"Leclerc And Gasly Have Been Fighting In Formula 1 For 4 Years And I Have The Impression That They Are

Omg can you please write some smut with Lando about the FIA gala??? He looks so hot in that suit and I need something about it🥵😭 Maybe after the gala ended and they’re back to their hotel or they fuck while they’re on the plane back to Monaco.

The FIA (Feral Instincts Arise) Awards | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I knew there would be requests for this the second I saw Lando on that carpet. Bon appétit 😛

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𐙚 summary ──── It's the 2024 FIA Awards, and Lando and his girlfriend can't help but steal a moment of passion, unable to resist the tension built through teasing touches and glances during such a glamorous night.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, established relationship, teasing, mild public intimacy, smut, descriptive language, fingering, bathroom sex, swearing.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.2k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 14, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── I have nothing to say except that I am absolutely devastated that my role model and inspiration, Michèle Mouton has officially retired from her role as FIA Safety Delegate. I love her so much and will forever be grateful for the representation she provided for women in motorsport throughout the years. In other news, at least everybody looked so fucking hot last night.

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IT WAS PURE torture for her to see him up on that stage from the beginning of the evening. She’d sat in the audience, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude for being able to be by his side during this exciting stage of his life — witnessing his hard work, his wins, and his dreams becoming reality. It's more than she ever imagined.

As she watched him, she realized she wasn't just proud of his accomplishments, but thankful to be the one he comes home to, the one who gets to share these moments that will live forever in both of their memories.

Standing up to cheer for him, as Lando’s name was announced for finishing second in the Drivers’ Championship, was a natural reaction. The applause was loud, a mix of respect and so much admiration for her determined racer boy who had fought tooth and nail all season.

McLaren’s triumph in the Constructors’ Championship only added to the celebration, the team beaming as they ascended the stage to accept their award.

While the room celebrated them, all she could think about was him — her man, standing under the spotlights, looking impossibly handsome in his perfectly tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. He looked perfect, from his styled curls to his sharp jawline and sweet, nervous smile. She felt very conflicted, overwhelmed with pride and love, yet squirming with a different kind of heat every time he looked for her in the audience. The way his dimple appeared when he smiled, the casual confidence in his voice as he gave his speech, and the glint of determination in his eyes as he thanked the team for having faith in him — every bit of it was intoxicating.

Now, at the dinner table, the atmosphere has shifted.

Glasses of champagne catch the glow, sparkling like liquid gold, as conversations hum softly among the elite of the motorsport world.

Lando sits beside her, relaxed in a way only he can manage after such a long, eventful evening. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms. He holds a champagne flute in one hand, the other resting lazily on her thigh beneath the table.

She can feel the warmth of his palm on her skin, his fingers flexing ever so slightly. It’s a casual touch — he’s sipping champagne, laughing at something Oscar just said — but the effect it has on her is anything but relaxed. Her heart races every time his thumb brushes against her soft skin, slow and intentional, almost like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

Her own glass of champagne sits untouched in front of her, her attention split between the conversation around them and the heat blooming under Lando’s hand. She tries to pay attention, nodding along while Andrea talks about some funny incident that happened in the garage during the last race of the season. But her thoughts keep drifting back to him.

She glances over at Lando, her breath catching at how effortlessly handsome he is, now that he’s more relaxed and in his element. The golden light softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost ethereal. But it’s the dimpled smirk that forms as he catches her staring that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Everything okay, gorgeous?” asks Lando, his voice low enough that only she can hear.

She nods, swallowing hard. “Positive. I'm just incredibly proud of you, that's all.”

His smirk widens, his thumb stroking her thigh with more purpose now. “You’ve said that already,” Lando murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes her ear. “But keep going. I like hearing it,” he adds, pressing his lips to her cheek.

She smiles, looking away, determined not to let him fluster her further.

However, Lando has other plans. His fingers trace unhurried patterns on her inner thigh, edging closer to the hem of her dress. The movement is subtle — nobody at the table would notice — but to her, it feels like her skin is burning. Her breathing gets heavier, and she shifts in her seat instinctively, her legs parting just enough under the table to grant him more access.

“My good girl,” whispers Lando, smiling against her cheek, then turning his attention back to the conversation.

Her heart skips at the quiet praise, and she shoots him a quick, warning glance, her eyes wide with panic.

Lando looks completely unbothered, taking part of the dialogue like he’s the epitome of innocence. The slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips tells a very different story, though. A secret one, that only they know about.

“Stop it,” she whispers through gritted teeth, her voice so low that it’s practically a breath.

Obviously, he doesn’t. If anything, her quiet protest seems to spur him on. The pads of his fingers creep higher, brushing dangerously close to the heat between her legs. She grips the stem of her champagne flute tightly, her knuckles white as she tries to take her first sip of alcohol of the night — at least then she'll have something to blame if anyone asks her why she got so flustered all of a sudden.

“Lando,” she warns, her voice soft but firm.

“Hm?” he hums, his expression completely neutral as he keeps his attention to Oscar, who’s recounting his Turn 1 incident from Abu Dhabi.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to squirm in her seat. She almost can not believe how shameless Lando is, then she remembers all the times he tested her patience when they were in public. At that, her free hand drops to her lap, fingers wrapping around his wrist in an attempt to still his movements. He doesn’t pull away, but he also still doesn’t stop. Instead, his thumb presses a little harder, a constant reminder of his presence.

“You’re squirming, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “People are going to notice.”

“Then stop,” she repeats quietly, her tone sharp enough to earn a quick, curious glance from Andrea, who's sitting across from her. She ends up forcing a small smile, nodding, then turning back to Lando.

He chuckles under his breath, leaning in just slightly so his words are for her ears alone. “But we’re having so much fun,” he teases.

