Okay I’m Gonna Just Shove It In Ur Inbox Bc … Havent Stopped Thinking About It But The Post U Reblogged

lowkey I wanna sit on young mikas face. just smother that pretty face with my pussy

anon ur so right. why do you, as a man, have an INSANE JAWLINE if not to give me a nice seat!!

he loves it. he loves eating you out anyway, but having you sit on his face is on a whole other level for mika

wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull you down onto his mouth, moaning against your pussy when you tangle your hands in his hair

the noises are obscene

your stifled whines, a gentle, constant repetition of "mika, mika mika--" as you roll your hips against his face

the wet, desperate noises from mika pressing his tongue against you, dragging it through your cunt like he can't get enough of the taste of you

the one downside of the position is that he can't finger you like he normally would going down on you - can't fuck you with three fingers while he suckles your clit until you squeal and squirt over his hand

but that's okay (-: he's more than happy pulling you to an orgasm or two with his mouth alone, grabbing handfuls of your ass to knead and spank

sucking on your clit and lavishing the little bundle of nerves with tight circles of his tongue, bringing you closer and closer to the edge

the tipping point is when he pulls away, just enough for his "look at me" to be audible

and he doesn't break eye contact with you once you look down, his baby blue eyes turned dark with lust-blown pupils, the absolute need in his gaze pushing you over the edge as you cum

accidentally referencing them as "my" with max please!

what are we doing here? - MV1

The only clear thing between you and Max is that neither of you knew what you were.

Friends? Very close friends? Situationship? Love each other but afraid to make a move?

So many ways to describe it, but still moving between blurred lines, where you snuck out of his hotel room before someone came knocking on the door to wake him up or brief him as he got ready to leave, going out with your friends to a bar where you'd start acting as close friends, but as alcohol started burning your throats and clouding your judgement, his arm found home around your shoulders and your head nuzzled on his neck, loving how he shivered and smiled whenever your lips curled up at something you said or left a quick kiss on his neck.

Everybody knew there was something going on, and no, your friends knew it wasn't just kissing and sneaking around, it was deeper, something that neither you nor Max were willing to accept and act on it.

Months went by and it didn't change. You were exclusive, the thought of looking at someone else didn't cross your mind, but the mere idea of Max sharing time and space with beautiful women from all around the world, it was mind boggling for you.

Unbeknownst to you, Max felt the same rush of blood to his head whenever someone in the paddock started a conversation with you, standing a little too close for his liking, knowing his male equals enough to be sure they wanted to have you to themselves, and he couldn't do anything to stop that.

Well, he could do one thing, but for him it wasn't even a possibility, not wanting to leave the small paradise you had created, with no problems, no labels, no feelings... he'd be damned if he vocalized that it was a problem not having you to himself every day with no excuse, just calling you by your name like he was any other man in your life, and if he expressed his feelings were beyond a simple friendship, he wanted it all.

And so did you, you wanted to walk hand in hand with Max and it being familiar, not getting surprised looks. you wanted for him to claim you just like he had claimed your heart and body. you craved for him to look for you after a race, holding his helmet and symbolically kissing his lips in front of every camera, every screen who was watching.

All those thoughts were wandering as the both of you were talking before the race, with his fireproofs hanging low on his waist and you trying to fix a loose strand of hair, not caring that it was futile since he'd be putting on his helmet in no time.

Then, a woman you had barely crossed paths with came along, giving Max a tight hug and wishing him good luck, telling him to not go too crazy on the track for the sake of her husband.

Huh.

"Oh, i have seen you so many times before and we haven't been introduced! Max what are you waiting for?" Geri Halliwell, beautiful and elegant as ever, asked Max who was caught off guard.

The words left Max's lips without a second thought, a worry, and it felt so natural: "This is (Y/N), she's my girl,"

My girl.

He didn't even flinch, placing his hand on your waist as Geri kept commenting you were such a good looking couple, complemented each other so well, that you must be so proud, and you really were, everyone could see it.

"I'll leave you both, but I'll find you sweetheart on the garage when the race starts and the boys go do their thing, okay?" Geri said to you, leaving you a bit dumbfounded but agreeing to what she said, leaving you and Max.

