piggyinthesea

[piggyinthesea]

I WANNA FUCK MAX VERSTAPPEN SO BAD

#max verstappen #formula 1

[piggyinthesea]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

[piggyinthesea]

Lest You Feel My Wrath mv1

for those who ache for max verstappen

part one, part two.

Her mind pondered the question - who is Max Verstappen? Was it the sweet boy she once knew? The one who harbored her heart and held her dearly or was it the one who had affiliations with women despite pursuing her, ultimately using her like the rest?

Life went on without him; he realized. Despite the numerous texts and calls he had left her since her departure, he heard nothing but silence from her. She refused to dwell on it further and held nothing but pity for herself- falling for yet another empty facade.

Her career had her main focus with all the extensive traveling needed. She had conducted interviews for various other sports ranging from football, futbol, and baseball. She had a variety of information for each, further enhancing her career. It had been 2 weeks since their last encounter, and though it was inevitable, she was called back for another racing interview. She was a tad bit nervous, however, there were no promises she would even be interviewing him again. Thankfully.

She had been assigned to interview the p1 racer, the same as last time, and she wondered if he would end up in that position. It was silly - there was no need to be thinking about him. It didn’t matter whether he’d place first or last, she’d remain professional.

Arriving slightly late to the race, she was forced to indulge in the event, unluckily for her as she held no real interest. It turned out not to be quite bad; though the loud tires burning the ground as they drifted did not soothe her ears. For a minute she was actually interested, two cars- Red Bull and Ferrari battled at the last few kilometers of the race for first place. It was intensifying. The uncertainty of the final results held many people on the edge of their seats.

Alas, Ferrari secured first place, and she took notice of the man she’d be interviewing shortly- Charles Leclerc. After a few minutes of reviewing her questions, a sense of unusual nervousness bubbled in her stomach making her unsure of herself but after a few deep breaths, she gained her confident alter ego and walked to where the man had been sitting.

She wastes no time and immediately fires, “Hello, Charles Leclerc, it’s clear from today's results that your team has done something to improve your car and the performance overall. What do you think they did differently that helped your success?” Her voice is enchanting, almost seductive, and it draws him closer like a moth to a flame.

His allure captivates her, drawing attention with an undeniable charisma that resonates beyond physical appearance. It’s unfair to deny the man’s beaut, though that didn’t stop the career-driven woman from doing her job. His head tilts, unconsciously flexing his jawline, as his mind builds a response to her question.

“Well, uh, it was a tough race with Max constantly at the rear of me but I think our team’s strategy improved significantly. Having pole position also helped tremendously but there was also a variety of different things such as our new tires the team designed.” He maintains eye contact throughout the conversation, never once breaking.

“Fantastic. And what do you think you did differently than the other drivers that earned you first place?” By this point the background became busy with drivers, each having mini-interviews of their own.

“Honestly, I think it was because out of all the drivers, I got the least penalties which I believe that if Max hadn’t received that five-second penalty in the 45th lap he would have overtaken me.” His voice held an attractive accent, and it only accentuated the gaze he held on her. His eyes remained on her, stuck like glue until they quickly and subtly glanced down her lips. It was nothing, really, she concluded. Yet the tension rose impossibly higher, as a certain man behind Charles took notice of her. She took a quick peek at Max, feeling caught as his eyes laid on hers.

Max enveloped his on-track rival with an arm placed on his shoulder whilst his gaze remained fixated on her. Charles's eyes crinkle at the corners as he turns toward Max, his friendly smile revealing a hint of warmth that resonates in the sparkle of his hazel eyes. The ambient light plays on the subtle contours of his face, highlighting the easygoing charm etched in every line.

“What’s up man, great job!” Max reaches toward the palm of Charles's hand, clasping him in a loud handshake.

“Hey, mate, hard luck. Tough race.” Charles replies, hinting at the second-place result.

“Yeah man, I had trouble with the steering and uh, you know it was not hydraulic it was kinda stuck, so I couldn’t turn properly in those tight corners.” Max felt odd, knowing she was watching the race and first handily witnessed his mistake. He felt the need to defend himself, as if he was subtly saying, hey it’s not my fault this happened.

“I see, I kinda thought you were cause you know in the 32nd lap your car did a weird swivel.” The cameras were still rolling, catching a glimpse of the rival’s friendship off the track.

She cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable, before interjecting, “Now that we know what happened in between those moments, Charles, is it possible the next race might not be so different from today’s results?”

“Well, if you’re my interviewer next race I sure hope so” he nervously laughed, “But in all seriousness, I think we have a very strong chance at placing first place again- that is if everything goes well in quali.”

She ignores his subtle flirt along with the quick mischievous glance Max gave Charles. In the expression Max held at Charles, all animosity was cleverly hidden underneath a thin layer of surprise.

“Well, that seems to be the end of our interview. Thank you again for meeting with me.” The cameras shutter off, and the empty bright lights that contrasted their cheekbones turned off, leaving them in the dark light of the night sky.

As if synchronized, the two men peel themselves away and step towards the barrier that separated interviewers from drivers. An uncomfortable look was shared between the drivers, both pausing, as they realized they were headed towards the same person.

Max takes advantage of the opportunity, moving past Charles, and passed swiftly over the other interviewers while gaining her attention.

He catches up to her, forcing her to turn his way with a gentle grip on her wrist, “Look, what happened last time was a misunderstanding. I want to explain this in more detail, but privately. Just know that woman isn’t my girlfriend nor have I had any relations with her in months. It was just as a surprise for me like it was for you.”

Her stare is nonchalant, with hidden emotions in her eyes, the silence adds a rift of tension in the air. “Okay. I guess it was unfair of me to not give you a chance for an explanation, I’ll text you later.”

She turns to leave, but is once again caught in his grip.

“Also, don’t fuck him.” His voice is in a hushed whisper and knowing her, he knew she would have something to retaliate, so he swiftly left her as quickly as he spoke.

The “him” in question stood back, with kind eyes, and endearingly stepped forward - tapping her gently on the shoulder. He held his hands back, like a prisoner.

“Hello. I’m Charles, I had no idea you had relations with Max. I actually came to you for your number - but you’re already taken unless, I stand incorrect?” His impression comes out as formal, way too formal, but before any of that comes to mind she finds it ridiculous how he still introduced himself, knowing she had just interviewed him.

“Oh, no Max is an old…friend. We’ve just recently come in contact again. Besides, he already has women lining up at every corner I bet.” Her tone has a hint of malice, though falling undetected by the man.

His face seems to ease up, “Well, I’m sure they’re not as beautiful as you. Hope I’m not being too forward but any friend of Max is mine’s as well, would you like to exchange contact information?”

The compliment flies through the air, lingering and creating a sense of potential romance. His request is kind, and she finds herself speaking before she thinks. “Yeah, sure. Let me grab my cell.”

A couple of interviewers notice the interaction though the cameras were too large to shift through the crowd, it remained undocumented. As they exchanged numbers, her eyes fell toward his hands, noticing the veins that bulged out.

“Good luck on your next race, hopefully, I’m called to interview here again.” She’s genuine with her words, a trait that Charles finds himself admiring. He bids her farewell, silently wishing he’d seen more of her.

Hours later, she had forgotten about her well-needed conversation with Max. He wondered if she remembered, so he took the initiative and began writing up a text message for her. It was simple and straightforward.

Hey, can we have this talk in person?

A soft ding interrupted her current research - she set herself a goal for learning more about motorsport. With the company’s credit card, she rented herself a room at a lavish hotel in Japan - where today’s race was held. It was late, and there were barely any cafes or spots open, so she texted him.

Okay, I’ll send you the address to my hotel room. Unless you know any spots that are open at this hours.

Within a few moments, he celebrates a victorious moment as the address of her hotel room is sent. He took a while to get there, due to the large line for Chinese takeout. Nervously, he stopped for a moment as he stood in front of her room door.

He sees her, and it’s comforting seeing her in something other than her work uniform. It gives him a sense of warmth knowing he knows this side of her. The silence is intimidating, and even as he’s invited in, neither of them had spoken a word.

He settles on setting the food by the small two-person table. She sees her food, and it was her go-to order when the two of them were idiotic 16-year-olds. This simple act triggers a memory, forcing her to accept the long past they have.

“Okay. Let’s eat while I explain, is that okay?” He’s displaying effort. His words hold a certain edge as he settles himself on the wooden chair.

Her silence speaks volumes; it shows just how unwilling she is to listen. Her fork twirls around the orange chowmein, it’s cheap, but it’s her comfort food ergo making it priceless.

“So, the woman you heard was someone I used to have a thing with. We were never dating, but we were seeing each other for a couple of months before I ended up breaking it off. She randomly came to my hotel room- which I didn’t even know she had. I’m sorry you found out that way, I can see how it would have upset you, but I didn’t know she’d show up.” He watches as she enjoys her food, subtly making expressions (he managed to catch) at his words.

His words hung loosely in the air as the silence ate him up. Nothing but the soft munching was heard from her. Moments pass by, and he aches for her response with each passing second.

“Charles asked for my number.”

It caught him off guard, and he halted chewing his orange chicken, seemingly processing the weight of her words. He swallows, but it isn’t just the orange chicken that’s a bit distasteful.

“Do you like him?” He dares. His eyes seem to dart everywhere but her face, not yet ready to read her expressions.

Her tone is questionable, “I just met him.”

He finally reaches her gaze, unreciprocated, the way she’s too focused on her meal bugs him. He clears his throat, “Did you give him your number?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” His response is quick, he barely gives a moment for her to finish speaking. Max questions whether it’s the conversation making the food taste displeasing, though apparently, the food is not nearly as bad as he’s making it out to be judging by the fact that her plate is almost half empty.

“He was nice. He implied I’m his friend now.” It’s uncanny the way her voice remained calm as if she didn’t know the effect they had on Max.

“You’re not.” Max's retort held a tinge of bitterness as if the idea of Charles claiming friendship triggered an unexpected chord within him. The tension lingered, accentuated by the contrast between her nonchalant tone and his blunt denial.

She raised an eyebrow, a subtle challenge in her eyes. “Oh, really? What makes you say that?” Her calm demeanor seemed to provoke rather than pacify the growing tension.

Max sighed, his frustration palpable. “You can’t just declare someone your friend, it doesn’t work that way. He probably just wants to bang you…” The last words were muttered, barely audible, yet she caught onto them.

Her eyes narrowed, a mix of surprise and irritation flickering across her face. “Max, seriously? You think that’s all it is?”

He avoided eye contact, a discomfort settling in. “I’ve seen it happen before. Nice gestures leading to ulterior motives.”