Her body betrays her as heat pools low in her belly, and she can’t stop herself from shifting again, her legs spreading a fraction wider. Lando takes full advantage of the movement, his fingers grazing higher until they’re just shy of where she needs him most. She glares at him, her eyes filled with need and her cheeks burning when his fingers slide easily over her lace panties, pressing harder on her warmth. As a response, her body jerks, and she barely suppresses a gasp, her nails digging into his wrist.

“I hate you,” she mutters under her breath, her voice shaky.

His grin returns, and he tilts his head, finally looking at her again. His gaze is dark, heated, and he looks entirely pleased with himself. “No, you don’t,” says Lando, so sure of himself.

It’s a miracle she doesn’t combust on the spot.

Because he's right — she doesn't hate him, she hates the fact that they're in public and she's incredibly turned on, but there's nothing she can do about it.

Finally, she can breathe normally when he withdraws his hand from between her legs, just as casually as he’d started. Her body is still buzzing with the lingering traces of his touch as she places her hand lightly on Lando’s shoulder. Slowly, she rises from her seat, her fingers squeezing just enough to send him a silent message only he’d understand.

At that, Lando’s heart stutters for a beat, his mouth suddenly dry as he watches her glide gracefully toward the bathrooms. The way her dress hugs her curves doesn’t help the growing situation in his pants — it’s like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, a small punishment for what just happened between them. He tries to act like he's not affected, emptying his glass of champagne while his eyes turn back to the table, but his focus is scattered.

His hand still tingles from touching her under the table, and now he’s left to deal with the knowledge that his teasing had gotten to her.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Minutes tick by, though they feel like an eternity.

Lando finds himself forcing a laugh at something Oscar says, remembering how impossibly talkative his teammate gets when he has a few drinks on board. He shifts in his seat, trying to mask his growing anticipation, but she’s all he can think about. His fingers drum against his empty glass, the weight of the moment making it almost impossible to sit still.

Then, his phone buzzes inside his pocket, her name lighting up the screen.

He doesn’t need to answer to know it’s just a diversion, and she’s not waiting for a conversation, either — she’s just giving him an out.

Lando clears his throat, “Sorry, I have to take this,” he says, giving the table an apologetic smile, as he pushes back his chair and making his way out of the dining area with purpose.

His heart pounds in his chest as he walks toward the bathroom, careful not to seem too rushed, but acutely aware of the tension building inside his body with each step he takes.

The hallway leading to the bathrooms is quieter, lined with soft, ambient lighting and artwork that screams understated luxury. He takes a turn, his steps slowing as he spots her standing in front of the mirror inside the women's restroom. The space itself is elegant, all marble countertops and gold fixtures, with sleek stalls and huge mirrors.

She’s touching up her lipstick, her purse resting next to her, the subtle curve of her smile betraying the fact that she knows he’s behind her. Lando approaches slowly, his footsteps soft against the polished tile. When he’s close enough, his hands settle on her waist, his touch firm yet familiar as he pulls her closer.

“There you are,” he says, his voice low and full of heat. “Worried about your makeup when it’s just going to smudge off you anyway?”

Her smile turns into a smirk as she meets his gaze in the mirror. “God, you’re the worst,” she teases, her tone light but laced with something more intimate.

Lando chuckles while she turns in his arms. Her hands slide up his chest, her touch lingering as she looks up at him, her eyes dark with intent.

“Are you sure it can’t wait until we get back to the hotel?” asks Lando, even though he already knows the answer, because he knows the look she has painted all over her face very well.

Her lips brush against his cheek in a warm, lingering kiss before her breath tickles his ear. “Baby, that's hours away.”

She intertwines her fingers with his, and leads him to one of the stalls at the end of the bathroom. The space is just as luxurious as the rest of the venue — tall wooden doors that reach from ceiling to floor, polished brass locks, and a sense of privacy that makes it feel more like a secluded room than a bathroom stall. As soon as they step inside, the door locks with a soft click, and every ounce of restraint disappears.

Lando’s lips are on hers instantly, hot and demanding, his hands already traveling to the hem of her dress. There’s no time to waste, with all those people back at the table who could realize at any moment that it is no coincidence that they are both missing at the same time.

His hands slide up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress higher until he reaches the thin band of her panties. His fingers slip beneath the lace, tugging them down in one swift motion before his hand returns, sliding between her legs and finding her completely soaked.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his forehead resting against hers as his fingers dip into her heat. “All this from a bit of touching?”

Her breath comes out in a shaky laugh as she clutches his shirt. “No,” she whispers, “All this from watching you on that stage, sitting next to you the entire night, seeing how people were cheering for you — and then from a bit of touching.”

A cocky smirk tugs at Lando’s lips. “That so?” he asks, pressing a finger into her, his pace measured as he stretches her slowly.

She gasps, her head falling back against the door, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. A second finger joins the first, curling inside her as his thumb circles her clit, making her see stars.

Her hands, trembling with anticipation, move to his belt, fumbling for a moment before she pushes his pants down just enough to free his hardened cock. Her touch is soft at first, her fingers wrapping around him and stroking slowly, making his jaw clench.

She looks up at him, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she echoes his earlier words. “All this from touching me under the table?”

“Shut up,” he growls, grabbing her thigh and hitching it around his hip. His cock presses against her entrance, teasing her as he slides the tip through her slick folds.

“You shut up, and fuck me already,” she says, her voice thick with desire.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one swift thrust, he buries himself inside her, both of them gasping at the full sensation. The stretch is so sweet and perfect, and he pauses for just a moment, letting her adjust before pulling back and thrusting again, harder this time. Her back presses against the door, the cool wood contrasting with the heat of his body as he sets a relentless pace, in and out of her tight pussy. His hands grip her thighs, spreading her wider for him as he drives into her, each movement hungrier than the previous.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Lando groans, his lips brushing against her ear. “Perfectly thight around me, baby. Always so sweet and eager, aren’t you?”