His hand didn't leave you waist, it only changed its position as you turned to face him.

"I'm your girl?" Your head tilted a bit, trying to read his expression.

His cheeks flushed and he was insecure for the first time, his blue eyes avoiding yours, but lovingly accepting when your hand found its place on his cheek. "I like it, how it sounds,"

In the middle of loud noises, screens full of statistics and people calling for Max, you took his hand in yours and left a chaste kiss on his lips before sending him off to get ready and get in the car.

For the first time, Max wanted the race to be over as soon as possible, adrenaline rushing but not because of the vibrations of the car and crowds cheering, but because of what was waiting for him after the finish line.

his girl.

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances. 

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done?  he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals. 

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you. 

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not. 

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone. 

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.”

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls. 

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down. 

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body. 

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

© httpsserene 2023

"The Baby Glimmer"

Pairing: husband!Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, wanting a baby, heated/romantic fade-to-black intimacy, kissing

Summary: Where Aaron gets baby fever.

a/n: Well, since most of you voted for 2nd person writing, I'll try that from now on.

The first time you noticed it, you didn’t think much of it.

Aaron and you were walking through the mall one rainy Saturday afternoon, grabbing a few things for Jack’s school project. He’d been in need of some craft supplies and, as usual, Aaron wanted everything to be perfect.

You were strolling past a baby boutique on the way to the bookstore when Aaron slowed to a stop. He glanced at the window display—a collection of tiny onesies and soft teddy bears arranged artfully—and a soft, almost wistful smile crept across his face.

You stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He gestured to a fluffy teddy bear in the center of the display, its bowtie slightly askew. “That’s cute,” he said simply. “Babies would love it.”

You blinked. Aaron Hotchner, notorious for his stoic demeanor, commenting on teddy bears?

“Yeah,” you replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s… adorable.”

Aaron nodded, his hand briefly brushing against yours before he turned back toward the bookstore. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder, his voice calm and measured as always.

You stared after him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe he was just in a good mood.

---

Then there was JJ’s baby shower.

Aaron had insisted on going. “She’s family,” he’d said when you asked him about it. “It’s important to support her.”

And support her he did.

He spent the entire afternoon helping set up decorations, arranging tiny cupcakes on trays, and offering to hold the baby while JJ unwrapped gifts. It was… unexpected, to say the least.

At one point, you caught him holding JJ’s newborn, his expression so soft it made your chest ache. He was cooing gently, his deep voice low and soothing as he rocked the baby in his arms.

You tried not to stare. You really did. But the sight of Aaron Hotchner—gruff, protective, usually all-business—cradling a baby like it was the most natural thing in the world was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat.

“Wow,” Emily whispered, nudging you with her elbow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Hotch has baby fever.”

You laughed, brushing off the comment. “Please. He’s just being nice.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach fluttered when Aaron caught your eye across the room and smiled.

---

It wasn’t just JJ’s baby. It was everywhere.

You were at the grocery store one evening when it happened again. You had split up to cover more ground, and found him standing in the baby aisle when you came to find him.

“Aaron?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

He looked up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he held up a tiny pair of baby shoes. “Look at these,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “They’re so small.”

You stared at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. “Uh… yeah,” you said slowly. “Babies tend to have small feet.”

Aaron chuckled, setting the shoes back on the shelf. “Right. Of course.”

You watched him for a moment, suspicion creeping in. Something was definitely up.

---

The team noticed it, too.

“He’s acting weird,” Derek said one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee.

“Weirder than usual?” Emily quipped, smirking.

“No, like… softer,” Derek replied, gesturing toward Aaron’s office. “Have you seen the way he’s been with JJ’s baby? Or how he’s been staring off into space lately? It’s like he’s distracted by something.”

Emily glanced at you, her eyebrows raised. “Any idea what’s going on with him?”

You shrugged, playing dumb. “No clue. Maybe he’s just tired.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way Aaron had been looking at you lately—the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than usual, the way he reached for your hand more often, the way his touch was softer, more deliberate.

