Sometimes Babygirl Is A 33 Year Old Woman

yeah .

mastermind –charles leclerc

this is for my f1 swifties <3

he surprised you coming home a day earlier. your heart stopped the moment you opened the door and he was standing there with a big smile on his face. it didn't matter that the two of you had been together for almost two years, you still couldn't believe how lucky you were to have charles all for yourself. he was like a dream.

since you hadn't seen each other for about 2 weeks, you spent all day cuddling and staying in bed, enjoying every bit of each other.

you were mumbling a taylor swift song when the reality hit you. "omg", you sat up straight, "you haven't listened to the new taylor swift album, have you?", you looked at him with a malicious smile forming on your lips.

he knew he wouldn't get out of this even if he lied, "no, not yet."

"well the time has come, my friend", you said and ordered alexa to play your favorite song on the album: mastermind.

the little melody started playing and you gave him a little peck on the lips. "this song reminds me of us", you murmured against his lips.

as taylor sang you started to dance around the room while he watched you sitting on the bed, with a giddy smile. he was mesmerized by you.

and the song did remind you of your relationship with charles. because at the end of the day, even when you wanted to blame it on the stars and fate, you had planned how everything would go when the two of you met.

nothing was accidental. you had been working in the motor industry for 3 years, trying to earn as much respect as possible and get as much experience as you could because working in the aston martin head quarters was one thing, but ultimately, your goal was to work in the aston martin f1 team.

so when your boss told you that he was invited to a special event related to formula 1, you did everything to convince him to take you with him, and eventually, he accepted. your opportunity had finally came. you would meet as many people as you could so maybe, in the future, the possibility to reach f1 would arrive.

but, you also had something else in mind. all the formula 1 drivers would attend to the event as well, and you were determined to gain something out of that. and charles leclerc was the target.

the monegasque driver was single, and you wanted to at least be introduced to him and make a good impression. this was the opportunity of a lifetime, so you wouldn't waste it.

you and your boss went to the special event, and it went incredible. the reason why your boss accepted you to come with him was to introduce you to some very important people, because he knew how much you wanted to work in f1 and he had witnessed how talented you were. so you shaked a lot of hands, and repeated your name over and over again.

however, something even more incredible happened. and it was all because of your persistence. it was very late, and the event was expected to end in any moment. you had heard that all the drivers had their own place in the salon, so you took that opportunity and sneaked into the private terrace the drivers had for themselves.

the place was empty except for a guy looking at the view. you couldn't see his face since you were behind him but you still recognized him. you swiftly joined his side, acting as calmed as possible.

"beautiful view, isn't it?", you said out loud, looking at him on the corner of your eye.

he nodded. "yes", he turned his head to face you, "very beautiful."

you smiled at him. and that was the beginning of it all.

months after that moment, you confessed to him that you had planned to somehow meet him that night, and he assured you he knew it.

"i had never seen you before, and the only people who were allowed to be in that terrace were all people i knew", he said smirking. "i still don't know how you got there", he intertwined his fingers with yours. "but i'm very glad you did. it was fate i guess."

"fate. and myself" , you winked at him.

you knew the song was ending and your favorite part was coming, you sat on his lap and murmured the lyrics very close to his face.

"i laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk on your face, you knew the entire time." , you grabbed his chin and sang the last few lyrics of the song. "you knew that I'm a mastermind, and now you're mine."

you kissed him sweetly, never getting enough of his lips. he broke the kiss and brought one of his hands to gently place it on your cheek. "i love you so much", he said with a bright smile, those dimples that you adored shining at plain sight.

THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME ACTUALLY

Hello!! Could you do one where pedri and his gf are invited to a grand prix (whichever one + his gf is a tifosi) and pedri gets jealous bc his gf instantly hits off with the drivers

paddock food | pg8

pairing: pedri gonzalez x reader, charles leclerc x platonic!reader, carlos sainz x platonic!reader

warning: none

a/n: i looove this idea, thank u for sending me this! it's pretty short bc i'm supposed to be studying for exams rn but i’m clearly not lol hope u like it! x

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Pedri has no reason to feel this bothered. Not really. In fact, he’d been looking forward to this weekend. But as it is, he does feel extremely bothered right now. Annoyed. Maybe a bit murderous. But that doesn't stop him from putting on an impressively charming smile to meet your expectant gaze, eyes twinkling through the gap of the racing helmet you just put on.

“What do you think?” You ask, striking a dramatic pose. Pedri takes his time to look you up and down, going so far as to twirl you around by the hand. He finds himself cracking a genuine smile before pulling you to his side.

“Not bad,” he says with a teasing tone, “but I do miss your pretty face.”

You snort. “You tried to smother this pretty face with a pillow this morning.”

Pedri grins but quickly remembers that you two aren’t alone when a laugh comes from nearby. His gaze shifts to the two Ferrari drivers standing in front of him.

"Not a morning person?" Charles asks, amusedly.

Pedri shakes his head, arm still wrapped around your waist. "Not really."

You shoot him a funny look. "I think the first degree murder attempt makes that pretty clear."

“I thought a football player like you would be used to waking up early," Charles presses on, still sounding amused. Pedri blinks. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say to that. He isn’t even sure that statement needs a response. Maybe he’ll just laugh and punch Charles’ arm. Playfully, of course.

His teammate nods, taking a sip from his water bottle. “Right, don’t you have morning practise every day? I know Real Madrid does.” He flashes him a teasing smile. “But hey, I’d understand if Barcelona just isn’t on that level.”

Pedri smiles back, grateful for the easy out. He gives a lazy shrug. “Of course, we have morning practise, but it’s not the same.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees you take out your phone, opening the camera app. He turns back to Carlos. “It's easier to wake up when I know I'll be playing football in a couple of minutes.”