She clings to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he angles his hips, hitting a spot that has her biting back a cry. “Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky and full of need, while trying to mimic his rapid movements.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, his voice rough as his fingers dig into her hips. “Let them hear you, baby. Let everybody know how well you take my cock.”

Her head falls on his shoulder as he thrusts deeper, harder, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her. The tension coils tighter and tighter in her belly, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge.

“Lando, fuck,” she moans wetly into his shoulder, feeling her pussy clenching around his length. “Shit, baby. Yes, don’t stop.”

As he buries himself so deep inside her, Lando realizes that's what he wants to do for the rest of the evening — the rest of his life, as a matter of fact. His lips part as he feels her walls twitching around him, making him — if that's even possible — even harder for her. His breaths come out in spasms, letting out a small cry of pleasure as his chest crashes against hers violently.

Sensing that she’s so close, Lando’s hand ends up slipping between their bodies to rub her clit in time with his thrusts. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

“Are you—oh, fuck,” she tries to speak, but all her thoughts are focused on how good he makes her feel.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando assures her, “Right behind you, love.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before she shatters around him, her walls clenching hard as her orgasm washes over her. Her moans are muffled against his neck as he continues to fuck her through her release, chasing his own high. His movements grow erratic, sloppier, his grip on her tightening as he finally lets go, spilling into her with a low, guttural moan.

For a moment, they can’t hear anything else except the soft whir of ventilation and their labored breathing. Their bodies stay pressed tightly together as the echoes of their pleasure lingers in the small space.

Her chest heaves against his as she exhales shakily, her lips brushing his neck, then up his jaw in a silent thank you.

Lando smiles, slowly pulling out of her, his cock still hard and sensitive from his release. She shudders at the sudden emptiness, but before she can speak, his hand slips between her thighs again. His fingers slide inside, pushing some of his cum and their mingled release back into her.

“Lando,” she gasps, her body clenching instinctively around his fingers.

His breath falls hot against her skin. “Gotta make sure you feel it all night.”

Her cheeks flush at his words, and she bites her lip, torn between glaring at him and melting into his touch. He strokes her lazily, savoring the way her body responds to him even now.

“Insane behavior, Norris,” she exhales sharply, finally looking up at him.

“My brand,” he smirks back at her. “But what about you, hm?” he asks, his tone soft, but teasing as his eyes rake over her wrecked expression. “Going back knowing you’re filled up so good?”

She rolls her eyes at him, but the heat in her gaze betrays her. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” he quips, fixing a strand of her hair and then kissing her deeply one last time.

She smiles against his lips, brushing her thumb over his mouth to wipe away the faint smudge of her lipstick. Then, leaning up, she presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “Don’t take too long, champ.”

With that, she exits the stall, glancing once in the mirror to make sure she looks composed, and collecting her purse before heading back to the table.

When she returns to her seat, the conversation flows just as before, no one paying much attention to her absence beyond a polite glance. Her heart pounds in her chest, the sensation of being so intimately connected to Lando still fresh in her mind as she settles into her chair. She picks up her glass of champagne, finishing it in one go, her hands steady despite the warmth still coursing through her body — and the wetness between her legs.

A few minutes later, Lando comes back, his phone pressed to his ear as he pretends to be mid-conversation. His expression is casual, his voice light as he murmurs something unintelligible before slipping his phone back into his pocket and taking his seat.

But as soon as he sits down, Oscar’s eyes narrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Lando catches the look, frowning slightly as he tilts his head. “What?” he asks silently, his expression confused.

Oscar doesn’t answer, instead he points directly at Lando’s bowtie, which is noticeably crooked.

Lando’s eyes widen as he glances down, and straightens it as casually as he can, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

“It's windy outside,” Lando mutters under his breath, low enough that only Oscar can hear.

His teammate just grins knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “Whatever you say, mate.”

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

Prize Giving Ceremony | Felipe Drugovich

warnings: none really, fluff, maybe mentions of alcohol

word count: 1.8 k

note: special thanks to my friend and editor @clemswinecorn4r, who helped me so so much and without her I wouldn’t have finished this in at least 2 years.

I looked up at the gorgeous building that the annual prize giving of Formula 2 and Formula 3 was held in. Our team; MP Motorsport, won both the team’s and the driver’s championship this year and I had no choice but to attend. Not like I mind showing up in a nice dress in Monaco to have a taste of the rich life. As I stepped inside, I could already see Ollie Bearman chatting with the Leclerc brothers all three sipping the champagne that is given out at the entrance.

“Did you know that the drinking age here is 18?” I asked Ollie after the brothers left us.

“I’m really close to 18, okay?” he replied.

“Like 6 months?” I asked with a huge smile, remembering how drunk he got at a club after Monza.

“Closer than you are!”

“Young man, you are being rude.” I nudged his shoulder.

“You started it, old lady.” he chuckled. “But doesn’t matter how old you are you still look good.”

“Thank you, Ollie, you look handsome.”

“I’m guessing you have to go.” he after spotting the golden boy of my team in the background.

I made my way over to Felipe Drugovich, winner of the Formula 2 championship this year, and the one that I had to stick with the whole evening. He looked lost standing in the hall, all by himself. His expression changed as soon as he recognized me. He looked like he found who he was looking for.

“What are we supposed to do now?” he asked me after greeting me with a hug.

“I don’t know, just chat around, you know.”

“Chat with who?” he stared at me, terrified with big eyes.

“I don’t have a list of people you have to talk to. We could introduce you to some new people maybe?” Felipe gave me the same horrified look. “Or… we could try to find some familiar faces from MP or even some Aston dudes?”

“Who is coming from MP?”

“Umm… Not sure, they only told me about is Sander Dorsman.”

“I don’t think that is a good idea.”

