the edge of your climax. he felt it, saw it, and laughed—low and delighted.
“oh, baby… gonna cum, aren’t ya’?” he mocked, breath hot against your jaw, eyes glittering. “you’re so easy. just a couple fingers and you’re already soaking me. dripping like a goddamn whore.”
“p-please—ah—please, i can’t—” your words broke apart, swallowed by the sounds of your own whimpers as your orgasm built sharp and unbearable. “i-i c-can’t hold it, caleb, i—fuck—”
“then don’t.” his hand gripped your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “let me hear how mine you are.” and you shattered. a sobbing, shaking mess.y our body locked up, thighs clenching around his wrist as you came with a choked cry—wet and slick and pulsing so hard around his fingers you felt your knees threaten to give out. caleb held you upright through it, murmuring dark praise between your panting breaths.
“that’s it. that’s my girl.” he pressed a kiss to your temple—mockingly tender, wicked and warm. “so good when you’re ruined.” his fingers slipped free with a wet noise, glistening in the low light. he brought them to your lips, eyes still sharp and burning. “suck f’ me, will ya’?”
you blinked, dazed, mind swimming in the haze of pleasure and want. slowly, obediently, you parted your lips, tongue flicking out to wet them just before his fingers slid into your mouth. the taste was warm, messy—you, tangled with him—and the sound that escaped you was soft, shameless, utterly desperate.
caleb’s groan rumbled low in his throat, eyes darkening as he watched every motion, every subtle shift of your tongue curling around his fingers. “god, you look so pretty like this,” he rasped, dragging those soaked fingers out with a sharp pop that echoed in the quiet room. “dumb little mouth wrapped around what’s mine.”
you whimpered, the sound raw and fragile, knees trembling as they brushed his in the cramped space. your body sagged into his, burning and unsteady, craving his touch like air. then that smirk—slow, sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife dragged through silk. his voice dropped even lower, slow and deliberate, thick with dark amusement. “think we’re done?”
your breath hitched, caught in your throat as his eyes bore into yours, unblinking and heavy with promise. the room seemed to pulse around you, heat swelling in your skin, every nerve ending screaming alive. you tried to shake your head, but your voice was barely a whisper, broken and trembling: “n-no—please…”
his fingers curled in a slow, possessive grip against your jaw, tilting your face up so your lips hovered just inches from his. “behave,” he murmured, voice rough like gravel. “because i’m nowhere near finished with you.”
his mouth claimed yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip as his hands gripped your hips, holding you so tightly it was almost painful—but you didn’t care. you were already melting into him, breath shallow and fast, heart hammering against your ribs like a warning bell.
without hesitation, he ripped open his fireproofs, pulling out his thick, heavy cock, already leaking thick beads of precum, flushed red from holding back for too long. he shifted, pressing the full length of himself inside you, inch by agonizing inch, his body a hot, solid weight that filled every space. your breath hitched sharply, a stuttered moan slipping free as your walls stretched and clenched around him, tight and trembling.
your body jolted—smack!—as he bottomed out in one punishing motion. he didn’t stop to let you adjust. he just started fucking you. hard.
“is this what you needed?” he snarled, teeth at your throat again, biting down—hard. “some real fucking? not the attention of some weak little paddock rat.”
you sobbed, arms flying to his shoulders, clawing for purchase. he drove into you over and over, hips snapping up—wet noises echoing through the room. your slick ran down your thighs, onto his, then pooling onto the floor.
“fuck, you’re mine,” he growled into your hair, voice thick with need and possession. His hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “say it. say it or i’ll fill you up and walk out without another word.”
“i—i’m yours!” you sobbed, legs trembling. “caleb, please—i’m yours, i’m yours! a-always yours!” another slap to your ass—sharp, loud. then his hand gripped your hair, yanked your head back, and his teeth sank into your shoulder—deep, a bite so hard it made stars dance behind your eyes.
“you wear my number. my colors. my fucking name on your back. not that mclaren shit or anything else. never fucking again.” caleb’s hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust a brutal claim that sent your body shuddering beneath him. his teeth grazed your collarbone, sinking in deeply with a savage bite that left a bruised crescent burning hot against your skin. You gasped, head thrown back, breath shattering into sharp sobs that mixed pain and pleasure so fiercely your whole body trembled uncontrollably.