She leaned in, her voice firm. “Not everyone has the same intentions. Maybe he’s just being friendly without expecting anything in return. Or maybe, it’s the chance that he may actually want a relationship that gets you upset. The fact that we won’t have the chance to have the same relationship we had in our teen years. We both know that relationship wasn’t sustainable.”

“Yeah, because you left.” Max’s response was filled with bitterness, a subtle hint of resentment.

“Max, I had to! You knew the situation I was in, are you honestly going to hate me for that?” Her voice raised volumes, intimidating him as he unexpectedly came in contact with her wrath.

He twitches slightly, feeling a sense of regret from his words, “I’m sorry, no I don’t hate you. But it changed everything. I had to pick up the pieces, I was hurt.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair - a sign of stress Max noticed, “I wish I had a choice. I never wanted to hurt you, you were the only thing that I loved. It was just a difficult time.”

“It’s okay, we met again, didn’t we?” His words offered a fragile calm that quickly settled into the lingering tension air. The possibility of something new brewing for them skyrocketed Max’s hopes.

#the end #or is it #it is now #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #red bull formula 1 #red bull racing

[piggyinthesea]

Lest You Ache My Wrath| mv1

part one, part 2

wrd count: 3.1k

warnings: alcohol, unprotected sex, reunion of teen lovers, mention of std, restrained during sex, foreplay (f receiving), some angst, inappropriate language

~

The stars illuminated the night sky like the way she stood out from the rest. It’s terrible, he knows it, yet he’s forced to answer the knock on his window. She was daring, clearly adventurous the way she always climbed up the garage into his window - knowing she’s not allowed in his house.

“Max, I have to go. I don’t know when i’ll be back. I’m leaving the state tonight.”

“Don’t! Please. You can live with me, I’ll… ask dad.” He knows he won’t say yes, but he’s gone far too down the rabbit hole of love to let go of her.

“Our dreams will hold us together. We’ll meet again. I’m sure of it.”

-

-

Her mind formed an endless cycle of anxiety-inducing thoughts. It wasn’t easy building her life from the shambles her deadbeat father had left her in. Throughout her adolescent years, tears were shed and wiped from her soothing cheeks.

It wasn’t so terrible, often times she met kind souls who’d lent her a roof over her head along with kind commodities such as food and clean clothes. She was alone, most of the time, but within darkness, there was light that had a warm grip on her. She thought she’d never see him again.

Years passed since she left that particular area, and her mind formed a haze around the memories she had spent with him. Her mind began playing tricks on her, and after a while, she began thinking that those warm nights wrapped around him were just a hallucinogenic side effect that came from her traumatic experience.

Those memories, sadly, began to fade like froth on a window.

She began to live a relatively normal life once she reached her 20s. She didn’t live paycheck to paycheck anymore, not usually, at least. She finally had enough to buy her own car, a trophy she held dear to herself. It was a reminder of the overwhelming struggles she endured and surpassed. She had normal hobbies and purchased normal things, much like everyone else. It felt weird to her, knowing she could blend in with everyone else, despite having a not-so-common upbringing.

She worked as a journalist, with a modest brand, and served the entertainment genre. When her boss called her into their office unexpectedly, neurons began connecting and triggered a flurry of speculative thoughts- such as the act of termination. It wasn’t that at all, in fact, her position in the company had been moved from entertainment to sports journalism. It wasn’t a huge leap of a career path, but it led her to contemplate the sudden shift of promotion. If, you could even call it that.

She was quickly informed that the previous sports journalist had quit, seeking larger pay from a rival journaling company. It seemed similar enough to her previous work, but she opted to play it safe rather than being sorry and promptly piled up on information for her upcoming interview.

There was a lot of terminology she had not heard of before, which made her second-guess her qualifications for her interview, but a job was a job and if she had disguised herself to appear knowledgeable, she would.

It was unprofessional of her employer to send her off on a job that required a person well-informed in the motorsport “Formula One”. Nonetheless, she was there, with a tiny microphone clipped to her collared shirt and an iPad with suggested questions.

It was odd at first. Not because of the awkward nature of the beginnings of interviews but because of a certain familiarity she thought she felt when staring at the driver.

Unbeknownst to her, he felt the same. He chalked it up to the subtle undeniable attraction he must have felt toward the interviewer, but the longer he answered her questions in a haze, the more he felt connected to her. His mind wandered off, did he know her from somewhere? Thoughts flourished to endless possibilities until was abruptly snapped out of his trance.

“Kind of lost you for a second there, didn’t I?” Her charismatic voice easily ushered the awkwardness away.

He shyly laughed, “Sorry, I’ve just kind of been out of it. What was your question?”

The tension became increasingly clear throughout the interview. The questions seemed to never end, and that was okay because Max was focused on figuring out who exactly was sitting in front of him. Could it have just been a sense of faux deja vu that lingered in the back of his mind, or did he truly know this woman?

All thoughts perished as the interview reached the end. He met her eyes for what felt like the first time, and immediately he felt a magical stillness sweep all lingering sensations in its enchanting embrace.

A sense of realization dawned on him at that moment, and the memories of whispered promises came back, despite his previous failed attempts to have them buried and forgotten.

His mind can’t help the gravitational pull of the vivid memory stored at the back of his mind, aching to be released. An incandescent flash of light transports him to a younger version of his naive self.

Recounting it felt like a haze, but he vividly recalled the hypnotic pull of her eyes that had irresistibly drawn him toward her lips.

“I won’t ever forget you, schat. Even after many years, you’ll still be on my mind. Even if I lose my memories, the dreams I’ll have of you will always hold us together.” He said, his words floating through the air as he shed a small, barely recognizable, tear.

With that, he’s pulled back to reality, and he’s faced with a sudden endeavor. His PR manager calls him over, but he can’t help but ignore him while he searches for the woman who has miraculously disappeared instantly. He danced his way around the endless crowd of people that served no use to him. He sees her, finally, and rushes over.

Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turns around, and though he has seen her before, he can't help but still be captivated by her eyes, even after all these years. He doesn’t know what to say at first, what could he have said?

Did she remember? Or was this all just a misunderstanding his mind despicably played against him? But alas, his worries are washed away when she initiates the conversation with alluring mannerisms.

Though her upbringing was anything but soft and sweet, she embraced kind gestures with ease. Almost doe-like, her head tilts as she coyly states, “Hey, I don’t wanna sound like a stalker, but uh, I think I know you.” She’s sweet, and though it probably shouldn’t have mattered, Max felt relieved she remembered him.

His breath hitches. He feels his body acting faster than his brain when he pulls her in for a warm hug. The truth is, she didn’t remember who he was exactly- until he welcomed her with a warm embrace.

“Max? It’s you.” Her brows furrowed while the gears in her head began turning. All those years believing the nights she spent with him were fake, only to turn out to be incredibly real, dawned on her.

He was quick to drop his celebration plans for her, insisting he fell ill to the challenging cold weather. It felt, different. In a way, it was strange talking to your high-school sweetheart but after a few words into the conversation, they effortlessly fell back into their close bond.

Later that day, they decided to meet at a small local cafe. The vibe set around it was homey, with the color palette of the restaurant being in neutral shades of brown.

“It’s so good seeing you, seriously. Like, where have you been?” Max starts off, enthusiastically as he skims through the menu.

She chuckles, “Where haven’t I been? But seriously, I’m glad you’re where you always wanted to be.”

“How are you? So much time has gone by, it feels unreal that I’m even seeing you again.”

Their conversation was cut short by one of the waitresses. After writing down their order, the waitress leaves and allows them back to their conversation.

“I’m doing great. I continued school, you know? Went to college, and got a degree in journalism. For a little while, I thought you were just something my mind made up to cope with everything going on. But, here we are.”

He grimaces, internally. He knew of the situation her younger self was in and even after all this time, he still felt a sense to shield her from everything; just like his younger self.

His coffee comes in, as well as her macchiato. The rising steam vanished, unveiling a delicate pattern in the milk atop her macchiato—a subtle and artful touch to the rich espresso. His coffee was plain black, a simple reminder of their opposite environments.

“That’s great, I’m really proud of how far you’ve come.” He offers genuinely, a sliver of longing evident in his eyes.

“Me? Look at where you’re at. You know, I only just learned this recently but, you’re a 3x world champion. That should overcome any achievement of mine.” Her words echoed a camaraderie feeling between the two.

“It’s not that impressive, but please, keep raising my self-esteem.” His words are filled with friendliness, adding a familiar touch of friendship to the air.

She smiles and sips on her macchiato as the two exchange subtle but longing looks.

Soon enough, their drinks are empty and though she strongly resists, Max pays their tab and follows her out the cafe door.

“What now?” She asks, not quite wanting the day to end.

“Well… I did just win a race today. I think I deserve a celebration. My hotel room has those mini shots we can drink if you’re up to it. Or has your alcohol tolerance dropped over the years.” The playful banter exudes a familiar memory between the two, from when they were young, dumb, and incredibly drunk.

“You’re on, tough guy.”

His hotel room was impeccably furnished, surpassing her expectations. The aura of luxury permeated the space, enhanced by the balcony's view as the sun dipped into a mesmerizing palette of red and orange hues. It seemed like second-hand nature for him as he shamelessly guided himself towards the stainless steel mini-fridge, grabbing as many tiny one-shot bottles of liquor.

“Like old times.” She said, eyes trailing the mix of alcohol as he dropped them on the king-sized bed.

He glances up at her, a devilish smirk smiling at her, “Bottoms up!”. The tiny plastic bottle handed to her was already opened, and she sniffed the substance suspiciously before downing the drink.

It stung as it ran down her throat, though she victoriously held her poker face. Max grimaced from the taste, just a bit, enough so that he wouldn’t be a victim of teasing. Realizing she was the only one standing, she found her place on the king-sized bed, unintentionally causing a rift of tension in the air due to the close proximity.

A few conversations and tiny bottles later, the two had sufficiently numbed themselves to the point of no return. To them, the room spanned around them as they laid still on the cushioned mattress. A variety of bottles had been littered across the floor, taunting them, as if they knew the pain they’d share the next morning.

“You, kn-know, I’m really glad I met you- again.” Max hiccuped between words.

Her body turned towards him, facing his enchanting eyes as she dwelled on the weight of his words. “I’m glad I met you too. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

A comforting silence swept between the two of them, and though he normally wouldn’t, the alcohol gave him a bold boost of confidence as he innocently laid his hand on her cheek. The confidence was limited, he hadn’t yet dared to close the gap between them.

She read the longing aura he produced, and reached over to him, pulling him into a magical sensation as the two shared a kiss. It was passionate, but as she started to pull away, he pulled her back into a more risqué kiss. She caught onto the newfound energy, equally kissing him back with the same intensity. His tongue lapped into her mouth, exploring a territory he once knew all too well.