---

It all came to a head one quiet evening at home.

Jack was asleep, and Aaron and you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye all night, trying to piece together what was going on in that brilliant, complicated mind of his.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aaron,” you said, turning to face him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes warm and attentive. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ve been… different lately. Distracted. Is everything okay?”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was going to brush it off. But then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he reached for your hand.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he admitted, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s just… seeing JJ with her baby, and watching Jack grow up… It’s made me think about us. About our future.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “What about our future?”

Aaron’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “I’ve been thinking about having another baby. With you.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“A baby?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I know it’s a big decision, and I don’t want to pressure you. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About what it would be like to build a family with you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“Aaron,” you began, your voice trembling. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze filled with love and hope. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as tears spilled down your cheeks. You loved this man so much.

---

Over the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron’s words.

You watched him more closely than ever, noticing the way he doted on Jack, the way he smiled whenever you passed by a baby in the park, the way he held you just a little tighter at night.

And the more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take root in your heart.

It was a week later, during a quiet evening at home, that you finally found the courage to bring it up again.

You were sitting at the dining table, finishing the last of your dinner, when you set your fork down and looked at him.

“Aaron,” you said softly.

He glanced up, his expression instantly attentive. “Yes?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your shirt. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About having a baby.”

His eyes softened, and you saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his gaze. “And?”

You smiled, your heart pounding as you reached for his hand. “And… I think I want that, too. With you.”

Aaron’s face lit up, a smile spreading across his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmured, his deep voice warm and full of unspoken emotion.

You laughed through the tears welling in your eyes, unable to look away from the sheer adoration in his gaze. “I think I do,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

Aaron’s other hand reached up, his fingertips tenderly brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re really ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet and reverent, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble of this moment.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “With you? Yes. A thousand times yes.”

His dark eyes softened even further, the kind of look that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. He kissed you then—slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the motion.

When he finally pulled back, you noticed the faintest mischievous glint in his eye, something you rarely saw but secretly adored. His lips quirked into a small, almost playful smile.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly, “if we’re going to have a baby… shouldn’t we start practicing?”

You blinked at him, stunned for half a second before a breathless laugh escaped your lips. “Oh, really?” you teased, tilting your head as you looked at him. “You don’t waste any time, do you?"

His grin widened just a fraction as he leaned closer, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “Why would I, when we could make this moment count?” His voice was a low rumble now, filled with a heated edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifted—charged and electric, crackling with the kind of tension that made your pulse race.

“Aaron…” You whispered, your voice catching in your throat as he cupped your cheek, his touch so gentle yet so deliberate.

“Yes?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with just the faintest ghost of a kiss.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He hummed low in his throat, his other hand settling on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “I don’t plan to.”

The next kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was full of unspoken promises and barely contained need, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You gasped as he shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as though you weighed nothing. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 (kr7) 𝐱𝐨 ୧˚

★ requested﹕yes/no — summary﹕in which you share chocolate, childhood memories and maybe a few kisses — warnings﹕another shit ton of pure fluff, crying but not necessarily angst, google translated finnish, probably not well proof read, kissing (gagg!!), childhood best friends to lovers, family friends, use of 'y/n,' tell me if there's any i missed!! — pairing﹕kimi raikkonen 7 x reader — w/c﹕ ★ start a/n﹕hihii! second fic with my fav retired driver. i srsly dont see enough fics with him, so i decided to try to write my own. im so busy with schoolwork n i should be doin it rn buuuuuuuut i couldn't get this idea out of my head 🤭🤭 ౨ৎ 𝑫𝑻 (tag list) ;; none yet but open :)

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notes, comments, reblogs, feedback and follows are greatly appriciated!

!!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ON OTHER WEBISTES/APPS OR COPY MY ORIGINAL WORK!!

౨ - 6 yrs old - ৎ

Little Kimi stood over you as you cried on the floor of your bedroom after you hurt your hand from drawing.

"Y/n?" Kimi crossed his arms.

You sniffle, trying to stop the tears. "..yes, Kimi?"

"Do you like Kit Kats?" You nod in answer, a little confused as to why he might be asking that.