“fucking feel that, yeah?” he growled against your skin, voice thick with venomous hunger. your hands ripped down his sides, nails clawing cruel lines along his ribs as caleb dragged his teeth lower—trail of sharp bites blooming bruises along the curve of your tits, marking you with brutal possessiveness. “you think that idiot could ever fuck you like this? make you cry out, beg, lose your goddamn mind? no chance.”
you whimpered, caught between sobs and desperate moans, hips jerking instinctively with every ruthless stroke. “n-no—! only you, caleb! please—fuck, please mmm—!” your voice broke, breath hitching in a ragged stutter as your muscles clenched around him tighter, convulsing in waves of scorching overstimulation that stole your ability to think straight.
“bark f’me, sweet girl,” his teeth sank deep into your hip, biting down hard enough to draw a gasp, pleasure twisting with pain in a raw knot of sensation that made you cry out and claw at his back. “say you’re mine. my filthy little wreck, mine.”
“’m yours! yours, caleb!” you sobbed, body trembling, tears stinging your eyes as relentless orgasms crashed over you, folding you in a violent, layered tangle of ecstasy. your voice came out breathless and shattered, “please, don’t stop! i—i’m gonna—f-fuck, i’m gonna—please, i’m c-cummin’!”
“tell me,” he snarled against your neck, voice low, dark, teeth grazing skin like a threat, “tell me who you’re cummin’ for. me or that pretty little fucker?”
his hips snapped up cruelly, deep and fast, dragging a sob from your lips. his hand stayed locked tight around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who owned every gasp, every tremble.
“you!” you cried out, voice cracking on the edge of desperation. your nails dug into the fireproofs still half-wrapped around his waist. “you, sir—only you, ah, fuckkk—!”
he grinned, vicious and possessive, like your surrender was his prize. “yeah?” he hissed, slamming into you again. “say it louder. make sure even that bastard hears it next race.” caleb didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder, rough and relentless, like he was trying to erase any trace of rafayel from your body—if there’d ever been any. one hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight, the other still curved under your jaw, forcing your teary eyes to hold his.
“damn right,” he growled, sweat-slick and flushed, but no less in control. “say my name. not ‘sir.’ not ‘please.’ mine.”
your whole body jerked with each thrust, barely able to keep upright, tears streaking your cheeks. “caleb—! caleb, i’m—i’m yours, i swear—”
“louder,” he barked, voice edged in a snarl. “c’mon, sweetheart. want you hoarse for me. want that voice ruined so you can’t say shit to anyone else.”
you shattered then—crying his name, choking on your moan as your body seized, shaking, breaking apart in his hands like it always did. and he didn’t let up. not when you came, not when your body tried to squirm away from the overstimulation.
“too much?” he murmured mockingly, breath hot against your temple. “too bad. i haven’t had enough yet. not till i’m sure he knows you walk funny tomorrow ‘cause of me.”
he crushed his mouth to yours, swallowing your desperate sounds with a hungry roar, his fingers digging deep into your hips as he drove you harder over the edge. your walls fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing uncontrollably as you teetered on the brink—then tipped.
your body convulsed violently, a flood of sensation so fierce it wracked every nerve ending. you cried out, a broken, trembling sound filled with pure, overwhelming need. his thrusts became more savage, relentless, “mine,” he rasped between clenched teeth, voice thick and harsh as he chased his own climax, “only mine. gonna fill you up so fucking deep you’ll be leaking my cum for days.”
the force of him stole your breath again as another orgasm ripped through you, your body arching wildly. you trembled, clinging to him, sobbing his name like a prayer. he chased you over the edge, one hand tangled possessively in your hair, the other bruising your waist as he came with a shuddering, broken groan—low, guttural, right against your skin—his teeth sinking into your neck as he spilled hot and thick inside you, every pulse of him a claim you’d never shake.
he stayed still a moment, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, panting like he’d survived a battle. then—slowly—he pulled out. you whimpered at the sudden empty ache, your slick and his own, trailing down your inner thighs.
your body was still quaking when caleb carried you, trembling and ruined, to the couch—his grip bruising, but reverent. his jaw was tight, his breath still shallow from the exertion, and the whole room still reeked of sex and heat and rage. your thighs stuck to his fireproofs, slick and smeared, and your chest rose in ragged, shallow pants as he laid you down like you were something precious—but barely.