Tension impossibly heightens as he pulls her well-matured body closer while his pants begin to ache with a well-known sensation. The air was charged with a blend of emotions – passion, longing, and a hint of uncertainty. The past once shrouded amid fading memories, now resurfaced with vivid clarity. It was as if time had folded upon itself, bringing them back to a moment that had never truly left their hearts. Yet, as the kiss deepened, there lingered an unspoken question - what would this unexpected reunion lead to?

The chemistry was undeniable and unparalleled to anything else they had felt, a force that could not be contained pulled them even closer. Her body laid dangerously on top of his, and his hand seemingly burnt through her skin as they traveled down her waist. The tent in his pants was inevitable, she was far too seductive to his body. Her crotch glazed his cloth erection, and as though a flip had switched in him, he flipped her over and predatorily stared into her eyes.

“I need you to say you want this.” It’s a demand. His voice is dark and unamused, leaving a sense of sexual frustration in her.

“Please, I’ve waited too long.” Her whiny voice is laughable, and she feels like a lamb sent to slaughter.

He lifts his shirt off with ease, subtly inviting her to do the same, which she instantly does. It’s a game of haste that the two play as they scramble to completely undress themselves. She was bare and vulnerable - her seamless underwear being the only fabric on her.

His large hands cup her plump breasts, gently toying with the bud of her nipple. She pulls in his head for a swift kiss, nearly knocking the air out of him. He grinds onto her, flexing his chiseled jawline, as he embodies his soul into the kiss. Like an action in a script, his hands pin her own above her head, pinning her down as his mouth littered markings on her chest. Her body submits and she absentmindedly arches her back at the aching sensation.

One of his hands daringly dips down the hem of her underwear, as the other firmly held her pinned, and began rubbing circular motions between her wet folds. Her breaths became ragged, and the moans that left her mouth were timid and frail. The trail of goosebumps on her skin was like scattered dots among her skin. He ignored his own aching shaft - but it was okay, her pleasure was his.

His fingers worked wonders - a clear reminder of the practice he received with other women. However, it was different for him this time. The blurred past between them intensified the chemical-induced reaction and it heavily surpassed the average sexual encounter with women he did not know. The room seemed to fade around her as his fingers continued drowning in her slick; furthering her desires and inducing whines and mutters.

“Don’t leave again.” His words are firm and demanding with a mixture of hurt and anger lingering in the air. His pathetic self was tarnished and replaced with an aggressive, winner, personality - a stark contrast to the whimsical boy of the past. His finger dips into her hole, leaving her breathless with no time to respond, and curls around her flesh walls. Bodily fluids gradually increase, shamelessly, coaxing his finger in her own lubricant.

He slides his finger in and out of her whilst keeping a steady grip on her hands. His personality in the bedroom has changed dramatically - thanks to the women that had come along with the fame. He’s learned his kinks, and he’s more than enthusiastic to show you his gradual improvement. In the past, though it was unspoken, he knew he lacked the dominance one might perceive him to have. He was a foolish lovesick boy who was quick to beg and whine for an ounce of her sexual energy - with no complaints from either person.

His aura radiated a dark red color, a symbol of his dominance, while he shamelessly dragged her underwear down to her mid-thighs as he propositioned himself along her entrance. He slides his tip in - a meek whine escapes his vocals and he does nothing to hide it. Their breaths, now synchronized, are ragged and heavy. Her body willingly accepts more of him, urging for his all - and it’s more than acceptable because his shaft twitches at the idea of the fact that she needs more of him.

Her hands attempt to free themselves from his grip, and it only tightens in retaliation; a fair reminder of the strength difference. He starts by slowly thrusting into her, unintentionally but undoubtedly, carrying the weight of mutual sexual desires. Gradually, the passionate thrusts are replaced by aggressive fast-paced ones. One of his hands snakes down to play with her aching bud, subconsciously flaunting his improvements. It was a goal to show her what the new him could do. He nearly pities her, for she met the untamed and mediocre him.

His pace is brutal and his thrusts become sloppy. His breath is heavy; the sweat dripping down his forehead does nothing to help the increasing heat. A knock on his door interrupts them - causing a momentary pause as they share a look. Max locks eyes with her, and his pace increases, earning a shocked glance.

“Max? I know you aren’t feeling all to well, but I thought you’d like me to…congratulate you after a win.” A female’s voice echoes through the door with a laughable attempt at sounding seductive. Like a deer caught in headlights, he falters in his pace, refusing to gain eye contact with the women under him. Her gaze is strong and dangerous - he feels it.

One question flowed through her brain - who the fuck was that? Begrudgingly, she gave into her high as her cosmic orgasm shook the bones of her skeletal system. He gained momentum as his pace quickened, mercilessly abusing her sensitive folds.

“Maxie, are you there?” The foreign woman only seemed to agitate the situation further, and as soon as Max’s current lover felt a gush of warm substance in her, she peeled herself off him, dripping in his semen. She reclothed herself in a way that made it clear she was upset. Clearly, he changed in all the wrong ways.

Panic furls through him - he was put in a terrible situation. Had god truly not been on his side that day?

In a hushed tone yet malice tone, she spat out, “Should I get tested?”

He was in nothing but his boxers- an evident difference between them. “No, don’t leave. Please, I swear if you give me a chance to explain you’ll understand.”

“Fuck you.”

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 #formula one #angst #fanfic series #red bull racing #red bull formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #mature reading #my writing is so shit #im embarrassing myself

[piggyinthesea]

Crushing Season ✯

featuring: max verstappen, charles leclerc, lando noriss, and lewis hamilton

Max Verstappen:

If Max Verstappen had a crush on you, he'd basically become the class clown of Formula. His pit crew would catch on to his crush and playfully mess with him. They might sneak heart-shaped stickers into his racing gear or decorate his car with giant emojis. Interviews would turn into comedy shows, with Max throwing in cheesy pickup lines or racing-related puns just to make you laugh.

Social media would be a whole new world. Max's Instagram stories would be filled with goofy challenges, funny videos, and maybe even a series of "How to Impress [Your Name]" tutorials. And let's not forget the memes – he'd find a way to incorporate your presence into every F1 joke.

Charles Leclerc

Charles? Oh, he's like the secret agent of crushes. Picture him trying to be all cool and mysterious, but it's just downright adorable. He's digging for intel on your favorite stuff like he's on a mission – interrogating teammates, covertly checking your social media, and maybe even sending out some reconnaissance texts. When he decides to make a move, it's the cutest disaster. Like, he's aiming for a casual lean on your shoulder, but oops, he ends up almost knocking you over. Smooth moves, Charles.

But let's not forget his attempts at impressing you. He'd probably try some fancy cooking, and you'll find out he's been watching cooking shows to master a dish just for you. And when he hands it over, he's got this hopeful look like, "Please tell me I nailed it." In a nutshell, Charles is the sweet guy next door who's doing his best to win your heart – with a touch of awkward charm.

Lando Noriss:

Lando Norris, in the grip of a crush, would find himself tangled in a web of amusing mishaps. Imagine him attempting to showcase his skills on a skateboard to impress you, only to end up with a comical spill, turning the moment into an unintentional display of vulnerability.

During casual conversations, he might accidentally spill a drink on himself, leading to an endearing spectacle of embarrassment as he hurriedly tries to remedy the situation, all the while sporting a sheepish grin. In his pursuit of charm, Lando's attempts at jokes might fall flat, accompanied by a nervous laughter that adds a touch of awkward charm. These endearing moments might include the classic "tripping over nothing" scenario, with Lando skillfully turning it into an impromptu dance move.

Lewis Hamilton:

Picture Lewis Hamilton's approach as a blend of charisma and genuine connection. In casual moments, he effortlessly weaves his magnetic personality into conversations, making every encounter feel like a shared secret. His laughter resonates through crowded spaces, yet somehow, it's the quiet moments that linger most. Lewis, with a twinkle in his eye, creates a dance of meaningful gestures—subtle compliments, shared smiles, and moments of genuine interest in your world. These encounters are like chapters in a captivating novel, leaving you curious about the next page.

Away from the racetrack, Lewis introduces you to his world with simplicity and elegance. Whether it's a quiet dinner or a spontaneous adventure, he blends thrill with sincerity. In this headcanon, Lewis is more than a playboy; he's a master at crafting unforgettable moments that make you feel uniquely seen and appreciated.

[piggyinthesea]

Photography - Headcanon

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral!Reader

wrd count: >1k

no warnings

Amidst the Avengers' compound, a shared passion blooms into a unique bond between you and Bucky Barnes. It begins with a chance discovery — an old camera tucked away in a forgotten corner of the compound. As you explore its origins, Bucky, with a knowing glint in his eye, reveals his fondness for photography.The two of you embark on a journey through the compound, capturing moments frozen in time. Bucky, once a soldier, discovers the therapeutic power of framing the world through a lens. The camera becomes a tool of expression, a way to navigate the complexities of a life shaped by battles and redemption.

Together, you explore hidden corners and overlooked details, transforming the mundane into art. Bucky's stoic exterior softens as he discovers the joy of freezing moments that might otherwise slip away. Your shared passion for photography creates a bridge between past and present, as you capture the essence of a life beyond war.The darkroom becomes a shared space of alchemy, where you develop the captured images. Bucky, initially hesitant, finds solace in the meticulous process. It becomes a ritual — a shared venture into the art of bringing latent images to life.

As you flip through the developed photographs, a visual diary unfolds, chronicling the untold stories of the Avengers. Bucky's lens captures the resilience of the team, the laughter amidst chaos, and the quiet moments of reflection. Each photograph tells a story, a testament to the art of seeing beyond the surface.The camera, once a relic of the past, becomes a bridge between two worlds. Through photography, you and Bucky navigate the complexities of life, finding beauty in the ordinary and strength in shared moments. In the silent click of the shutter, a language of understanding emerges, weaving a narrative that transcends spoken words.

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel #fluff #the avengers #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #the winter soldier

[piggyinthesea]

To All The Boys I’ve Hurt | 002

part two of this fic

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴀʀʟᴏs sᴀɪɴᴢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: “ᴡʜᴏ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪs ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ. ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇʀ ɪs ɪʀʀᴇʟᴀᴠᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ sʜᴇ’s ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀs. ʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛғᴜʟʟʏ, ᴍᴀᴛᴇ.”

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2k+

Finally, you replied, breaking the anticipation. Swiftly, he reciprocated, and our text chat turned into an extended conversation. Every day leading up to the Japan Grand Prix felt like a chapter in a thrilling saga. Meanwhile, your cousin covertly envied you in the background. On race day, your cousin was buzzing with excitement, and you was just happy to spend the day with her. The irony of wearing Red Bull gear in the Ferrari Paddock wasn’t something that worried you. In a white shirt with a bright-red bow in your hair, you unintentionally created a fashion paradox, blending in to the fans of Ferrari.