Kimi takes out something from his pocket. "Have a Kit Kat." He takes off the wrapper, breaking the Kit Kat in half. He offers one Kit Kat piece to you. You hesitate before taking the Kit Kat, giving it a small bite.

Kimi sits in front of you in a criss-cross, placing his Kit Kat on the wrapper that layed on the floor next to him. He takes your hurt hand, giving it a little kiss. You wipe your tears with a smile.

"Better?" Kimi asks, a little softer in tone this time.

"Better." You nod, smiling widely. Kimi gives you a small smile, taking a bite of his Kit Kat.

౨ - 11 yrs old - ৎ

You watched from the sofa as Kimi walked into the pantry after a long day of karting. He came out with an unwrapped Kit Kat in his hand.

"Hi, Kimi-Kat." You say, going back to watching the TV.

Kimi tilts his head at you, visibly confused, his eyebrows furrowed. "'Kimi-Kat,' huh?" He asks curiously, in his usual monotone voice.

"Your favourite chocolate, Kit Kat + Kimi = Kimi-Kat!" You giggle from your seat.

You couldn't see it, but Kimi smiled. "Only you're allowed to call me that, then."

౨ - 22 yrs old - ৎ

Kimi throws off his racing suit as he enters your room, shutting the door behind him. You look up from your book as you sat on your bed.

"Bad race?" You ask softly, patting the seat next to you. Kimi flops down next to you.

"Yeah." He mumbled in response, looking at the ceiling as he layed on the bed.

You take something from your snack stash, taking the wrapper and cracking the chocolate in half. "Have a Kit Kat."

Kimi looks at you, then the chocolate in your hand. He gives you a small smile.

"What?" You look at him curiously, the Kit Kat pieces still held out in your hand. "I'll take both pieces if you don't want it. You always give me Kit Kats when I have a bad day. I should return the favour."

Kimi's small smile turns into a grin. He doesn't say anything, but he takes one Kit Kat piece and bites it. You smile at him, placing a bookmark in your book and putting it on your bedside table.

"Better?" You ask softly.

"Mm." He responds, finishing his Kit Kat.

You raise your eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean, Kimi-Kat?"

"I'm better. Ish." He shrugs.

"Kimiiii, what can I do to make it better?" You furrow your eyebrows, pushing some of his hair so you can see his face.

"A kiss."

A kiss?

You can't help but blush.

"Does the look on your face mean I can't get a kiss and my day can't get better?" Kimi smirks at you.

"Asshole. C'mere, Kimi-Kat." You wrap your arms around his neck, your lips meeting in a gentle manner.

Kimi grins against your lips, placing his arms around your waist as he let's you tackle him.

His tongue slides in, both of you tasting the sweet chocolate on eachothers lips.

A few moments later, you pull apart, looking into eachothers eyes. "I love you as much as I love Kit Kats." You giggle.

"I love you as much as anything." Kimi responds with a happy sigh.

chocolate love ; fin.

☆ end a/n﹕working on a better cover for fics once im free of school work! have a good day/night, angels <3

〔 my last work | pinned post | masterlist | taglist | carrd | rules 〕

notes, comments, reblogs, feedback and follows are greatly appriciated!

!!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ON OTHER WEBISTES/APPS OR COPY MY ORIGINAL WORK!!

bestie idk what would even be the plot of something like this but i have been Thinking Majorly abt carlos x reader x lando a lot recently... just wanted to let you know in case that mayhaps inspire you 👀

oh bestie you just unlocked something dangerous in my brain. I have no idea how to write threesomes because I’ve only ever done monogamous stuff but hope you like this lil blurb I cooked up for you & you only 🤍

generous (1.8k words) lando/carlos/fem!reader - this is nsfw, minors dni!!

It starts with a squirm. It’s innocuous and barely there but Carlos clocks it so fast. He’s so in tune with you and your mannerisms by now that he knows when something has struck a chord with you, feeling you shift a little where you’re laying against him on the sofa, and he watches your lips part in an innocent and quiet sigh. It almost sounds wistful to the untrained ear, but he can see your eyes flicker across the screen and his own ones dart to the television to look at what exactly has you so… riled up.