“You must be right. How about we talk to Victor Martins? I see him just now.” I nod in the direction of the Formula 3 champion.

“Do we really have to?” he asked me with a tortured look.

“I will help if it gets dull. That’s what I am paid for.” I grabbed his elbow and dragged him towards a group of people.

“Ah, here is our other star! Hello Felipe how are you?” asked Bruno Michel as soon as we arrived.

“Excellent, thank you.” said Felipe with a flawless smile, and then giving me a side-glance, that could kill. I always find it difficult not to giggle when Felipe is forced to socialize. He always needs somebody by his side, but he manages to do the job just fine himself. I’ve known him for three years now, and I had stood next to him countless times on occasions like this one, supporting him.

I took a sip of the champagne I’ve been holding since my arrival and finally took my time to check him out. He took things casually, but I could still see that he put a lot of effort into his appearance. I even thought he made a great decision with choosing a black shirt instead of a traditional white one.

There was something unusual about him that I just couldn’t figure out. He was glowing in a way. He looked like he was enjoying the conversation I dragged him into. Something I never thought would happen. Or maybe, after countless occasions he was able to fool even me into thinking he enjoyed himself. That thought disappointed and scared me at the same time. After complaining for almost a whole year about how much he missed my assistance while he was with another team, he was fine. He applied the techniques I taught him to deal with anxiety, subtly fidgeting, while keeping that perfect smile on his face the whole time.

It reminded me of something I wanted to keep out of my mind; this is my last time working with him. He won the championship, and he is leaving. I have known that for a while but it never hit me as hard as that moment. Highly unprofessional of me to be upset about it. But somehow, in the last three years we have grown a bond, making us more than just work mates. I really liked him as a person, as a friend.

His laugh snapped me out of my thoughts. I quickly looked around and everyone was looking at him, with bright smiles and some even politely laughing. But his eyes were glued to me. I had absolutely no idea what joke was made, but it looked like Felipe was the one to make it. And I was supposed to laugh too. I didn’t even realize that I lost my smile somewhere in my thought process. I took a sip again to hide my embarrassment as everyone carried on talking. From the corner of my eye, I could see Felipe still looking at me confused, but I chose to act like nothing happened.

With more and more people to arriving, and the small circle we were standing in, started to grow bigger and bigger, as everyone wanted to join the two champions. Finally, Laura Winter stepped on the stage and asked everyone to find their assigned seats and get ready to start.

The MP family’s table was right in the middle, visible to everyone in the room, alongside ART and Prema. The three teams that clenched a title this year. I sat down right next to Felipe and Jen. Everyone was politely chatting to their neighbors, or in some cases to somebody that was sitting on the other side of the table.

The lights got dimmed, a signal that the ceremony will begin shortly, and everyone finished the sentence they have started.

Felipe looked at me, smiling, enjoying the spotlight for once, but with fear in his eyes. Without words, I reached for his hand under the table and pulled it into my lap to hold with both of my hands. His eyes widened with surprise but he held my hand and squeezed it twice. I started playing with his ring, which seemed like a reasonable way to pass the boring moments, but I just ended up not paying attention, and not clapping when I was supposed to. And Felipe didn’t clap either. Seeing me terrified, he untangled our fingers and just placed his hand on my thigh. I hesitated, but put my palm on the back of his and, not wanting to let go of his touch.

“It is definitely easier to clap this way, right?” he mumbled so only I could hear.

I would lie if I gave any opinion about the ceremony, since I don’t remember anything other than Felipe’s thumb circling on my skin. I also remember feeling cold when he sometimes took it to clap, and once when he went to collect his trophy.

Once everyone got their awards and trophies, they asked the stars of the evening to gather for pictures. Felipe stood up and when he realized I wasn’t planning on joining him he bent down to whisper in my ear: “Are you seriously not coming with me?”

“Well… Uh, you have company, and I only have to accompany you when you would be alone otherwise.” I suddenly forgot how to speak English when he pressed a kiss on my cheek and said “You are an idiot. I want you to come.”

I closed my eyes for a second to gather my thoughts. I slowly stood up and face Felipe, him holding his arm out signaling for me to cling ono him. And I did.

“Looks like someone is very quiet this evening.” he murmured with a mischievous grin.

“Looks like someone decided to be unhinged this evening.” I responded, suddenly finding my voice.

“I have to shoot my shot, you know. I live on a rock that spins really fast.”

He guides me toward the few people that are already at the couch that they decided to use as a photo-corner.

“Felipe! Congratulations, I didn’t have the chance to talk to you yet.” said Fernando Alonso, greeting Felipe like an old friend. “And sorry, who are you?” he asks looking at me.

“Felipe come, please!” the photographer shouts, and as Felipe excuses himself, I am left with Fernando and George Russell, both staring at me, waiting for me to introduce me.

“Oh, sorry, how rude of me. My name is y/n, I work for MP Motorsport, as a social media manager basically.” I shook both of their hands.

“I knew you looked familiar.” George exclaimed. “You have been in this position for some time now, right?”

“For three years now, so yes, you could say.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I believe we have to go.” Felipe placed a palm on my lower back and guided me towards the exit.

“We can’t just leave Felipe! Half of these people are here to celebrate you!” I yelled at him as soon as he opens the door for me.

“But I want to be with you.” he said in a low voice.

“How many drinks have you had?”

“One?”

“Are you asking me this? Or are you asking yourself?”

“Why are you trying to change the subject? y/n, we really need to talk.”

“It can wait. Don’t get me wrong, I know we have to, but this is not an appropriate time.”

“Why? I have waited months and honestly, I feel like I wasted these months.”

“Months?” I felt my heart dropping to my stomach.

“Yes. But now we won’t be working together anymore. y/n, I think I am in love with you. And I hate the thought of you being away from me. Which may sound a little selfish, but I was hoping you would feel the same. So would you go on a date with me?” he asked anxiously while stepping closer to me.