“I’m going to get stares from Ferrari fans. Who cares, though? Still repping Red Bull,” your cousin declared, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Amidst your confusion, she groaned, “Dude, pulling Formula One guys without knowing the first thing about Formula One? Carlos is Ferrari’s second driver. Remember the picture I showed you yesterday?”

“Oh! That picture. Damn. I thought he was a mechanic or something. So, that’s why you were worried about them finding out about each other.” The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, revealing a mosaic of logos on his shirt that should’ve been a dead giveaway. Maybe you weren’t the sharpest tool, but you sure dazzled.

She laughs at your cluelessness. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Let me just text Carl- Carlos, I mean.” You swore that was unintentional.

Carlos

heyy!! good luck today :)

thanks, you ;). hopefully I can see you after the race. i miss you already.

Carlos’s stomach did a delightful somersault as he smiled at your text. With his phone locked away, he transformed into his racing alter ego. He lifted his shirt, the marks from your recent escapade played peek-a-boo, hinting at the nocturnal secrets you shared.

Charles entered, strolling into the locker room with a teasing whistle. “Someone had a fun night!” Charles whistles as he dominants his space. Carlos’s skin flushes, he shamelessly smiles and looks away. It had been a while since the two of you slept together, but because the marks you left on him were dark and large, it took a while for them to fade. It had only been about a week, but the marks were still visible. Just slightly faded. Carlos blushed, skillfully deflecting the banter. With his back turned, Charles couldn’t help but notice the cryptic scratches on Carlos’s neck – an inadvertent trail of evidence.

“Cállate.” Carlos playfully deflects the subject. With Carlos’s back facing Charles, Charles begins to overly examine the familiar scratches by his neck.

Charles squints, his stomach nearly dropping at the sight. They looked too familiar.

“Fuck, Charles. Oh god.” Those scratches painted a vivid picture, and Charles unwittingly stumbled upon a clandestine affair.

Face buried in the crook of your neck, Carlos whispered, “I will forever love you, ma belle.” A whispered promise that added a thrilling layer to your entanglement.

You pull his face and lock eyes with him, “You shouldn’t, my love.”

Charles grapples with a sense of betrayal, but deep down, he understands he shouldn’t. Rationalizing that there’s no conceivable way Carlos could have known about his history with her, he questions whether Carlos would have pursued a romantic connection if he had known. The uncertainty lingers – would Carlos have slept with her if he was aware of their shared past? The internal conflict churns within Charles as he navigates the intricate web of emotions.

Carlos turns around, fully dressed, and catches the peculiar expression on Charles’s face. “What?” he inquires lightly, prompting Charles to articulate the unspoken tension hanging between them.

Charles remains silent, contemplating his words. Finally, he breaks the silence, asking, “If I tell you, will you care enough about our friendship to stop?” The gravity of his question hangs in the air, a plea for understanding and preservation of their bond.

Carlos’s stomach takes a sudden plunge as he discerns that Charles is aware of the truth. Despite this, he maintains his composure, standing firm. “What are you talking about?” Carlos asks, a mix of reluctance and fear evident in his voice. He initiated the question, yet a part of him dreads the revelation, afraid of what it might entail for their relationship.

“Devil-spawn girl, you met her. Right? Look, man, stop while you can. I’m not just speaking from jealousy; I’m speaking to you as a friend. She’s not good for you,” Charles adds, a tinge of envy coloring his cautionary words. The undertone of jealousy reveals the emotional struggle within Charles, accentuating the complexity of their friendship in the face of intertwined romantic entanglements.

“Who I have relations with is none of your concern. Whether or not you know her is irrelevant because she’s not yours. Respectfully, mate,” Carlos retorts, the tension in his voice echoing the strain on their friendship. His words hang heavily in the air, emphasizing the palpable rift that has formed between them due to the complexities of their intertwined relationships.

Charles stands frozen, his emotions a volatile mix of pity, envy, and bitterness towards his friend. The air thickens with tension as Charles grapples with the stark contrast between his evening plans and Carlos’s company with you. Unbeknownst of the unconscious glares he shoots at Carlos, the unspoken tension heightens, setting the stage for a complex unraveling of their intertwined relationships.

The prevailing tension hangs like a heavy cloud, noticeable to all, and the fleeting glimpses caught by a select few cameras reveal the glares Charles casts towards Carlos, laden with an unmistakable sorrow. The mere mention of you induces a poignant melancholy in Charles, inviting him to delve into the depths of retrospection. As he ruminates on the past, a profound sadness settles in his eyes. Charles, once confident in his efforts, now carries the weight of unfulfilled expectations and the somber realization that, despite his attentive listening and genuine regard, something essential slipped away. The undertones of sadness paint a poignant portrait of Charles wrestling with the echoes of a relationship that eluded his grasp.

Seated in the Ferrari paddock, you and your cousin become aware of the conspicuous glances from Ferrari fans due to her Red Bull attire. Undeterred, she dismisses the judgmental looks and immerses herself in the exclusive privileges offered within the paddock during the races, reveling in the unique experience despite the disapproving gazes.

Immersed in the race, you find joy in the shared experience with your cousin. Her occasional muttering of random facts about specific teams and cars adds an endearing layer to the moment, and you can’t help but appreciate her cute enthusiasm for the intricacies of the Formula One world. The blend of excitement and shared knowledge enhances the overall enjoyment of the race day.

The proximity to the racing cars unveils a revelation – the sheer speed is beyond comprehension until you witness it up close. They fly by in a blur, leaving an ephemeral imprint. The experience is awe-inspiring, highlighting the marvels achievable through engineering and mechanics. As two red cars streak by in rapid succession, the spectacle becomes a testament to the thrilling capabilities of modern racing technology.

“You fucked one of those drivers and are about to fuck the other, you know?” Your cousin delivers the statement with unabashed candor, injecting a provocative and cheeky vibe into the conversation. The bold remark intensifies the atmosphere, creating a moment of shared amusement amidst the high-speed drama of the racing event.

A sharp nudge to her waist accompanies your response, “You’re annoying, you know.” The physical gesture punctuates your playful reproach, capturing the mix of irritation and camaraderie that defines your dynamic with your cousin during this candid exchange.

The mischievous thought crosses your mind: “Should I blow her mind?” You contemplate, “I hooked up with Carlos. Yesterday. While you were away…” The revelation hangs in the air, adding an unexpected twist to the conversation and leaving room for your cousin’s stunned reaction.

Her wide-eyed stare lingers for a moment before she exclaims, "You can't keep getting away with this! You can't keep getting away with this. You have to share your Formula One connections with me, get me a date with Max Verstappen, please!" The volume of her voice fluctuates, creating a crescendo of excitement that culminates in a more subdued plea for a connection with the renowned driver. The mix of astonishment and her final, almost whispered, request adds a layer of humor to the exchange.

Amused by her request, you laugh and respond, “I don’t know who that is. I’m assuming a race car driver. How would I even bring that up with Carlos?” Your lighthearted tone underscores the irony of the situation, emphasizing your lack of familiarity with the Formula One world despite the amusing connection you’ve formed.

Her plea tugs at your empathy as she begs, “Please. I really admire him. At least try, for me?” The earnestness in her request adds a touch of sincerity, prompting you to consider fulfilling her wish despite your limited knowledge of the racing world.

Charmed by her puppy-dog eyes, you find yourself relenting, and with a smile, you say, "OK." The exchange captures a moment of playful acquiescence, highlighting the good-natured rapport between you and your cousin in the midst of the Formula One excitement.

As the race concludes, Max Verstappen secures pole position, triggering an exuberant outburst from your cousin that resonates across the paddock, much to the dismay of nearby Ferrari drivers. Charles Leclerc claims second place, and you stand in awkward silence. However, when Carlos Sainz secures third place, your natural inclination takes over, and you can’t help but cheer for him, adding a touch of personal investment to the racing outcome.

A sudden realization strikes you – back when you first met Carlos, you mentioned having a connection with "one" of the Ferrari drivers. It becomes evident that Carlos understood it was Charles. This revelation carries a subtle sense of a lie, as the shared history between you and Charles unveils itself, introducing a nuanced layer to your interactions.

Carlos was aware all along. Initially uncertain if you knew he was the other Ferrari driver, he strategically used this ambiguity to his advantage. Concealing this knowledge, he anticipated the moment you would eventually find out, a revelation he calculated to unfold today. The intricate dance of secrets and revelations adds a complex dimension to the dynamics between you and Carlos.

Contemplating the situation, you question whether you should be mad. Despite realizing Carlos wasn’t overtly hiding anything, you find yourself not feeling angry. It’s clear that he’s aware you know, and you decide it’s better to take the initiative and text first, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between you two. The choice reflects a measured and composed approach to the unfolding revelation.

Carlos

hey, great race. we need to talk.

sent 5:44

In the wake of your text, Carlos doesn’t respond immediately. However, considering the circumstances, it wouldn’t be unusual, given that you witnessed him getting interviewed right after stepping off the platform. The anticipation builds as you await his response amidst the post-race interview.

As Carlos grappled with nerves, he remained oblivious to the fact that you had texted him, plunging further into the depths of overthinking and the looming uncertainty. The weight of nervousness settled on Carlos as he pondered: Were you contemplating ending things with him? Would this mark the conclusive end of what you both shared?

Carlos’s worries were momentarily eclipsed by the barrage of questions from reporters. As they interviewed the top three drivers, Carlos paid little attention, offering pre-scripted responses to the usual inquiries about the race. The mundane discussions about cars after a race failed to captivate him. All he craved was rest. Despite his job involving a significant amount of sitting, the act of driving, fueled by a constant surge of adrenaline, drained most of his energy.

The seemingly endless interview finally concluded, and Carlos, yearning for relief, made his way back to the locker room. Once there, the first order of business was checking his phone. The anticipation lingered as he sought a moment of reprieve from the relentless scrutiny of post-race interviews.

her

hey, great race. we need to talk.

I’m sorry. Does this change anything?

sent 6:04

A surge of anxiety fills Carlos’s stomach as he gazes at his phone, the weight of your response pressing down on him.

Charles, breaking the post-race silence, and speculates, “She knows, doesn’t she? I remember she wasn’t much of a Formula One fan – if it wasn’t for her cousin, she probably wouldn’t know about it at all.” As he speaks, he nonchalantly unzips his suit and steps out, introducing an air of uncertainty into the atmosphere.