Oh. Of course. It’s a sex scene, a bad one at that and it has Carlos eyebrows lifting enough to crease the skin of his forehead. He refrains from smirking because he can feel the pads of your fingers stroking down his arm, almost subconsciously, feeling the hairs on his flesh as they map out a random path.

Lando clears his throat and the sound is so jarring in the quiet room that you jump a little, the both of you looking over at him. His eyes are fastened on the tv, but there’s a tenseness in his body that lets Carlos know that he’s anything but focused on what’s happening on the screen. That, along with a distinct flush on the apples of his cheeks and his fisted hand.

It makes something wicked flare up in the Spaniard’s chest, sliding his hands down your side where it had laid dormant and casual, slipping beneath the blanket he’d thrown over you when the three of you had sat down and decided on a movie.

You don’t say anything at first, nor do you react but he knows that you’ll soon shift your eyes and glance up at him questioningly. You do exactly that when he slips his hand to your lower stomach, under your t-shirt so he can feel the softness against his bare palm. He doesn’t look at you, but you’re staring up at his face, trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing because surely he’s not… Shit.

The sound you make in your throat is quiet, but it’s a whimper that sounds so loud in the room that you can feel your entire body flush warmly when Carlos successfully finds his way inside your shorts, fingers touching the slickness gathered between your thighs. He rubs one finger over your clit, gently and almost non-existent, but you react so beautifully that he can’t help but smirk when Lando shifts in his seat from the corner of his eye.

Carlos knows about your feelings for the Brit, it’s harmless and he’s secure enough in your relationship to feel anything but threatened. That’s why he’d barely reacted when you one day confessed, albeit a little drunkenly, that Lando was sexy. Your words, not his.

You hadn’t brought the subject up after that night, thinking and praying that Carlos had somehow forgotten you confessing your thoughts and feelings for his best friend. He’d certainly acted like it until a few days later after the Imola weekend where you’d stumbled into your hotel room after the club, a little buzzed and a whole lot of horny. He’d had his fingers deep inside you, worked you up to two orgasms and the third one took a little incentive. So, he’d very casually and calmly painted a pretty picture of Lando between your legs and Carlos in your throat, the filthy words whispered in your ear. You’d screamed your orgasm that night.

You suck in a breath between your teeth when your boyfriend slicks his fingers up further and rubs circles where you’re the most sensitive, squirming in his hold and your heart jumps when he takes pity on you, sliding one finger into you. He almost groans at how easily it goes in, daring to add a second finger right after because he knows how achy you must be right now. It’s written all over your face, your hands gripping his shirt as you push conspicuously into his moving fingers.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Carlos asks and you blink your eyes open, confused and a little hazy until you realise that he’s not even talking to you.

Your eyes flick to Lando sitting by your feet like you'd forgotten that he was sitting there - awake, body seizing up in slight panic when you find his eyes already looking at you. The tips of his ears are red, and his mouth drops open like he wants to answer but he can’t find the right words, closing it mutely.

He guiltily looks away before looking back at Carlos, frown marring his face when he realises he’s been caught ogling his girlfriend.

“I’m—“ he stops, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, cabrón.” You can’t see your boyfriend’s face but you can easily hear the smugness in his voice as he speeds up the movement of his fingers. “She’s beautiful, I can’t blame you for looking.”

If you were of sound mind, you’d probably have sat up and slapped his hand away, even scold him. But you can’t lie to yourself, can’t say that you haven’t been fantasising about a scenario like this. Carlos clearly knows it, because even though you haven’t expressed the extent of your desires, he reads you like a book.

And he would be a damned liar if he said that he hadn’t thought of you and his best friend together. It was probably sick and a little twisted, but there was something about it that got him off.

“Maybe I should…” Lando trails off when Carlos curls his fingers, making you stutter out a filthy moan as your stomach starts getting tied up in knots.

He stares and you stare back, because fuck you can’t look away from the brightness of his eyes, how his pupils have blown out in what you can only describe as sheer and utter arousal.