“Felipe…” I breathe out.

“y/n, you know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. No pressure or anything, I just really wanted to tell you, okay?”

“No, it is not like this. I just don’t even know what to say and I really want to kiss your right now.”

And I did kiss him. Or perhaps he kissed me? Or perhaps it happened at the same time. It didn’t matter, because as soon as our lips met there was no way back. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces fell into place. I felt that this was right. He was right. I arrived to the destination I didn’t even know existed. It was home.

“You’re shivering. Let’s go back and from now on if anyone asks, you are my date.” he pulled me in for another kiss.

“That’s so stupid.” I said with the widest grin ever.

no more mister shy guy.

OP x fem!reader

in which you can’t work out why he just won’t sleep with you

i am neither normal, nor am i hinged! i hope you guys get the vision, i literally wrote this last night possessed by some feral urge bc i just love oscar sm and i’ve been needing to write for him sooo baaad. enjoy! pls lemme know what you think <3

songs to set the vibes: delicate by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, my kind of woman by max demarco, feeling myself by wolf alice

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp but also there is some plot? overstimulation, crying in a hot way, choking, unprotected sex (L bozo don’t do that!) the most minor moment of angst, fluff

2.8k words

you watch him make coffee, daydreaming, balancing your heavy head on your hand. you study him while your free hand taps against the kitchen counter, nails drumming a random beat. sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, framing him golden. you don’t think he knows how pretty he is.

oscar is oblivious to the way your mind is ticking behind him, twisting the cap on the carton of oat-milk. you hear the plastic fall onto the counter and your tongue wets your lower lip as he reaches up into the cupboard, his back flexing beneath his shirt as he finds your favourite mug. you realise then how swollen your lip is, snapped out of the trance he had you in, the one that had you biting your lip so hard, completely mindlessly.

he’s bulked up over the winter break, filled out a lot over the course of his rookie season. he’s no longer the scrawny, anxious guy you’d met at your fathers work event a year ago, he’s broader, thicker in your hands, utterly delicious. as much as you like the way he looks, you like his mind a whole lot more. if only you knew what was going on inside it.

oscar is an enigma, quiet, hilariously dry, the kindest man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. you’ve been together since the start of the winter break, november, after awkward run ins and plenty of pining since the start of his first season. you’d travel to races with your dad, a mclaren sponsor, and run into the australian, stare at each other and pretend no one noticed. after months of teasing from lando, oscar finally got the kick up the arse that he needed and you’d said yes to dinner before he’d even finished asking the question.

it’s february now, a week til he needs to be in bahrain. the last three months had been serene, spent with a man made of sunshine, and you’re sad to see him go, as if you won’t be in the emirates a mere four days after him. you fear the way you’ll ache for him, having been inseparable since the dinner that started it all.

but then again, it can’t be worse than the way you ache for him now.

“sweetheart?” oscar is waving his hand in front of your face when you realise he’s been calling your name for a good 15 seconds, and you have, in fact, been staring. hm? you jump, staring at him bewildered. he looks amused. “you okay?” he coos, sliding the coffee across the island towards you.

“yeah, sorry, i, um, i just- why won’t you have sex with me?” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you realise what you’ve just said.

oscar just blinks, mouth forming a little o, the permanent blush he seems to have increasing tenfold. you instantly feel guilty for ambushing him, but you were at the end of your tether. three months of nothing, nada, zilch. every move you made was refuted, ignored as if he was oblivious. you were ravenous for him, he’s so gorgeous! and you didn’t want to pressure him, but you were starting to feel like there was something wrong with you.

you’d wake up in bed with him wrapped around you, grinding against your ass in his sleep, and you’d revel in it, the rare times that he actually seemed to want you like that. you loved him regardless, of course you did, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need to be… dealt with. urgently.

“i- um- what?” oscar splutters, and the bottom of his mug blinks against the granite.

“is there something wrong with me? am i not pretty enough?” you whisper, shy. “do you just not… like- do you not want to do that?” you ramble.

panic fills his face, and he’s rushing around the island, by your side in an instant. he takes your hands into his, finding your eyes. they’ve grown watery, a mixture of guilt and desperation swirling in them which makes him feel ill.

“baby, no, god no.” he rushes the words out, desperate to convince you that it wasn’t you. “you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world, prettiest girl i ever saw.” he promises. “i’m just… it’s scary.”

“oh, osc.” your face falls, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you. if it makes you feel better, i’m scared too. but i love you so much, i just want to feel even closer to you.”

“you didn’t make me feel pressured, i’m just sorry i made you feel unwanted. trust me, i want you like that. drives me insane. but i’ve never had sex before with someone that i love. not the way i love you, anyway. scared that i won’t be good enough for you.” he murmurs.

you’re hung up on the part where you drive him crazy, the part where he loves you like that, and then you remember how vulnerable he’s being, baring his entire soul to you, and you rip yourself from the fantasy.

your hands smooth over his shoulders, until you’re softly fisting a clump of hair at the nape of his neck.

“i love you. insanely. we’ll go slow.” you state. he moulds further against you, and you quickly realise it’s for leverage, because the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. he has his hands hooked under your thighs and he’s kissing you so, so deeply that you’re dizzy. you don’t realise that you’re halfway to his bedroom until he pulls away.

“i don’t wanna go slow anymore.”

oscar places you on your feet at the end of his bed, the large, plush king-sized mattress that is currently calling both of your names. your blouse gets unbuttoned first, his hands shaking in a way that makes you melt, and his lips trail over every inch of bare skin that he uncovers. when it finally falls to the floor, his pupils are blown wide, his hands palming intricate black lace. your jeans are stripped away mercilessly, his hands shaking less now, and you take it as a sign to crawl backwards onto the bed.

he stands there, watching you, apprehensive again. you can see how hard he is, how desperately strained his cock is through the light grey of his sweatpants, and so you switch tactics. your hand grazes your tummy, skimming up your abdomen until you reach a bra strap. you toy with the elastic, holding the kind of eye contact that makes him twitch, tugging it until it hangs loosely off of your shoulder.