Carlos bristled with heat at Charles's mention of you, irritated by the presumptuous familiarity. The unfolding drama in the room intensified as Charles spoke, assuming a connection that didn't truly exist. The clash between perception and reality heightened the tension, setting the stage for an unspoken confrontation. Despite the escalating drama, Carlos chose to maintain civility, concealing the internal turmoil beneath the surface.

“I guess. Mate, can I just please ask you to be happy for me, though?” Carlos’s voice carried a vulnerability, adding a poignant layer to the conversation. The plea for understanding and support injected a subtle emotional complexity into their interaction.

“I don’t know if I pity or envy you, Carlos. I respect you enough to let you make your own decisions, just don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.” Charles’s words, tinged with a mix of conflicting emotions, reflect the intricate dynamics of their relationship. The subtle blend of pity, envy, and respect adds a layer of complexity, emphasizing the challenge Carlos faces in navigating his personal life within the scrutiny of their shared world.

The remainder of the time in the locker room unfolded in silence. Carlos pondered Charles’s words, dissecting them for any hidden meanings. Before he knew it, solitude enveloped him, leaving him alone with his thoughts as Charles had long departed. The hushed aftermath resonated with the weight of unspoken tensions and internal reflections.

her

I like you Carlos. But, if you knew this entire time I had an old fling with Charles, why’d you continue talking to me?

I like you. A lot. That’s why I didn’t stop. I know it was selfish. I’m sorry.

It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize, not to me at least. This won’t change anything between us <3.

🩷🩷

Carlos swiftly transitions from his racing attire to regular clothes, and with a lingering tension in the air, he texts his sister, seeking a favor. Her inevitable questions follow, but Carlos remains tight-lipped, adding an air of mystery to the unfolding narrative. The unspoken urgency and secrecy intensify the atmosphere surrounding Carlos’s actions.

Shortly after the race concluded, you made a quick exit. Your cousin, eager for a Starbucks fix, pleaded for a post-race treat, and you gladly accepted. Amidst sips of your usual refresher and bites of a croissant, family topics took center stage. Engaged in a light-hearted banter, you and your cousin delved into gossip about each other’s aunts, playfully arguing over whose aunt held the title of the worst. It was evident that your mom, despite her protective nature, wasn’t the contender for the unfavorable title. Laughter filled the air as you shared embarrassing memories, creating a moment of connection and amusement in the aftermath of the race.

An hour post-race, you and your cousin returned to the hotel after the Starbucks run. Walking side by side through the hotel corridors, you reached your door and were greeted by an elegant black circular box. A shared look of confusion passed between you and your cousin as you brought the mysterious box inside and closed the door. In a moment of playful speculation, you humorously considered the potential plot twist of a Russian spy story, teasing the idea of the box possibly ending in an explosive surprise.

Relief washed over you as the box revealed its true nature – not a secret bomb, but a thoughtful gift. Opening it, you were greeted by the sight of delicate light pink roses gracefully arranged within, accompanied by a simple white note. The contrast between the initial intrigue and the subsequent tender gesture added a touch of sweetness to the unfolding narrative.

“Huh? Roses… poor guy couldn’t do better,” your cousin muttered, eyeing the box with a hint of playful teasing. Her comment added a lighthearted touch, injecting humor into the moment as you both assessed the unexpected floral gift.

You read the note out loud, “For my Devil-Spawn girl. -C.S.” The term “Devil-Spawn girl” echoed in the room, leaving a hint of uncertainty and perhaps an unappreciated tone in the air. The unexpected endearment carried an unconventional touch that stirred a mix of emotions.

“How cute. Carlos sent this. Why’d he call you devil-spawn girl? Is there some sort of secret meaning between the two of you?” Your cousin inquired, her gaze fixed on the brand as she meticulously counted each individual rose. Immersed in her curiosity, she simultaneously typed into her phone, adding a layer of intrigue to the unfolding mystery.

“Huh… not that I know of.” Your curiosity piqued, you leaned in, dipping your nose into the box. The lovingly strong scent of fresh roses enveloped you, carrying with it a unique aroma akin to rainwater – something that might not conventionally be considered pleasant but held a distinct charm that you vouched for. The sensory experience added an intimate and personal touch to the unfolding scene.

Your cousin, visibly astonished and perhaps a tad envious, expressed her disbelief as she learned about the actual price, which hovered around fifteen hundred dollars. “Woah! The price for these flowers. I completely retract my statement from before; this guy definitely went all out.” Her mix of emotions added a dynamic layer to the unfolding narrative, blending surprise, envy, and a revised perspective on Carlos’s gesture.

You scoot over to her, curiosity getting the better of you, and peer at her phone, eager to catch a glimpse of what she’s discovering or typing.

The Million Roses. 

The brand on the box matched what appeared on her phone, and the resemblance was strikingly identical. While acknowledging the undeniable beauty of the roses, you couldn't help but find them excessively expensive. A tinge of practicality crept in, contemplating that regular flowers from a vendor would have sufficed just as nicely. Carlos, however, chose the most extravagant bouquet. The realization sparked a mix of admiration and practical consideration – the amount spent on these roses could have bought him double the flowers at a street vendor, simultaneously making a positive impact on their lives.

You sent Carlos a quick thank-you text, and after a brief delay, he responded, apologizing for the wait. The conversation shifted as he inquired about your day. While you shared that it was good for the most part, you couldn’t help but admit that by the end of the day, your social battery had completely drained from being around so many people.

[phone]

Hi.

The anonymous message perked your curiosity and though the alarms in your head rang stranger danger, you couldn’t help but reply.

who’s this?

Sorry, I was unaware you had deleted my number, I guess it’s been a while. It’s Charles.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #formula 1 #formula one #jealousy #main page

[piggyinthesea]

•*.*

the writer urge of reading over your past works judging the fuck out of them only to realize they were only from a couple months ago and you probably still write as shitty as you did before.

#send help #this isnt funny #my writing is so shit #im embarrassing myself

[piggyinthesea]

Shoelace Theory

would they tie your shoelaces?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ғᴏʀᴍᴜʟᴀ ᴏɴᴇ ɢʀɪ��� x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴏsᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀsᴛʀɪ, ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ ʀɪᴄᴄɪᴀʀᴅᴏ, ᴄᴀʀʟᴏs sᴀɪɴᴢ, ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀsᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ, ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇs ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ, ʟᴇᴡɪs ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ, ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀɪss, ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ʀᴜssᴇʟʟ, ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ ɢᴀsʟʏ, ʏᴜᴋɪ ᴛsᴜɴᴏᴅᴀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴊᴜsᴛ ғʟᴜғғ, sʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀᴜᴅᴇɴᴇss

inspired by orange peel theory

✿

Oscar Piastri:

What? No. You could tie your own shoes. He’s not gonna stop what he’s doing to kneel down and tie your shoes.

“But why?!” You groan, following him around the paddock with your shoes untied. Almost suddenly, you trip. If it wasn’t for Oscar swiftly catching you, you would’ve ate shit.

He begrudgingly kneels down, tying your shoes. “Next time, I won’t tie your shoelaces.”

It was a lie. He did tie your shoelaces the next time.

Daniel Ricciardo:

He’s in the middle of entering his racing car when you ask him does. He looks at you puzzled but then quickly kneels down and ties them. It didn’t surprise you though, his kids must ask him all the time.

You wished him good luck before being ushered out of the garage. After the race, he comes to you with his shoes untied.

“Can you tie them for me?”

Will be salty if you don’t tie them for him

Carlos Sainz:

You asked him in the post-interviews, shamelessly interrupting. He stammers, “Could you excuse me one moment?”. At first you thought he was asking you to excuse him, until he quickly kneels down and ties your shoelaces, giving a small smile as he looks up at you.

He gets back up, mindlessly running his hand through his hair.

“What’d you think of the race?”, Carlos asks you.

“Great results! Proud of you.” You quip, raising your hands and offering a high five in which he quickly reciprocates. He watches you walk away, until he’s knocked out of his trance by the interviewer he had forgotten was still standing in front of him.

Safe to say Carlos is not so great at hiding his little crush on you.

Max Verstappen:

You catch him lacking in the Red Bull garage, and his face falls as soon as he sees you. You were the grid’s prankster and your go-to victim was always Max.

“Leave me alone, please!” He feigns fear, holding his hands up while guarding his face. He flinches when you’re in front of him, leaving you with guilt for all those pranks you’ve played on max. You had the poor boy traumatized.

“Tie my shoestrings, pretty please!” Your words came out innocent. Max looked at you as if you had grown two heads.

Suddenly he stands up, raising a fist towards you, “Get out of here!”. Of course he wasn’t actually going to punch you, he was just pranking you back.

You clench a paper-ball in your back pocket. You slowly pull it out, and instantly throw it at him. You make a run for the door, and frantically start screaming “Help!” as you hear a pair of monster feet stomping behind you.

Charles Leclerc:

He had always been nice to you. Your conversations with him had always been friendly and extremely normal. So of course, when you asked he did it. No questions asked.

The two of you continue your conversation and end up splitting ways shortly after. A few days later, he came to you with a box of converse shoes, in your size.

“So you don’t have to ask people to constantly tie your shoes.” Charles stands by as he watches you open the box, a cute smile placed on his face. He had bought you strap on shoes. He genuinely thought you didn’t know how to tie your shoes.

You did develop a little crush on him because of this.

Lewis Hamilton:

No. He avoids you at all costs. Word had gotten around on the grid about you and your shoelaces. He refused to take part of this tomfoolery and when you asked him all he did was look straight in your eyes.

He stared at you silently. A few moments pass, and suddenly he books it and runs out of the Mercedes garage and leaves you there.

That man runs INCREDIBLY fast.

Lando Noriss:

He was waiting for you to ask him and nearly sheds a tear when you do. This boy feels incredibly honored tying your shoes.

“Why yes, Madam, I will tie your shoes.”

He definitely feels included and takes it as some sort of badge of honor being included in your pranks. He goes around telling everyone about how you asked him to tie your shoes but then he finds out how many people have already tied your shoes. He was under the impression it was only Max and Oscar who had tied your shoes already but when he found out Lewis, Carlos, Charles, and Daniel had already tied your shoes before him, he felt BETRAYED.

This man ignores you for three whole days because of how late he was included. You make it up for him by doing the one thing he loved, including him in pranks. He takes it extremely well when you surprise him by shoving a face in his cake randomly and sprinting away. He laughs and begins speaking terms with you again.

George Russell:

George Russell noticed your shoes. They weren’t regular ones, these were the strap on converse Charles had gotten you. It’s funny really, because somehow they still ended up unstrapped. How was that even possible? Wasn’t the strap made of Velcro or something?