Carlos hums and crosses his arms, eyes glazed over like he’s lost in thought. “Yeah, I guess. Makes sense. Hey, do you think I should–” 

“Do you want me to take a picture for you?” Charles suddenly asks, prompting Pedri to turn his attention back to you. He can only see your eyes, but he knows what they look like when you’re beaming at someone and that is exactly what you’re doing right now. Except, the smile is not directed at him and Pedri has to admit he doesn’t like how that feels one bit.

“That’d be great, thank you.” You hand your phone over to Charles and step back, making sure that the race car is in the frame as well. The Monegasque driver drops to one knee and adjusts your phone, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Beautiful,” he says, grinning. Pedri nearly lets out a huff. At least Carlos has the good sense not to say anything, but Pedri has learned that the fellow Spaniard is painfully easy to read. Especially now with his mouth slightly agape and bright gaze focused on you. Pedri isn't even sure he's blinking.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Pedri turns away, keeping his attention solely on you. The effect is almost immediate as he feels the knot in his stomach dissolve. You truly are beautiful, he thinks. Pretty in ways that he could never explain. Maybe he can't really fault Charles and Carlos for thinking the same.

"Charles," the latter calls out, "maybe you should let Y/N drive tomorrow. She looks so much better in your helmet than you do." He send you a wink and Charles laughs.

Never mind, Pedri thinks grimly. He’s going to strangle them both. But before he gets to it, you let out a warm laugh, shaking your head as if you’ve just been told a hilarious joke.

"You're too kind, Sainz." You take off the helmet and hand it back to Charles, slipping your phone in your back pocket without glancing at the pictures he took. "You too, Leclerc. Thanks for the photos." You meet Pedri's eyes for just a split-second and maybe he imagined it, but he's almost certain a smirk is hiding in the corner of your mouth.

You move back to his side. “I’m starving. Let’s go find something to eat.”

“Oh, we have food here,” Charles quips, glancing at Carlos who nods and points over his shoulder.

“Ferrari food. It’s not bad.”

“Not bad,” you snort. Pedri feels something flutter in his stomach as you weave your arm through his. “Thanks, but I think we’ll hunt down a food stand. Maybe find an overpriced greasy burger.” You look at him. “What do you think?”

Pedri smiles back at you. “You know me. Fan of every trackside food truck that smuggles out paddock food.”

“You mean greasy balls of death.”

He shrugs. “As long as it’s undercooked and contaminated.”

“And made by causing several health code violations.” 

Pedri sighs dreamily. “I love when you talk dirty to me.”

You laugh and the sound makes him feel all gooey inside. 

“God, you two are weird,” Carlos says and Charles grins at you two, silently agreeing.

“I’d hope so.” You smile warmly at Pedri before turning back to them. “Alright, see ya later, boys.”

As they’re leaving the garage, Pedri leans over to whisper, “We’re not actually getting food from a food truck, are we?” There’s a subtle note of concern in his voice.

You glance sidelong at him and snort. “No. I just thought my jealous boyfriend might either starve to death or challenge someone to a duel if we eat at their hospitality.”

Pedri’s doesn’t think his smile can grow any larger. Looking at you a moment longer, he eventually presses a kiss to your cheek and slings an arm around your shoulder. “Good thinking. Very good thinking.” 

*******

carlos is always drinking water in these things lol anyway, this is my first time writing in present tense and from someone else’s pov, so i’d love to know what u think (: stay hydrated. like carlos x

it's always a good time to bring this photoshoot back up.

we might've forgot about it a little too soon.

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

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."

the look of love —pedri

that one interview from iker casillas but make it pedri

players come and go, in a chaos of interviews and journalists trying to get a big headline. i spot pedri quickly and realize he's walking straight to me, waving and saying hello to a couple people on the way.

he looks beautiful, as always, but the aura that surrounds him tonight is one of confidence and true happiness and i find myself not being able to take my eyes off of him as he approaches.

the camera man gets ready and i welcome him, "hi pedri, thank you for giving us some time", i say while he nods to me.

"first of all congratulations on the title! i know it's really hard to put it into words but tell us how you feel right now, after winning the first trophy of the season with the club", i say with a big smile.

the way he looks at me always makes a mess in my stomach, because he is the definition of heart eyes but right now, with the thin layer of sweat that's covering his forehead, those red cheeks he always has whenever he plays, and that sweet smile that drives me crazy it's hard not to be all over him.

he laughs, high on the thrill that winning gives him and drunk in the sight of you, "yeah it's always very special to win with my club, and specially against madrid, but it's even more exciting now that i have you here to celebrate with me."

my eyes widen and he laughs even harder now, his eyes getting smaller with each smile. my cheeks are now burning red, while a thousand spiraling thoughts cross my mind.

i guess we can call that one hell of a hardlaunch.

then a second later, his hand is on my cheek, my microphone is out of the way and he joins our lips together in a quick kiss, he pulls away an inch, then gives me a peck on the lips.

i let out a small sigh, "t- thank you for the interview" i manage to say in my most profesional voice, as his hand drops from my cheek and swiftly grabs my free hand.

"te quiero" (i love you), he mouths as he walks backwards and turns to leave to meet his teammates.

he just fucking KISSED ME on live TV.

i end the interview thanking the people watching the channel for choosing us and then my camera man and who is grinning like an idiot lowers the camera.

"well you DID get a big headline", he says, while i just cover my face with my hands giggling.

i'm soooo gonna kill him for this later.

Drivers x text posts / Charles Leclerc 2/?  

thank you so much!!🥺❤

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

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