“i need you, osc. i trust you.” you utter, soft and enticing. one finger runs under the cup of your bra, flicking over your nipple. he can just about see the hardened bud through the lace of your bra. it’s not enough, though, and every ounce of self control depletes when you whine, “want you inside of me so badly.”

the elastic band snaps and he’s on top of you, rutting between your legs like a man starved. you drag his shirt up and over his shoulder blades, moaning as you feel each and every muscle under your fingertips.

“just wanna make you feel good.” oscar rasps, rolling his hips even harder into your core.

“take these off.” you beg, pulling at the waistband of his joggers. he somehow musters the strength to pry himself off of you, just long enough to discard the uncomfortable material of his sweats, but as soon as he looks down, his plans change.

painted over the crotch of them is a shiny pool of your slick, and when his eyes flit hungrily to your core, he sees where you’ve soaked through your panties. you’re panting when you see the stain, and you just want to get him inside of you, but his priorities have changed. oscar collapses between your legs, head buried, tongue exploring.

he groans, carnal and needy, into the fabric of your underwear, laving his tongue over the lace. your eyes widen as he dives in, licking over the wet patch until he grows frustrated. you hear the tearing of the fabric, feel his big hands pawing at your thighs to spread them as wide as they’ll go. his tongue slides right inside of you and he whines. he fucking whines. the vibration nearly makes you scream. you can’t believe this is your oscar, the same oscar that had quivered with nerves a mere five minutes ago.

“oh my god.” you chant, rolling your hips against his face. you must be all over him by now, what with the way he’s sucking and slurping, obscene sounds of wetness sounding around the room. you’d be blushing a deep red if you weren’t so turned on, shaking against his bedspread which will probably need changing once he’s done with you.

you thought that maybe he was inexperienced and that was the source of his fear, but if he was, you never would have known. he was a natural in between your legs, nipping at your clit to get you even louder for him.

you cum faster than ever, and he’s mumbling something incoherent into your pussy when you do. you’re riding the high, midway through the bliss, when a thick finger slips its way inside of you. oscar realises that he can easily slide another in, and he does. he doesn’t thrust them in and out, he grinds them against your walls, and your mouth falls open as a silent scream forces it’s way out.

you cum a second time, in record time yet again, and he still doesn’t let up. he’s hitting that spot relentlessly with his fingers, keeping your clit between his swollen lips, and you’re begging him. for what, you’re not sure, but you’re whimpering his name like you’re going to die. and what a good way to go this would be.

his eyes meet yours, and he looks unhinged. that’s when you feel it. that all consuming, belly twisting rush.

“oscar!” you try to warn him, but it’s too late, and he knows it. he makes you squirt, because of course he does. the shy guy who was scared that he wouldn’t be able to please you makes you squirt.

he pulls his mouth off of you but keeps his fingers buried deep, eyes fixed on watching the way your pussy convulses.

“holy shit.” you cry. you’re staring down at him like you’ve gone insane. he’s smiling innocently.

“was that good?” he almost sounds shy and you want to kick him.

“are you… are you serious?” you rasp. oscar just shrugs. “get up here.” you reach for him and complies, slotting himself between your legs once more.

oscar resumes the rolls of his hips, and the friction of the grey fabric against your core makes your eyes roll back.

“please, oscar, fuck me.” you whine, his head falling into the crook of your neck. he bites down, leaving behind the sting of his teeth and a faint purple splotch.

“fucking love you.” he slurs, his accent thickening in a way that makes him sound that extra bit fucked out already.

“i love you.” you murmur, forcing his sweats down his legs. his boxers are wet, just like your panties were, and you can’t help but stare. oh, it’s big.

his boxers are peeled down and you can feel yourself throbbing. his cock hangs heavy, red and dripping, painfully hard. you reach for it, looking at him to make sure it’s okay to touch, and he’s rapidly nodding his head. your small hand struggles but you make it work, and his head tips back, exposing his thick neck that you want to suck purple. your hand works over him a few times, and a visible shiver running through his body makes you stop.

“you ready for me?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“please.” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “however you want me, ‘m yours.” you breathe.

oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, your words sending his brain blank, and then he’s pushing home, slow and deep.

“fucking hell.” he groans, guttural. you’re so tight, warm, soaking wet. he feels like the biggest idiot in the world for waiting so long for this.

“oh.” you gasp, your eyebrows knitting together. he’s so deep. “so full.” you pant.

“can you take it, sweetheart?” oscar’s lips bump your jaw. “want you to take it.” you nod profusely, desperate to hear him run his mouth even further. your eyes clench shut when you feel him move, just the tiniest bit, readjusting.

“move.” you plead. he’s staring down at you, watching every single micro movement of your face.

oscar pulls out the smallest bit and thrusts back in, nice and slow. the drag drives you feral, the weight of him on top of you makes you weak. you want to stay like this until the end of days.

“good?” he hisses, trying to keep composed. he’s finally inside of you, claiming you as his in the most intimate way of all. he tries not to think about how many times he could have had you begging under him in the last three months.

“so good, so good.” you repeat, pushing your hips up to try and meet his.

“so pretty like this for me. always so, so pretty.” he rambles. he realises that he never quite made it as far as getting your bra off, and he needs to see all of you. the cups are tugged haphazardly down, and oscar stares at your breasts like he’s never seen tits before. you hear him hum, low and greedy, and then you feel the wet drag of his tongue across your nipple.

the animalistic whine that he rips from you makes him thrust harder, upping his pace a bit. he can hear how much wetter you get when he picks up his pace, and he changes up his rhythm, pushing all the way in and dragging out again at lightning speed. your jaw goes slack and your eyes are damp.