“Are you close, mi amor?” Carlos whispers against the side of your head and you nod with a small keen, feeling his lips twitch against your temple in what you can only assume is a smile.

The smug son of a bitch is having the time of his life and you grip his arm that’s working between your legs when you feel yourself climbing closer to the edge, breaths coming out laboured and messed up. Like you’re sucking for air but can’t quite get enough in your lungs.

The sounds you make are so mesmerising to Lando that he can’t help but stare, clenching his hands in his lap in a poor attempt to shield his half-hard cock from your eyes but he knows the gesture is futile. He’s so entranced by the way you’re looking at him through hooded eyes that he completely misses Carlos’ question aimed at him, only coming to when your eyes flicker up to your boyfriend, breaking the trance he’d found himself in.

“Do you think I should let her come?” Carlos asks again, face so hard to read that it should scare Lando but if he squinted hard enough he can almost see the hidden amusement in his eyes. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking from Lando’s part.

Lando all of a sudden feels overwhelmed, looking down at where you’ve managed to slide onto your back, head resting on your boyfriend’s lap and legs splayed out underneath the blanket. He has a fleeting thought of ripping it off so he could see exactly what Carlos’ fingers are doing to you, but the situation is so bizarre and odd that he doesn’t even know what would be considered crossing a line.

He doesn’t dare to make a move, in fear of abruptly ending whatever this was, but then you open your mouth around a breathless moan and Lando’s hand shoots to cup over his cock; like the mere sound of you hurt him.

Carlos’ eyebrows jump in amusement, staring at his friend with that doe-eyed, vacant look he always holds and Lando almost looks away from the intensity of it.

“Please, please, Carlos.” You plead, grabbing at his arm just to have something to hold on to as your stomach starts coiling, on the brink of an explosive orgasm.

Carlos sucks his teeth, and the sound of it is disapproving enough for you to whine because you know what it means without him having to utter a word. No, you’re not allowed to come.

“I’m not the one you should be asking, nena.” He chastises you, eyes flicking up to the man sitting on the other side of the sofa. “Así que?”

Lando’s Spanish is limited, but it’s clear what Carlos is expecting of him by the tone of his voice and a zip of excitement shoots down his spine when he realises that his friend is handing him the reigns to something he holds so dear. He’d seen Carlos chew out men for even disrespecting you in the past, and he knows how wildly protective Carlos is of you.

His eyes slide down to where you’re writhing, thighs closing and hips pushing up as you’re getting close. He wants to see you come undone but when he opens his mouth, the complete opposite comes tumbling out.

“No.” His voice is hoarse, loud and you whine when Carlos stops the movements of his hand, like he had been expecting Lando to respond in the negative.

Lando is sitting close enough to hear the slick sound as Carlos pulls his fingers out of you, and his hand squeezes himself through his sweatpants subconsciously.

“Lo lamento, amor. If Lando says no then it’s a no.” He says with no real regret in his voice, and it makes you scowl a bit.

Lando can’t help but almost smile in amusement, thinking that you look adorable as you’re pouting with that wild look in your eyes. He’s so preoccupied with the way you’re glaring and huffing at the both of them that he misses Carlos holding up two fingers to your mouth. It’s only when you begrudgingly and shyly open your mouth that he realises that those fingers were just inside of you, heart speeding up when the light of the television catches the slick on his fingers. Fuck.

He watches you suck on Carlos’ fingers, humming and moaning like you’re tasting something so magnificent and Lando makes a noise before he could stop it. The sound catches Carlos’ attention, causing him to look up from you to his friend.

“She tastes very good.” He said, conversationally and Lando struggles to keep his eyes from bugging. “Don’t you, nena?”

The last question is directed at you and you nod shyly, never taking your eyes off of Carlos. He strokes his other hand over your head lovingly and bends to kiss your mouth.

Lando watches silently, feeling a little like an outsider but he can’t keep his eyes off of the slip and slide of your tongues against each other. It’s like watching a train wreck, you just can’t look away from it even if you tried.

He almost feels like passing out, blood rushing to his nether regions when Carlos parts with a slick sound; licking his lower lip as he glances at Lando.