"look at you," he muttered, his voice hoarse with raw satisfaction. "still shakin’. you don't even know your own name, do you?"
your only answer was a weak, broken sound—something between a whimper and a plea. he chucked, low and dangerous, fingers brushing your jaw as his other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open again just to look. but then—he stilled.
his thumb stopped where it had been tracing, reverent in its own brutal way. his gaze, once burning with hunger, flickered—hesitating. you blinked through the haze clouding your vision, and there he was again: caleb, not the fire-eyed predator but the boy who used to hold your hand under the covers during thunderstorms, the boy who always laced your shoelaces when your fingers were too cold to do it yourself.
“…fuck,” he murmured, and something in his tone cracked open. he exhaled hard and let your thigh fall gently against the couch cushion, his body sinking beside yours, no longer looming—folding. a different kind of tension took its place, quieter, older. his hand cupped your cheek again, softer now, trembling faintly.
"you okay?" he asked, and his voice was lower. wrought with guilt, with fear, with love. "talk to me, love. tell me you’re okay."
you nodded, just barely, then leaned into his palm with a broken little sound. “o-okay…’m okay,” you breathed, voice ragged but true.
he closed his eyes.
for a moment, caleb didn’t say anything. just let his forehead press to yours. his thumb traced the line of your cheekbone like you might vanish if he didn’t keep anchoring you to him. then, with careful arms, he pulled you into his lap—blanketing you in the throw he’d once haphazardly tossed on the couch. your legs curled over his, trembling.
“you’re shaking,” caleb murmured again, his voice low and rough, like gravel coated in velvet. the heat radiating from his body pressed against your back was a fierce, solid warmth that somehow grounded you, but you could still feel the tremors racing through your limbs—shaky, fragile, like you were made of glass. his arms tightened around you, not crushing, but possessive, protective—as if he wanted to keep you from breaking apart entirely.
his lips brushed your skin like a feather in slow, feather-light kisses. first your bare shoulder, where the soft warmth of his mouth left a trail that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. then along the hollow of your collarbone, his breath hot and steady, carrying the faint scent of smoke and sweat from the race—intoxicating and unmistakably him. when his mouth ghosted to the corner of your lips, he paused, lingering like he was memorizing your shape, tasting the faint salt of your skin, the quickening pulse beneath.
“you scare the shit out of me sometimes,” he breathed, voice husky and trembling with emotion, the raw vulnerability undercut by the fire of his obsession. “the way i feel about you... it’s not normal. maybe it’s because… i love you more than you realize.”
his hands roamed slowly now, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive tenderness that set your nerves alight. one palm slid down the curve of your side, fingers pressing into your hip bone, grounding you in the heat between you. the other curled in your hair, thumb brushing your temple softly, coaxing the tension out of your clenched muscles.
“you don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, voice rough but gentle. “just be here with me.”
your eyelids fluttered open, meeting his gaze—dark, intense, burning with a hunger that softened only when it landed on you. the sight made your heart squeeze painfully, a sweet ache that spread through your limbs like wildfire.
your fingers twined tightly in the thick fabric of his fireproof suit, heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break free. you curled into him, the solid beat of his heart against your palm a grounding anchor amid the storm of emotion crashing through you. no words came—only the soft press of your lips against his jaw, the whisper of a kiss that said everything you couldn’t say aloud.
caleb’s breath hitched sharply, eyes darkening with a fierce tenderness as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. his thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped silently down your cheek, his touch so gentle it made your breath catch. his smile was fragile, barely there—but real. like he was offering you a piece of his soul wrapped in vulnerability.