“baby, what’s wrong?” oscar slows to a stop, and you want to scream.

“no, no, no, keep going.” you choke out, your throat constricting with a sob. “it’s so good. feel so good.” you sound drunk, all for him, and he loses his mind completely.

he taps into that athletic stamina, fucking into you with a newfound vigour that you didn’t think was humanly possible, and you feel things that you didn’t even know you could feasibly feel. you see stars behind your eyes, his face, and nothing else but bright white. calloused fingers find your clit, and you wonder fleetingly if he’s trying to kill you when he rubs messy shapes into the much too overstimulated bud. his teeth graze your nipple, and everything seems to come together perfectly.

thick tears run hot down your cheeks, only to be licked away by eager tongue. your belly tightens, aflame for him; he’s wound your body up perfectly and you’ve never in your life teetered so dangerously over the edge.

“can feel you, baby. want you to cum, okay? ‘n then i’m gonna fill you up.” oscar grunts. you clamp down on him even tighter, thanking god for oscar’s filthy fucking mouth and birth control, and then everything snaps.

you think you scream, you know that you’re sobbing, and your throat is raw when the wave hits. oscar keeps going, intensifying your pleasure, and when he finally let’s go, it’s the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen. it’s surreal, the way his neck flexes, eyes clenched tight, brown locks flopping over his sweat damped forehead. and the sounds he makes, god. he’s muttering into your ear, lewd and shameless, and a fifth orgasm nearly takes you under.

“gonna need you everyday like this, tight fucking pussy, all mine. can’t live without this now. fucking perfect.” he’s rambling, burrowing deep into you one last time. you feel his warmth spilling into you, feel his hot breath fanning your face. he licks into your awaiting mouth.

“fuck.” you giggle, breathless.

“good?” he raises an eyebrow, grinning bashfully.

“more than worth the wait.” you whisper, mustering the strength to lift your head just enough so that you can peck his lips. “you better not hold out on me ever again though.” oscar laughs at that and you feel the rumble in your flushed chest.

“you promise?” there’s the shy guy again.

“osc, honey, that was the best. ever. ever. need you to be mr sex god more often.”

“only if you behave for me.” he smirks down at you.

“there he is.” you sigh happily.

when he snakes his way back between your legs, lapping up the mess he’s made, and then some, you wonder just what you’ve unleashed.

-

whoops? lol

-

taglist

@thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @charli123456789

(run outta space on my taglist lol, lemme know if u wanna be added or removed)

:)

flowers and rain –mick schumacher.

short story i wrote a while ago <3

pov: you and mick took a break, but he shows up on your birthday to talk to you.

you hear a knock on your door. "did you guys order anything?", you ask your friends while you walk to the door. you open it and your heart starts jumping on your chest as you lock eyes with the last person you thought would be standing outside of your apartment. mick gives you a shy smile, holding on for dear life on the flowers he bought for you.

"happy birthday, sunshine", he says, and you can't help but want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go. all the emotions you have been pushing away for the past 4 months come at you like a wave, drowning you. your eyes water and you give in, closing the distance between the two of you. you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him, closing your eyes, allowing yourself one moment of selfishness. you feel his arms quickly wrap around your waist and you inhale his minty scent, one that you never seem to get enough from.

"thank you, micky", you whisper against his ear. god you've missed him. the hug ends as you both separate from each other, although the minute that is over you are already missing the feeling of his body close to yours. you need to pull yourself together as he gives you the flowers. of course they have to be lilies, mick never forgets how much you love them. you accept them and you extend your arm and signal him to come inside. he does and you close the door, but he quickly stops and turns to look at you.

"i'm sorry i'm here this late", he says. "i just- really needed to see you, and wish you a happy birthday".

"it's fine, we stayed up chatting and all", you say. "mom and the girls came and we had a little party here".

speaking of them, angi calls out to you from your room. "y/n who is it? hurry up or we are gonna eat all the ice cream".

"i'm coming!", you yell at her.

"if you don't mind, i'd really like to talk to you", mick glances at the door and then at you again, feeling nervous. "but if you're busy i'll just-"

"no, don't go", you blurt, hating how needy you sound. but you cant stand the idea of him going away again. you are familiar with the pain that causes. "let me go tell them you're here and we can go to the rooftop and talk privately". you search for a vase to put the flowers on before going to your room. you open the door and put your hand on your mouth, still processing the fact that the boy you love is right outside waiting to talk to you.

your friends all give you confused looks.

"what's wrong? who was it?", mom asks you.

"mick is outside. he brought me flowers. and told me he needed to see me. and talk to me. and oh wish me a happy birthday like he doesn’t know that the best present i could receive is him standing outside of my door", you tell them as you simultaneously see them all open their mouths to form a perfect "o". "so i'm gonna leave you here, and i'm gonna go outside to talk to him, so behave", you say and you don't give them a chance to say anything as you slip away from the room and come back to mick. you both leave the apartment and take the stairs to the rooftop in silence.

what does he want to talk to you about? has he missed you like you've missed him? does he also want to get together because he finds that the world without you does not seem as colorful as it was before? is he gonna tell you he met somebody else and your break is more than over? thousand of questions swirl in your mind. you get to the rooftop and you take the both of you to the pair of chairs that are always in here but he shakes his head, as you hear thunder from afar.

"i would rather not sit. since i've been sitting during most of my trip", he says, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. he always does that when he's nervous.

you let out a sigh and decide to get this over with and finally know what's going on. "why are you here?"