“Do you wanna taste her?”

sorry for stopping at literally the worst time but i had to contain myself or we'd end up with 5k of smut 🫣 so um, hope you liked that. please don't hesitate to send me anything, i'd be happy to write blurbs and stuff! x

Good afternoon to Toto’s forearm

  i don’t want to be touched this time,  i just want to focus on you right now.  + ferrari!seb and engineer!reader

you’re so evil for this.  -- this one’s for the car fuckers

Pre season testing with any other driver was a normal 9-5 stitch but when it came to Sebastian, 9-5 really meant 9 to whatever time he decided he was ready to call it a day and more often that not, it wasn’t until late into the evening. 

Day 4 of testing and Sebastian sat on the stool next to you, comparing the stats from last season’s car to the ones formed today. 

“I still think the weight is off,” he mutters, sliding off the stool. The red shirt clung to his chest, the race suit hanging off his hips as he slid his fingers over the halo. 

You spun on the stool, facing the man as he inspected the car. “I don’t know Seb, might just have been the track temp.” 

“I doubt it.” He looks over at you and your brows furrow. 

“Would you like to do my job for me, Sebastian?” You stuck the papers out for him and he smiled, “no, y/n. You do it much better than I do, and you look much better doing it, too.” 

You rolled your eyes at his comment. You had been his race engineer since his second second at Ferrari and he was going into his 4th season with the red team. Every year since, you've come so close to the championship that you could taste it, touch it, feel it and yet, it slips though your fingers. Sebastian was determined to make this car a machine; a monster made to win, doesn’t matter how many hours he’s got to spend at the track, and by extension, how many hours you had to spend. 

He leans into the car, his hand pressed to the side. “What’s the chassis made of?” He asks and you shrug. “Some sort of aluminium.” 

“Not carbon?” 

“I don’t think so, why?” 

“I didn’t even know they were still allowed to use that,” he says, “come feel this.” 

You get off the stool and walk over to him, he pats inside of the car and you lean over to feel it, your hand on the cold metal. Seb’s hand rests over yours, his other hand on your waist. 

“See? You can feel how thick it is. It’s too heavy, it’s dragging the car down.” He says to you but the words go in one ear and out the other. 

You studied the way his eyes fixed on you as he spoke; eye contact was always something he did when he spoke to people, didn’t matter who. The way his hands moved when he spoke pulled your focus until he called for you. 

“Y/n?” He pulls your focus back. 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you hear anything I said?” 

You’ve got a dopey smile on your face, “mhm kinda.” He laughed, his hand still on your waist. 

This was a typical routine for you two; pre season testing turned into car inspection and into a pre season fuck just to get it out of your systems and tonight was no exception. 

Sebastian was the one to close the gap between the two of you, you’re leaning on the side of the car when his hands slip down to rest on your ass. Your own hands coming up to tug on the hem of his shirt but he stops you. 

His lips on your jaw, down your neck and he slowly sinks down to his knees in front of you. 

“Seb,” you whispered, the man pulls one of your legs over his shoulders.

It was unseasonably warm in Maranello, Seb was thanking whatever controlled the weather because the fact that you were wearing a skirt made his job much easier. 

“Shh,” he kissed up your thigh. “Let me focus on you tonight, okay?” 

Your head falls back when you feel his tongue on you, he’s yet to move your panties and you're already a mess. Your hand tangled in his messy curls, silently thanking that he didn’t cut it yet. 

Sebastian’s eyes look up, fixed on you; your hair framing your face and your head tossed back. 

The man gets up, kissing you when he does. You can taste yourself on his lips, Seb pushes you back against the car once again, your hand slipping between the two of you as you undo his pants. Sebastian pulls your leg to hitch on his hip, your panties already pulled to the side and your dress rolled up at your hips. 

Seb pushes into you. His lips find yours, muffling your moans as he fucks you. Your nails dig into his bicep, his shirt sleeve pushed up.

At least it would be covered.