“you’re everything to me,” he confessed, voice thick and laden with something bittersweet, a promise and a curse intertwined. “every lap, every breath, every fucking heartbeat. you ruined me, and i don’t ever want to be put back together.”
his arms squeezed you tighter, possessive and fierce, a silent vow to keep you safe and claim you utterly. the heat from his body seeped deep into your bones, steady and relentless, chasing away the shadows that lingered inside you.
your hand rose to cup his cheek, fingertips tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, memorizing the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. “l-love you..i’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling but resolute. a soft, possessive smile curved his lips. “yeah,” he said, voice low and thick with pride, “only mine.”
when he kissed you this time, it was different—slow and tender, a deep press of lips that spoke of ownership and devotion, not just need. his mouth was warm and soft, roughened by days on the track and sleepless nights, and the taste of him—smoky, faintly metallic, and utterly intoxicating—settled deep inside your senses. his hands cradled your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you that you were his, that you belonged here, to him, in this moment.
“sleep,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky but gentle, a soothing promise that wrapped around you like a blanket. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”
your eyelids fluttered closed, sinking fully into the fierce, steady warmth of his arms. his heartbeat thrummed against your back, a wild, unyielding fire that burned only for you—and you let yourself be consumed by it.
caleb didn’t sleep. not for a second.
he stood bare-chested in front of the fire, the room thick with heat and shadows that flickered like ghosts on the walls. the dry crackle of the flames filled the silence, but inside him, a storm still raged—cold, sharp, relentless—but not for you, no, never.
his knuckles bore the faintest traces of dried blood where he'd gripped the wall to steady you, but the ache there was nothing compared to the sharp edge of his hatred for rafayel. the mclaren tee lay crumpled at his feet—a stubborn reminder that wouldn’t fade.
he bent down and picked it up slowly, fingers tightening around the fabric, a silent vow burning hotter than the fire before him. with slow, deliberate movements, his fingers curled around the fabric, pulling it close. he traced the soft cotton absently, the smell faint but familiar, and it stabbed at him like a fresh wound. the color—too bright, too loud—reminded him of everything he hated to admit. he fed the shirt to the flames, watching the orange cotton curl, blacken, and twist in on itself. the smell of scorched cloth filled the room, but it couldn’t burn away the rancor that still coiled tight inside.
he didn’t blink until the last ember faded to ash, eyes cold and unyielding, mind still racing with bitter thoughts.
rafayel had crossed a line.
and caleb’s fire wasn’t ready to die down—not yet, not ever.
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bless, i'm here again bc i love lads & f1 so much and drawing parallels between drivers & the constructors in relation to the LIs has given me new life. hear me out, sylus is giving kimi raikkonen walking to his yacht in the middle of the monaco gp in 2006 & for raf's first win w mclaren the tattoo that zak brown gets would be whatever gp he won but in a raf stylized way
first of all—absolutely YES sylus absolutely would just vanish post race and reappear 15 minutes later shirtless on a boat with an aperol spritz like nothing happened 😭 media asking him about his DNF and he just goes “yk what it never was? that serious” and RAF that man would show up to the tattoo parlor with a team camera crew and zero hesitation 😔
zayne williams or aston nonie back again and i appreciate your analysis/reasoning for aston!zayne i just pray that man has better luck than fernando (oh my god, he IS fernando bc driving w aston is like fighting w astra themselves) also, as a sylus girlie i pray to god that ferrari!sylus is nowhere close to how charles is feeling rn 🥲
aston!zayne is like “i’m not fighting for position, i’m fighting for my life” 💔 that man is one divine inconvenience away from combusting mid race LOL
sylus would be the most unserious ferrari driver in history, he could crash out of a race and still walk through the paddock like its fashion week or smth. that man wouldn’t care if he got overtaken on the last lap, he’d just think “he prolly needed it more than i did” ferrari could be burning to the ground rn and he’d be like “damn that’s crazy” 😭
if caleb’s a panty sniffer then i’m in his laundry basket kicking my legs in the air sniffing his shirts like they’re lines of coke. his sweat prolly smells like god’s tears i’d hotbox his sweat like it’s sage and bottle that scent n gas my room with it like it’s holy water in aerosol form. i’d wear it like perfume, spray it on my pillow and dream in 4K. febreze could never.
i want his gym towels wrung out over my head. put caleb’s used shirt within a 10ft radius and i’m foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. throw me his gym socks and i’m rolling on the floor like it’s laced with catnip. i don’t want a hug, i want to crawl inside his dirty hoodie like a parasite. i want to live in his scent like it’s rent-free housing. i’d sniff his armpit and see god.