"you know i've never been able to lie to you, even if i were, it would never be possible for me to hide how much i miss you. because i do, y/n, so fucking much", his blue eyes look sincere, and you feel the sudden need to cry. because it is obvious the break has affected you both the same way. "i understand why we decided to take a break, and it honestly seemed like the right call at the time, but it clearly wasn't. not when i can't seem to stop longing for you at every moment of the day. so i am here now, willing to put my heart out for you but most importantly willing to listen how you feel. and finally end this doubt that eats me alive every day.", his hands grip mine as he gives me a sweet look. "do you miss me too?"

"of course i do, micky. and this break has caused more pain than good. i know we were not in the best position when we decided to part ways for some time, but it was nothing compared to the hollow feeling that is not having you with me." you feel the first drops of rain on your skin, you let go of his hands and take your hands to cup his cheeks. "i love you, mick schumacher, and not even a hundred breaks could make that go away".

rain starts falling from the sky as he closes the gap between the two of you. he kisses you with a burning passion, trying to show you just how much he has thought about this moment. your hands go to his hair and his hands grip your hips. the rain keeps coming down on you. not all the words in the world could describe the kiss, and all the magic it came with it. you break the kiss breathless, and you can't help but to smile at the beautiful boy in front of you, with his red lips and his hair soaking wet.

"this kiss? and under the rain?", you murmur against his lips. "best birthday present i could ever receive". he laughs as you hug him, your head resting on his chest, and his head resting above yours.

"i love you. promise me you will never forget that." he says, closing his eyes.

"i promise", you vow, thinking you couldn't be more in love with him.

his face card alone has done more for this sport than some people's entire careers

Charles Leclerc, Ferrari F1 development driver, watches testing from a grandstand at the Circuit de Barcelona Catalunya, Spain (7 March 2017) 📸 Zak Mauger

Masterlist ♡

f1 drivers

charles leclerc

mastermind

lando norris

happier

the boy of my dreams

felipe drugovich

sunset

always you

my favorite person

mick schumacher

bright boy

flowers and rain

pierre gasly

gimme, gimme, gimme

oscar piastri

blind date

football players

pedri

i've got my eye on you

i've got my eye on you, too

dreamy boy

the look of love

midnights x msc47

author's note; i love taylor swift and i love mick schumacher even more summary; a bad race is easily fixed by dancing with you in your kitchen to taylor swift word count; 0.8K warnings; fluff characters; american!Reader x Mick Schumacher

You were overjoyed to be home. The air felt different in the US. And as dear as Switzerland was to your heart, you wanted to fall to the floor and kiss the ground. You had a little apartment in your home state, one you and Mick had agreed to spend the week in after the Texas race. You usually rented it out, but you had make sure to start dealing with short term rentals when Mick brought the idea up the year before. You could only get the week off of work from Sunday to the next Wednesday. Perfect for you to be able to relax for the week with your boyfriend, but you would have to miss COTA and all the fun that came along with it. Honestly you were disappointed, but the giddiness of the time with Mick outshone it.

When you got home you immediately turned on the race and began setting the place up. Sheets were put down, pillows fluffed. Just in time for you to sit down on the couch with a glass of wine and watch the almost devastating end to the race. Stroll's DNF, Vettel's pit stop, Mick's drop to the back of the grid. The only highlight was that you truly liked all the drivers on the podium. Being Mick's girlfriend had earned you mostly pleasant interactions with the other drivers, but you could say wholeheartedly that Charles, Lewis, and Max deserved the wins. You grabbed your phone to text Carlos a sympathetic message, and then opened your messages with your boyfriend. you did great, babe. i'm proud of you. i'll be waiting at home for you xx He replied after a few minutes, and you turned the sound of the post race interviews down. i love you You smiled down at your phone, sending him back an i love you too before turning your phone off. You knew it would be at least a few hours before he walked through the door, so you turned on a random show and settled in.

When Mick walked in you were cooking dinner and listening to Taylor Swift's new album. At the sight of you in the kitchen, hips swaying and head bobbing along to the rhythm, he felt himself relax. The race hadn't gone the way he wanted- So good until suddenly it wasn't anymore, on top of a penalty for exceeding track limits. His shoulders visibly fell and he exhaled loudly, alerting you to his presence. You didn't stop your slight sway, bounding over to him with a small dance and lightly grasping his hands to pull him to you. He complied, chest pressing flush against yours as he wrapped his arms completely around you and smiled down at you. You laced yours around his neck, fingers playing softly with his hair. "Hi, baby." You said. "Hi." He cooed back, pressing a quick kiss against your lips. You could feel his loving smile. "What song is this?" "Mastermind. It's Taylor Swift's new album." "I love it. I love you." You laughed at his sweet words, blushing lightly. "Stop it." You giggled, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his solid chest. Your nervous state made him laugh, dropping his chin onto your head as he held you to him. There was a comfortable silence and suddenly he felt so heavy with adoration. You pulled away first, leaving him cold. You pulled his arms off of you, hands inching down them as you did so you could lace your fingers through his. "Dance with me." You told him. "Alright." He grinned. The song had changed during your tender moment, the soft synth and calming drums of The Great War giving the perfect backdrop to the romantic dance. Mick twirled you, you twirled him. Kisses were shared, loving touches and teenage like moves pulled. When the song finally changed you wrapped one of your arms against his middle and he obliged, pressing up against you again. "I should have asked, how are you?" "Better now." He admitted. "Taylor helps." You kissed him. "Me and Taylor will always be here to help. Now I have to finish up dinner." Mick clicked his tongue. "Let it burn- we can order pizza. I just want to hang out with you." You laughed but peeled away from him. "Go sit down. It'll take ten minutes, and then you and I can sit and watch a movie. Okay?" "I can think of some much more fun ways to spend ten minutes." He purred suggestively, reaching for you again. You giggled, lightly slapping his hands away. "Sit." "Fine, fine. At least a kiss?" "Mick!" "Okay! I'm going."