Though there’s no possible way you could hurt yourself by having unstrapped shoes. He watches you for 10 minutes, engaging in conversations with Charles. He hyperfixates on that unstrapped shoe like it’s the end of the world. It irks him to no end.

Maybe it was an ocd thing, but he completely stops the conversation you and Charles had, to stick your strap onto the sticky part of the velcro.

“Your shoe wasn’t strapped.”

Pierre Gasly:

You CAN’T find him. It’s like he completely disappeared from the face of the world, and it sucks because this time you wore your regular laced shoes for the purpose of getting him to tie them.

I mean, he had to turn up at some point, for racing season. The day you finally saw him was during qualifying. Pierre was being interviewed and you took this as your opportunity to sneak up on him.

“Pierre, can you tie-”

“No. So anyways-”

Pierre completely shuts you down, and engages in the interviewers conversation. The interviewer gave you an awkward side-eye, luckily, Max overheard him and quickly runs to the rescue as your partner in crime.

He grabs a firm grip on Pierre’s neck from behind, “Mate, you’re gonna have to tie her shoes.” He adds slight pressure, enough for Pierre to oblige, but not enough to catch a case or a fine from the FIA.

Pierre kneels down with Max’s hand still on his neck and obediently ties your shoestrings. Max lets go of his hold on Pierre once he ties them, and gives you a high five ‘mission accomplished’ style.

Yuki Tsunoda:

Nope. Not unless you tie his shoes. He hears none of your complains and refuses to tie your shoes unless he gets something in return. Honestly, give him a piece of candy and he’ll do it. Unfortunately, you’re too stubborn.

Why won’t he just tie your shoes? Totally not cool. What if you trip, hit your head, and end up in a coma for ten years? It would be entirely his fault.

You fill his mind with all these over exaggerated ways on how you could die by not having him tie your shoelaces. It doesn’t work on him and so you leave him be & angrily huff out the room. He finds himself rethinking all the ways you’ve stated you could have possible died. It’s kind of realistic falling and hitting your head ultimately ending with you in a coma. He begins to spiral and before he knows it his anxiety has taken over his mind. He sets out to look for you, walking into various empty rooms and starts searching even more frantically.

What if you’re already on the floor unconscious??

He whips open the ferrari’s garage door and finds you talking to one of the mechanic’s you made friends with. He looks down at your shoelaces, still untied. He rushes over, double knotting your laces and letting out a sigh of relief before leaving you confused.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x you #yuki tsunoda #george russel imagine #george russell #lewis hamilton #oscar piastri x reader #pierre gasly #lando norris #l #daniel ricciardo

[piggyinthesea]

To All The Boys I’ve Hurt | 001

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴀʀʟᴏs sᴀɪɴᴢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇs ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜsʟʏ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: “ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ɪ’ᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ 19. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɢɪʀʟ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴜᴇ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛɪᴇꜱᴛ ɢɪʀʟ ɪ’ᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴇɴ. ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ? ɪ’ᴠᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀʏɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ꜱʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ. ᴛʜᴇɴ ꜱʜᴇ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ. ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴜᴛ, ᴏʜ ᴡᴇʟʟ.”

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ sᴇx, ʜɪᴄᴋᴇʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ғᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ-ʏᴏᴜʀ-ʜᴏᴍɪᴇs-ᴇx, ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ sᴘᴀᴡɴ ɢɪʀʟ, ᴄɪᴛʏ ɢɪʀʟ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

“I think the worst heartbreak I’ve had was when I was 19. There was this girl, which I still think is true, that was the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I thought we were in love, you know? I’ve seriously pictured marrying her despite how young we were. Don’t know what happened though, she started pulling away. Then everything went back to normal for a while and things were never better. Then she broke it off. Took me a pretty long time to get over her but, oh well.” Charles had told, taking a sip from his beer among the rest of the men in the group.

The f1 drivers had all come together to a little get-together. It was close to 12 in the morning and the men were all drinking and had gotten to the conversation of exes. Many had shared the cliché high school sweetheart or childhood lover but when Carlos turn came, he had nothing to share. Listening to the stories made him wish to never get heartbroken and so far, he hasn’t. Love never came to him the way it did to the others. He’d only ever known lust. The ‘magic’ one would feel when in love was unknown to him. This doesn’t mean he had no partners in his life time, he just wasn’t in love with them.

“I’ve never been in love. Yet. So I guess by default I haven’t been heartbroken, you know?” Carlos says nonchalantly. The other drivers shared a look between them and continued drinking their cold beers. Carlos furrowed his brows, “What?”

Charles is the first to speak. “There’s no way.” He absentmindedly says. Charles’s back is turned away from the rest of the group as he gets up from the couch to head to the fridge. He pulls out another beer and opens it.

“Swear. I mean, sometimes I wished to have that kind of love but you know, if it happens it happens. I just personally don’t think I’ll be heartbroken over someone.” As if Carlos had said something funny, the group erupted into laughs. Carlos had felt like a little boy confused at the joke adults made.

“Trust, man. They’ll be some devil spawn girl to make that happen for you. You just got to meet her.” The words roll off smoothly out of Charles mouth yet Carlos had difficulty understanding. For a second Carlos thought about what he had said, letting a silence fill the room.

“How’d you meet the girl that broke your heart?” Carlos asks, wanting to learn more. If he learned all the signs of what a ‘devil spawn girl’ looked like, perhaps he could learn to avoid those types of girls. Carlos fixes his eyes on Charles, with his legs spread and hands in between.

Charles takes a deep drink of his beer and sets it on the coffee table. “You know it was hard to miss her? She was just like those model girls on Instagram, but acted nothing like them. You know? It was like seeing someone so perfect you just got to ask them on a date. I remember the first time I saw her. It was summer and she was at this one marvelous beach in Monaco sun tanning, or something. I was by myself at the time, just walking around, and then I gathered the courage to go up to her and start off a conversation. It was the easiest conversation ever, im telling you. It was like I’ve known her for years. One thing led to another and soon enough she was my girlfriend, even though I never officially asked her. I guess that was the first mistake I did. I just assumed we were both exclusive? The more I thought about it, I wondered if the reason she started pulling away was because she noticed I was acting as if we were. Guess we’ll never know though.” Charles had said, rather melodramatic.

An audible groan arose from one of the drivers, Max. “This is so depressing. Can we please stop talking about heartbreak?”

The group erupts into chuckles, “How did this topic even come up?” One of the drivers says. The topic then switched to something more lighthearted and the night was continued smoothly. Throughout the new topic of conversation, Carlos couldn’t stop thinking about what Charles had said. For some reason, he couldn’t fathom a girl so beautiful he’d have to stop and attempt a conversation. Perhaps this was because Carlos laid more on the anti-social type. Still, he wondered if he’d ever meet a girl like that. If he did, he’d definitely stay away. Carlos mindlessly drifted away from the conversation the rest of night, drinking his cold bitter beer and occasionally giving a fake laugh when others would.

Days passed since that night and the topic no longer held reign over Carlos’s mind. It was the day after the singapore gp, he had landed pole position and had never felt better about himself. Still in Singapore, he drove his exotic car around the city and viewed many tourist spots. He’d been in Singapore before, for races. One of his favorite tourist spots was the gardens by the bay. It had not been particularly popular that day, with only a few tourists and natives here and there. Only a couple had recognized Carlos and asked for a picture. His main attention was placed on the beautiful flowers and plants that were beautifully grown and taken care of. The architectural structure of the greenhouses had been elaborately designed when building. The glass panels held barely visible led lights that produced a vibrant purple light when night came. As he wondered around the greenhouse, a person behind him accidentally stepped on the back of his heel, almost causing his shoe to come off.

“I’m so sorry.” A soft voice called out as Carlos began to turn around. Maybe it was the soft glow of the purple lights. Or maybe it was the flowers around that had made you look so bright in his eyes. Nevertheless, for a moment Carlos was stunned.

“Uh- no it’s fine.” He gave a tight lipped smile. You stood in front of him so beautifully- what was the word, beautiful? No he had already said that. Perfect? You’d certainly fit his standards of perfect. It was then he took in your full appearance. You wore a slimming long sleeve shirt, tucked into your beige plaid skirt; black sheer tights underneath along with black combat boots. He stared at you for a second, that seemed pretty long, before blinking himself out of his trance.

“Well, have a good day!” Your kind voice tells him, giving a small smile along the way. You began to walk away, admiring the colorful and blooming flowers.

He follows you, catching up to you and setting place in your side. You walked side by side as he asks, “Are you visiting Singapore or just visiting?”

“𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘸𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

Despite all the alarms ringing in his head, he can’t help but make conversation with you. All the times he’s thought about what Charles said he was certain that he’d walk away, and pay no attention to the ‘devil spawn girl’ flashed through his mind. Yet he couldn’t find the strength to walk away from you. He’s only known you for a few second yet, he was certain you were his devil spawn girl.

“Just visiting. Next is Japan. My cousin just graduated college and as a reward, his parents gave him the money to travel and attend to all Formula One gp’s this year. I have no interest in it, really, im just here to accompany him.” You explained, gracefully walking along the paved floor in the greenhouse. Carlos was barely able to his smirk.

“Oh really? What team does he root for?” Carlos asks, never taking his eye off you.

“I think Redbull. Big fan of Verstappen.”

Carlos cringes and almost laughs. Redbull had performed rather poorly this qualifying race. He imagined the face on your cousin as they watched from the stands. “Heard they had poor results yesterday.”

“Yep. My cousin moped about it to me for hours. She told me some guy from Ferrari took the pole position.”

Carlos laughs, “Yeah. Sorry about her moping to you, sounds awful. What’s your opinion on Ferrari, anyway?” He said, attempting to get more information out of you. Maybe he imagined it or maybe he didn’t, but for a second you froze.

Continuing like normal, you shrugged. “Don’t really mind them, they’re just a team, you know? Fun fact, actually, a few years ago I used to have a thing with one of the drivers. Wont say who though, haha. Basically, he just assumed we were dating. Out of no where. Never even asked me the big question, so I just stopped seeing him.”

Carlos’s heart skips a beat. He knows this story already. He knows he should stop talking to you. But he just can’t. So he lies, “Oh. That’s kind of weird.” He winces, did he really just say that? Talk about being 2 faced.

“Yeah, I dunno but he seems to be doing good now.” You replied, unaware of the thoughts racing through Carlos’s head.

You looked so beautiful though. He couldn’t just not ask you out on a date. He had to make you his, officially. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as Charles.

“Sorry, I have to go now. My cousin has plans with me this afternoon. It was a pleasure meeting you!” You smile wide enough that your dimples show and it nearly makes Carlos collapse.

Carlos reaches to grab your wrist, preventing from leaving. “Wait. You said your cousin likes formula one. How about the next gp, you join Ferrari’s paddock. I kind of work for formula 1 and have access to extra passes. Would you like that?”