deodorant? i want the raw ancestral scent of battle-worn armpits that could resurrect extinct urges in my caveman instincts. gym sweat? i want the raw pheromonal punch of olympian-grade pit sweat brewed under pressure like wine. let me marinate in his dirty clothes like i’m sous-viding myself. i’m not okay and the fabric softener can’t save me
✧ motogp racer!caleb’s switch to yamaha was the kind of career move that made headlines for weeks. after dominating on a honda and earning himself a rep as the most aggressive, ego-fueled rider on the grid, people thought he was crazy to leave a championship-winning seat. but caleb doesn’t do comfort—he does legacy. he saw yamaha as a sleeping giant, and he wanted to be the one to wake it up. fans are obsessed, haters are louder, and all caleb ever says is: “if god wanted you to beat me, he would have made you faster.”
✧ motogp racer!caleb rides like he’s got something to prove to god and the devil both. he leans into every turn with elbows out and throttle wide open, the kind of rider who takes late brakes not because he’s reckless, but because he trusts his instincts and skill beyond reason. to his rivals, he’s a storm on wheels: unpredictable, relentless, and utterly terrifying. you know he’s dangerous, but that’s what makes him so exciting—and why you can’t look away. caleb doesn’t care about being loved. on track, caleb’s reputation is ironclad—he’s the aggressive force rivals fear, the rider who never backs down. he cares about being feared on track—and loved by you. and as long as he’s got both? he’ll keep pushing the limit.
✧ motogp racer!caleb doesn’t just want the win—he wants the highlight reel. he’ll divebomb into gaps no one else would dare, snatch p1 on the last second just to make a statement, and leave tire marks on your rival’s ego. and caleb loves winning, but more than that, he loves winning while you’re watching. you’re always in his paddock box, and every time he overtakes someone on the inside like it’s child’s play, the first thing he does post-race is walk up to you, pull off his helmet, smirk, and say: “ya proud of me, pipsqueak?,” that look in his eyes says it all—he craves your approval above all. it’s his way of sharing the victory, turning every daring move into a love letter meant only for you.
✧ motogp racer!caleb has kissed you while still in his race suit, helmet half-on, grease on his cheek and all. once did it during parc fermé just to piss off a rival. “tell him i’m busy,” he muttered before yanking you in by the waist. cameras caught it live—twitter exploded. but for caleb, it was never about the show. it was a raw declaration: "i'm here, and you're mine. no one else gets to touch this."
✧ motogp racer!caleb has a small locket necklace, looped around the handlebar of his bike. inside is a photo of you, edges worn from how often he opens it. right before every race, while the rest of the grid gets into formation, caleb leans down and presses a kiss to the locket. it looks like part of his routine—checking something on the bike—but really, it’s a silent prayer. ”keep me safe, sweet girl. let me come home to you.” he doesn’t believe in much, but he believes in you. he won’t admit it, but if he crashes or something goes wrong mid-race, the first thing he checks—before even his own injuries—is if the locket’s still there. his mechanics have caught him holding it during cooldown laps, whispering your name under his breath like it’s the thing that keeps his heart beating steady. to him, that tiny piece of you tethered to his bike is his lifeline in the chaos.
✧ motogp racer!caleb’s race radio is usually a mess—half tactical, half pure chaos. he’s swearing at rivals, calling out blocks like a street fighter, and trash-talking anyone who so much as looks at his line wrong. but the second he hears you’re tuned in? silence. calm. professional. like he didn’t just call another rider “a blind donkey on two wheels” thirty seconds ago. his crew teases him mercilessly for it—“oh, now you’ve got manners?”—but he just shrugs and mutes himself mid-eye-roll.
✧ motogp racer!caleb has a ritual after every win—and it’s not champagne or showboating, it’s you. the second he rolls into parc fermé, helmet still on, engine still cooling, he’s searching the crowd for you with laser focus. doesn’t even take his visor off until you’re there. then he hands you a sharpie, holds his helmet steady like it’s a relic, and says, “go on, make it official.” every win means a fresh signature from you scrawled right across the edge of his visor.