With each passing year, pre season was taking over as your favourite time of the year. 

f1 tropes that I daydream about

a/n: yes, i have d.l.s (dilf lover syndrome)

— dilf!jenson crushing on a younger reader. keeping things appropriate when he’s ripping his skin off inside. reader being this cheeky gal, playing innocent just to push his buttons. (wink) jokes aside, I just know that the tension is pregnant in the air. imagining wearing a dress he loves to a house party, he just needs to whip you out to a bathroom.

— princess treatment everyday from mr. button himself. hands on your waist, rubbing it in circles, keeping your skirt from rolling too high (in public) ‘darling’ just feels to wrong yet so right.

— teenage dirtbag!jenson going to frat parties and ended up crashing at your place. trying to be civilized and give him a proper treatment. while unbuttoning his shirt, he got it the wrong way (very much to your liking- and y’know what happens next 😉)

— dilf jenson, finding his pregnant reader and his dogs cuddling together. (I hate pregnancy trope but gah daium)

— rbr!sebastian being this meanie he always is, treating everyone like a fucking dick except reader. (or it could go another way that he treats reader like a fucking dick until tension explodes and they found themself in a compromising 😉 situation at a party, drunk and intoxicated. room screaming of sex.) long run is, reader felt like a fucking piece of meat, seb running after her to prove her wrong. princess treatment, darling, spoiling, you name it.

— your favorite german brat, being all slutty and flirty to his grid boyfriend (button/jenson) and you get jealous, pulling him for a heated kiss in the cool down room. seb just grinning to the kiss, tugging your hair harder.

— rbr!seb being all obsessed with his younger assistant/manager, can’t take her seriously for fuck’s sake. smiling like a fucking idiot even when she’s mad at him, so she just kiss him stupid to get him into his senses.

— sugardaddy!mark 😔🤭 he’s just your dumb himbo/dilf paying for your attention/happiness (fuck you to who ever say money can’t buy happiness) you got him wrapped around your fingers, girlbossing him all you want. (and he’s happy with it) until you fiddled too much with his patience (in a good way) he finally thinks he has to teach you some lessons and proves who actually wears the pants. 😉

— dilf!webber visiting your family’s house for a bbq. being the aussie he is, got assigned to take care of the grill, while you walk around in your promiscuous little dress. killing him in every way known to man.

— carlos sainz and innocent kink is my favorite McCombo. being a simp for you with his big brown eyes, what ever you say pretty boy. but just so you know that can corrupt you whenever he wants.

feel free to use them, write them, daydream- tag me if you made something 🤭🤭

hello fellow nando fucker. may i humbly request some nando mirror sex. because i know he loves looking at himself <3

hehe ofc u can!! as we know, this man's ego has its own gravitational field

afab gn reader ♥

first of all: mirror foreplay

he's got you between his legs at the end of the bed, the mirrored door of the wardrobe in front of you both

your legs are spread, tangled over the wide muscle of his thighs, and your back is nestled against his broad chest

nando reaching around you to cup your chin between finger and thumb, tipping it up so you make eye contact in the mirror

"want you to watch"

(the 'if you don't watch, i'll stop' is unspoken, but clear)

constant praise, whispered into your ears and against your skin as he covers your shoulders and neck in love bites and bruises

"you look so lovely, so perfect for me, such a pretty pussy, all wet and ready for me already, don't look away, want you to see how lovely you are"

one hand playing with your tits as the other slides towards your pussy, gliding the pads of his fingers thru the wetness gathering there

your eyes flutter shut as he slides two thick fingers inside you, the stretch already delicious, and he rumbles a reminder to you to keep them open

and oh, when you open them -- you already look debauched, red and purple littering your neck, your pussy pink and swollen as fernando fingerfucks you with obscene wet noises

he makes you keep eye contact with him as he adds a third finger and speeds up, bringing his other hand down to circle your clit

"cum for me, want you to watch yourself come, so pretty, so lovely..."

and after he fingers you through that orgasm, and you come back down to earth and stop trembling against him, he manhandles you onto your hands and knees

(even if your arms give out, and you end up kneeling down and presenting your ass to him. which he spanks a few times)

and he makes you watch, maybe tangling a hand in your hair or wrapping a hand around your throat to pull your head up, as he fucks you from behind 😇