Your smile widens, “Oh my god, yeah of course! What’s your number? She’ll be so ecstatic, no matter the team.”

A small bubble of pride built up in the stomach of Carlos as he types his digits in your phone. You part ways, and a while after you left Carlos returns to his hotel. He swoons when you text him first and he spends no time responding back.

[phone]

Hey! This is the girl you met at the greenhouse. I never caught your name?

hi!! my names carlos, yours is?

You respond with your name. Carlos can’t help but think about what a beautiful name you had. He still can’t believe fact you even gave him your number. Girls like you have thousands of men on their knees. The type to have a guy tattoo your name on their arm. The type of girl to have well-known celebrities in your dms. He knows you know you’re beautiful. However, he promises, in the swarm of guys infatuated with you, he’d be the one to treat you the best. You guys text back and forth for nearly two hours. Just like Charles had said, it felt like he knew you for years. Conversations went by with ease and delight.

Feeling bold, Carlos asks to FaceTime. It didn’t take long for you to respond, agreeing, and Carlos can’t help but feel victorious. You answered, laying on your bed with your hair slightly messy and out of place. You looked absolutely adorable. The two of you began to talk and you had told him your cousin canceled plans to some Redbull event. You didn’t bother to go and waited patiently in the hotel. Carlos frowned.

Carlos debates against himself. His heart pounds as he asks, “Do you want to go out, have some fun?”. He cringes and expects rejection.

“You know, I’d actually like that! I might lose my mind in this hotel.”

Carlos laughs. He tells you, be ready at 8, and you obey. Carlos had picked a bar/restaurant. It was the type of place to have gourmet meals yet a large bar. Knowing whether it was a bar or a restaurant was difficult. He already been blown away by your beauty and so when he picked you up and saw you in a tiny red hunched up dress, he had to hide the tightness in his pants. Many women, though you weren’t like many women, were impressed by his shiny and lavish car. However, you showed no reaction to his. It makes sense that you were used to guys with fancy cars, after-all, it takes money to have a beautiful lady. He’s quick to open the door for you and when he settles into his seat he tells you how gorgeous you looked. You laughed and in return said, you don’t look to bad yourself.

Carlos felt small standing next to you. NeverMind the fact that he was absolutely towering over you, he still felt like the musty guy who managed to impress a goddess. He wore nothing too extravagant, just a white button up shirt with black slacks and dress shoes. He saw many eyes turn to you as you enter red the bar/restaurant however, you remained blissfully unaware. So he thought.

You knew you were beautiful. You had your fair share of guys tell you. As you grew up, you learned to finesse your beauty into getting whatever you wanted with ease. You were plenty of men’s dream girl and so you did what any girl did to take advantage. It’s a world ruled by men, yet in your world, you ruled the men. Carlos pathetic excuse of a car didn’t impress you. You were accustomed to luxury. Many snobby men that don’t have it all, think one thing would have you dropping your panties in a whim. You weren’t bound to anyone. It was harder for guys to impress you. Being flown out, sent extravagant gifts, and designer bags was a daily thing for you. The both of you left the dining area and walked over to the bar. The more you talked, and the more alcohol entered your system, the more you found yourself enjoying Carlos’s company. He wasn’t a snobby man, you could tell. As the both of you were talking, a well dressed man made his way over to you.

“Hey! It’s you. Good to see you.” He says, completely ignoring Carlos’s existence. Carlos felt a large amount of annoyance and protectively placed his arm around you waist.

“Oh, hey! Nice to see you again.” You say, aware of the emotions Carlos is currently feeling.

The man introduces himself to Carlos, “Woah. Just wanted to say I’m a big fan, man.” Carlos’s ego enlargers and feels dominance over the man.

“Always nice to meet a fan.” Carlos fakes a smile and shakes the man’s hand. The man leaves, presumably back to his own date who looked agitated.

Your full attention is back on Carlos, “Are you a celebrity or something?”

“Something like that.” Carlos doesn’t know if he should tell you he’s a driver for formula one. He knows certainly about your past with Charles and even though it seems like it might not be a big deal to you, it was for Charles. Carlos wondered if you had truly hurt him the way he described. You just don’t seem like that type of person.

After a few drinks enough to get you tipsy, the two of you decided to head back to the dining area. It took a while for your orders to arrive, but when they did boy did they make your nostrils pleased. Tasteful looking steaks were served to the both of you. The sides contained mainly collard greens and mixed vegetables. Carlos had also ordered a bottle of wine that was too expensive and too hard to pronounce. The two of you talked in between your meals, sharing more and more about your life.

You finished your meals and by the end of the day, you admit you had a pretty good night. Not to mention, Carlos looked so pretty tonight. His light curly hair sat nicely in a comb over and with the sleeves of his white button up rolled up and for a moment you wished you didn’t share a room with your cousin. He opened the door to his car for you like a true gentleman, and you couldn’t help but blush a little. Laughs were shared on the ride back to your hotel.

Each moment Carlos spent with you, he felt more and more like a bad friend. Guilt was consuming him but the thing that made everything worse was that he didn’t care. He felt happy with you. Despite knowing you for such little time, he was already wrapped around your little finger. Much like others. He wasn’t exactly like others, though. He didn’t want to drive you back to your hotel. He wanted more time to see that amazing smile and face.

However the time came, and you were thanking him for taking you out. The two of you smiled and held eye contact. You looked up at him with your big eyes and dazzling smile. You leaned in and he didn’t hesitate to kiss you. To him, he felt like the world had stopped moving. Your lips were his newfound love. He felt that as if he’d been deprived of your touch or love, he’d start a world apocalypse just to feel them again. In your perspective, the kiss was good. You had worse. There was nothing much to say about it.

You gave him a smile and waved goodbye, shit even your wave is pretty, he thought as he watched your frame walk into the hotel to ensure you got in safely. He turned and walked back to his car. In no time, he reached his hotel room.

He tosses and turns in his bed yet you still can’t leave his mind. He hyper-fixes on your beauty and recalls every interaction with you. He remembers how you looked at him before the kiss. Your big sparkling eyes stared up at him, as if he was your world. You surprised him when you kissed him. He was surprised he didn’t get hard that moment, yet thankful for it. He kept imagining what your lips would feel like again. He wondered how’d you look pressing your lips somewhere else. He groaned, the aching in his pants becoming quite painful. He palmed himself with his eyes shut, feeling dirty and guilty. He unzipped his slacks, freeing his aching member from the imprisonment. He rubbed himself slowly, imaging you beneath him, teasing him. His stomach felt tight and pressured as Carlos pumped himself faster. His head began feeling heavy as Carlos pumped himself with even more speed and dedication. Images of you writhing below him flashed through his mind like core memories. He imagined your sweet doe eyes looking back up at him with his seed spilling out of your mouth. With a final pump, white hot liquid oozed out of him. More and more pulsed out of him as he gave a sigh of relief and relaxed his body. After the post-orgasm bliss, he cleaned himself up and slept peacefully at last.

The morning after he decided on sending you a good morning text with light pink hearts. Today he had a meeting with his team on their results for qualifying. He dressed himself in a simple outfit. A branded Ferrari shirt with their sponsors and some straight black jeans. Every five minutes or so he checked his phone, wondering if you’d texted back. He tried to hide his disappointment when he saw the contrary.

Carlos tried to listen to the directors and team principals but he couldn’t because when he tried too, his mind always landed back on you. He suddenly felt his phone buzz and when he looked, his heart soared at your text. It was a simple message, really.

her

good morning, mi princesa! 🩷

good morning :)) how’d you sleep?

Reminders of what he did last name in your name paused him in his tracks. Nevertheless, he quickly replied to your message.

Amazing. I had such an amazing time with you, would you be open to doing it again?

haha, I had a good time too. I’d love to do it again but, I’m heading to Japan for the next gp this evening :/

Me too! Maybe we can hang out there. That reminds me though, I’ll send the passes later. What time do you leave for your flight?

You’re so kind! I leave at 6.

In a few minutes I’m gonna be out of this meeting, want to meet up so I can give them to you?

Im down! You know where I stay, let me know when you’re a few minutes away.

Carlos subconsciously began to smile at his phone, unaware of the certain monegasque that had noticed. The meeting had ended and as Carlos made his way to the exit, an arm reached out to grab his.

“What’s her name?” Charles smiles knowingly. Carlos is too stunned to speak. For a moment, he had forgotten all about Charles and his past with you. How long could Carlos hide this from his teammate?

“I-uh im not sure why that matters.” Carlos stutters under the immense pressure, almost folding.

Charles laughs at the stuttering mess of Carlos, “Whatever mannn. Just remember what I told you.” Charles winks at Carlos before leaving the room.

Carlos felt so much pressure amongst his shoulders. He was beginning to grow tired of hiding stuff for the sake of keeping you in his life. Yet, he still found his way heading to the team principals office.

He knocked and once he gained permission, he entered the office. “Hey. Was wondering if there was any extra paddock passes for the next gp?”

“Carlos! Congratulations on pole position. Uh, check that cabinet over there. There should be a few.”

Carlos made his way over to the cabinet, taking out 2 paddock passes before saying his goodbyes and entering the garage.

her

Hey, just got out of the meeting. Should be at your hotel in few minutes.

okay :)

Roughly estimating, it took him 29 minutes to arrive at your hotel. He had called you down and like you done before, you sucked the breath out of him. You wore a pretty pink sundress with white heels. Suddenly, he forgot why he was here. Yet as you stood in front of him, only a few feet away, he scrambled to his pocket and handed over the 2 passes to you.

You’re smile was enough to brighten up the whole city. “Thank you so much!” You exclaim, reaching on for a hug and tightly squeezing his body. His arms were laid loosely around your waist. If he spent all eternity in those moment, he’d be the happiest person ever. However, life wouldn’t be life without change.

So when you let go from the hug, he felt a small ache in his heart. “You know, I still have a few hours until my flight and my cousin isn’t at the hotel. Want to have some drinks and come in?”

Carlos nearly leapt at the opportunity, “That sounds amazing. Of course.”

His smile was adorable. You wondered if he knew exactly what he was getting into. He seemed too sweet to ruin. You held his hand and guided him through the hotel. He was probably internally freaking out, you thought. You scanned the keycard to your room, and opened the door to your room.

The mini fridge inside the room was filled with those tiny one-shot vodkas and so you grabbed as many of them as you could and threw them onto the bed. Soon enough, the both of you have gone through about half of the one-shots and were now giggling about each others ex’s. About half of the stories you told him were watered down versions of what actually had happened. For example, this one guy, Mark had chased after you, while you were inside of a cab because you had broken up with him.