✧ motogp racer!caleb is insufferable post-win. he’s sweaty, smug, and clingy. helmet still in hand, trophy under his arm, and he’s already wrapping both arms around your waist whispering, “say it. say i’m the best. say it or i’ll crash next weekend.” and god forbid you miss a race. he’ll sulk in the team garage like a kicked dog. dramatic texts like, “you abandoned me. i nearly died on lap 12 and you weren’t even watching,” followed by a selfie with your initials scrawled on his forearm in sharpie: “in mourning. come back.”
✧ motogp racer!caleb who’s constantly neck and neck with sylus on the track — no one knows why, and neither do they. sometimes it looks like a fierce rivalry, other times like a secret competition to see who can push the other crazier. fans love the unpredictable drama they create, with caleb’s aggressive style clashing perfectly against sylus’s reckless daredevil moves, making every race between them must-watch chaos. but you know, deep down, caleb respects sylus because they both share that wild hunger—the kind that only true racers understand.
✧ motogp racer!caleb insists you wear a bold red lipstick on race days, because “if i’m going down, i’m going down with a kiss.” he grins every time he leans down to steal a kiss before pulling on his helmet, making sure your signature kiss is the last thing he feels before the race starts. one time, you forgot. he made the entire team wait while you reapplied it. “we’re not starting this race until i get my war paint,” he said, already leaning in. that lipstick is more than color—it’s his battle cry, his reminder that no matter what happens on track, he’s got you waiting on the other side.
✧ motogp racer!caleb insists on stitching your favorite color into every racing suit he owns. not just for the aesthetics, and definitely not because the brand told him to. it’s personal. a streak of your favorite color runs somewhere on every race suit—sometimes a bold stripe down the side of his leg, sometimes hidden in the inner lining of his gloves, and other times just a thin seam over his heart.
when fans first noticed, they thought it was a new team color experiment. journalists speculated about brand deals or helmet designers getting playful. but it was never about any of that. caleb doesn’t explain it in interviews. just smirks and says, “looks good, doesn’t it?” but when you’re around, and he’s getting suited up before a race, he always tugs at the collar of his suit to show you the colored thread stitched just below his neck and says softly, “told ya i'd take you with me.”
he started doing it after a rough season—bad crashes, poor qualifying, press breathing down his neck. you had been wearing that color in the paddock one sunday, and he swore it was the first time he’d felt calm in weeks. after that, he quietly asked his suit designers if they could add a custom lining—just for him. you once joked about switching your favorite color just to see what he’d do. he didn’t laugh. just leaned in, kissed your forehead, and muttered, “then i guess i’ll start over. i’ll repaint the damn bike if i have to.” because for caleb, the color isn’t just a detail. it’s you. and if he’s going to push 360 km/h down a straight with everything on the line, he wants you on his skin.
✧ motogp racer!caleb has a custom decal on the side of his yamaha—just below the fuel tank, where his glove brushes every time he leans into a corner. it's small, barely noticeable on tv unless the camera catches it at just the right angle, but unmistakable once you know it's there: your initials, in your handwriting, wrapped in a soft red heart. he asked you to write them on a scrap of paper one night—no explanation, just handed you a pen and said, “write it how you always sign your notes to me.” a few weeks later, it showed up on his bike. glossed over, sealed under protective film, but always in his line of sight when he climbs on.
he doesn’t talk about it in interviews. doesn’t flaunt it. but everyone in the paddock knows what it means. his mechanics smile when they clean the fairing and double-check the decal. one of his rivals once tried to mock it, and caleb just looked up, deadpan, and said, “that’s the only thing on this bike i wouldn’t trade for a win.”
it’s not for attention. it’s for him. for the quiet moment before the lights go out, when he presses two fingers to your initials and whispers under his breath, “still with me, yeah?” because in all the chaos, speed, and noise—you're his anchor.
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THE SCRIPTORIUM : catalogue of ink-stained offerings
welcome to the scriptorium — a quiet sanctuary for every arhived piece penned with intention — not for the masses, but for the ones who listen between lines.
📂 CALEB XIA : the ink that burns softer than fire
✦ FICS — where love simmers beneath restraint
push n' fracture ! : f1 rider!caleb
push n' fracture 2 ! : f1 rider!caleb + f1 rider!rafayel
✦ DRABBLES & ONESHOTS — love that bends like twilight
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