The truth was, you robbed his 25 carat watch and he had only just realized as you were in the cab. Guess some guys really don’t have as much money as they say. This was when you were much younger and naive, though.

For the most part, Carlos had a relatively normal background of exes. No crazy girl still messages his phone, unlike you who has to deal with random men claiming they knew you. Maybe they did though, you suffer from bad memory so you don’t really know. The both of you rolled into your sides and stared into each others eyes. He had stopped laughing, and you knew he was about to kiss you.

His lips maneuvered through your lips, capturing the essence of your beauty. His lips were plump and soft. Instinctively, you grabbed his curls and moved yourself on top of him. With each second, the kiss deepens and begins to threaten to turn into something more. You grind into him, and in an instant he groans with the friction. A switch inside of him his flipped and he quickly turns into someone else. He flips you over, and he stares down at you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, mi amor.” You couldn’t help but laugh. He really doesn’t know what he’s getting into.

“I could say the same thing to you.”

In a flash, he removes his shirt, revealing his amazingly fit body. His slacks stay on, revealing a kink of yours you didn’t know you had. His large hands reached over to the tiny straps of your sundress dress and pulled it downward. Your breasts were revealed instantly and you thanked yourself for not wearing a bra. You hear Carlos breath shudder as he runs his hand over your cold perky breasts. His mouth charges an assault on your tit, sucking and nibbling your breast like starved man. Your hands are on his back pulling him closer towards you whilst leaving red marks on him. Your hands aim for his hair, your fingers getting lost in his curls.

A growing sensation aches your core as you feel yourself producing your juices. The clink of his belt undoing anchors you to reality and for a moment you wonder, should I ruin other women for him?

You whine, tugging at his waist as he scrambles to take off his pants. You begin growing anxious by the second. It felt like a blur waiting for Carlos to align himself to your entrance, yet you felt pulled back to the world when you felt the tip of his girthy pink head in you. You moaned out to him, begging him for friction. He remained still however, and cupped your cheek.

“Why do I want you so much?” He quietly asks himself as his eyes dwell in yours.

You look at him in a loving way before responding, “You shouldn’t, my love.”

An unrecognizable expressing flashes in his face. He ignores what you’ve said, wanting to get rid of the possibility of you hurting him from his mind, and begins thrusting into you. His waist gives you compassionate yet powerful thrusts. His hips roll in a way that makes his dick hit every one of your perfect spots. Your nails scratch the nook of his neck, in pattern that’s unique to you and only you. You pull him closer and closer, until his head is rested on your neck. Despite the close proximity, his thrusts stood sturdy and rough.

A large pillar of pleasure bubbles in between your thighs with each thrust.

One

Two

Your brain nearly melts at the roughness of his thrusts.

Three

Within milliseconds, you feel your inner core squeeze around shift and release your liquids on him. Carlos seems to fold under the added pressure. He lets out a gasp, and begins to thrust faster inside of you. He’s chasing his own high and it doesn’t take long for him to reach it. In a flash, he pulls himself out and comes all over your sundress. He pants, almost lost in his own breath. He can’t bring himself to lay next to you. He stays staring down at your lustful eyes. You pull his head closer, sucking on the skin by his neck. You wanted to leave bruises. To let everybody know that it was you who ruined Carlos.

Carlos lays for a moment beside you, with an arm wrapping around your body and his head nuzzled in between your neck. You began to absentmindedly play with his curls, not knowing the effect it would have on Carlos.

Within a few minutes, he was out. Barely audible snoring left his mouth and you debated whether or not waking him. However, your cousin was almost here. Cold heartedly, you decided on waking him up. You press small kisses on his head while lightly shaking him.

“Carlos. Baby, wake up.” You whisper in his ears, brushing the curls out of his face.

“Hm?” He says. It’s obvious he’s not fully awake. He’s automatically replying despite not knowing a single word your saying. You decide to shake him harder.

“My cousin’s almost home. Baby, wake up.” You see that this has more of an effect on him. He sits up, rubbing his eyes and blinking the brightness away.

He notices your appearance. Messy hair, flushed cheeks, and stained dress. He fights a smirk. He fixes himself first, brushing his hands in between his curls and puts his attention back on you. He stands up from the bed, looking down at you as you sat still. Your big doe eyes sparkled under his gaze and before you knew it, he cusped your cheek and pulled you in a passionate kiss. “Te amo, mi amor. Vas hacer mi esposa.” He whispers on top of your head. Though you have no idea what he said, you felt the passionate vibe that radiated from his words.

You watched as he left, almost pitying him. This was the moment the rest of them fell, hard. You tidied yourself up, taking off your stained sundress and replacing it with a neater outfit. You brushed the edges of your messy hair and replaced it with a smoother texture.

After 20 minutes or so, your cousin opened your room door. You wondered whether you should surprise her with the paddock passes now, or later when the gp came. Though, you weren’t exactly good at keeping secrets.

“Guess what I have.” You smiled at her, holding the passes behind your back. Her expression held a certain type of confusion. You let a few moments pass on. Your cousin wasn’t the type of person to actually guess. She’d wait until you actually told her. You slowly revealed the passes to her, eyeing her along each second that passed. She slowly read the words until a shocked expression spread to her face.

In an instant she shouted, “How! Where did you get these!”. Her reaction only reminded you of her young age. She wasn’t a minor, but to you she’ll always be the little 5 year old girl who lived for race cars. She pulled you into a hug, knocking you onto the bed behind you. It only took her a moment to realize where the passes were too.

“These are Ferrari passes. I mean, I don’t mind. It’s a paddock pass. But, you need to tell where you got this from.” She looked at you in awe. You’ve always known she looked up to you. Who wouldn’t? You were beautiful, had plenty of men on their knees, and got what you wanted no matter the cost.

“I met this guy. His name is Carl- No, Carlos. He said he worked for the team or something and had access to extra passes.” You stated, not aware of the importance.

Her face fell. “Carlos!? Whats his last name? Was it Sainz?” She shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you frantically to the point where you were left dizzy.

“What? I don’t know, I never asked.” You replied, trying to ease your head ache. You watched her scramble to her phone, roughly typing into google like a madman. In an instant, she pulled up a photo of the man you’ve hung out with.

“What? How did you get that?” You asked your cousin, in confusion. The man you had recently had sex with was in front of your screen, in a weird red uniform branded with all types of logos. Your cousin nearly fell into cardiac arrest. She thrusted herself awkwardly around her bed, shaking and violently screaming into her pillow, why not me?!.

You frowned at your weird cousin, debating calling 911 on her. However, she regained her cool and casually composed herself together. You watched her take deep breaths.

“What are you gonna do when they find out about each other?” She asks to which you give her a confused reaction. “Charles? Remember him? You know they’re teammates right?”

You ponder a moment, attempting to remember the man. Suddenly, the memories hit you like a brick wall. The memories were fond, yes, but ultimately boring. “They’ll work it out. It’s not like I broke his heart.”

Your cousin backs off, and questions whether the two of you should start packing. You agree, hiding your stained dress at the bottom of your suitcase in embarrassment. The two of you ransacked the hotel room for any thing you could have took, such as the mini shampoo bottles, soap, coffee cups, and (yes, you took it) toilet paper. The two of you were on perfect time for your flight so you called a cab and began bringing your luggage down the hotel floor before briefly checking out. The ride to the airport was quiet, only filled with the notifications ringing from your phone. You took a peek, seeing Carlos’s contact and silencing your phone before returning to the conversation your cousin held.

You tried to pay attention to your cousin, however it was impossible with the amount of notifications buzzing from your phone. She peered down to your lap where your phone sat, eyeing it curiously.

“You gonna answer that?” She said, raising her light brown brow.

Your cousin was pretty. She had beautiful light brown skin with tight curls and bright eyes. She was younger than you by a couple years and ultimately looked up to you, for some reason. Her body was average, though if anyone called her that you would stop at nothing to defend her name. Unbeknownst to you, it took her a while to gain confidence because of you. She looked at you everyday, wishing it was her with your curves and perfect hair. She never held this against you, of course, but it did make her feel insecure for a long time. Until, she realized she had her own beauty. Yes, you were beautiful but so was she and comparing herself to you isn’t acceptable.

“In a bit.” You whispered, leaning your head against the cab window and watching cars pass by.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #smut #formula 1 #formula one #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fanfic #fanfic #fanfic series #to be continued #mature #mature reading

[piggyinthesea]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞: 𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘺. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦 :). 𝘐𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘔𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯-𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘭. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 “𝘔𝘋𝘕𝘐“ 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘐 ��𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵. 𝘐𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆: 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦, 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘱*𝘳𝘯, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘵

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍: 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳/𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳/𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 (𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯), 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘣𝘳𝘰/𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴, 𝘥𝘶𝘣𝘤𝘰𝘯

𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴

Series:

Worse than Worse | 001 (𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦)

One-shots:

Why do you look at her?

Head-canons:

Photography - Headcanon

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Charles Leclerc

Series:

Night in Monaco

Night After Monaco

Drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

Crushing Season

Carlos Sainz

Series:

To All The Boys I’ve Hurt | 001

To All The Boys I’ve Hurt | 002

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

Daniel Ricciardo

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

Oscar Piastri

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

Yuki Tsunado

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

George Russell

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

Lewis Hamilton

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

Crushing Season

Max Verstappen

series:

Lest You Ache My Wrath part 2

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

Crushing Season

Lando Noriss

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

Crushing Season

Pierre Gasly

drabbles:

The Shoelace Theory

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Joe Goldberg

Series:

The Way We Are (wic)

Oneshots:

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #max verstappen x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #captain america #bucky x y/n #bucky smut #formula 1 #marvel universe #masterlist #max verstappen #race cars #joe goldberg #joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg x you #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #oscar piastri x reader #pierre gasly #george russel imagine #lewis hamilton #daniel ricciardo #yuki tsunoda #lando norris

[piggyinthesea]

The Night After Monaco

part 2 of this fic

pairing: charles leclerc x reader, max verstappen x reader

word count: idk prolly more than 2k

warnings: shouting, smut, messy charles, stress, anxiety, fluff, kind of sugar daddy charles, max being desperate, gaslighting

summary: charles teaches you things you didn’t know about yourself he shows you what it means to truly be taken care of. but, does this mean things are really done with max?

Son las cinco 'e la mañana y yo no he dormido nada

It’s 5 in the morning and I haven’t slept at all

Pensando en tu belleza, en loco voy a parar

Thinking of your beauty, going to end up crazy

El insomnio es mi castigo, tu amor será mi alivio

Insomnia is my punishment, your love is my relief

Y hasta que no seas mía no viviré en paz

And until your mine, I won’t live in peace

There’s always someone watching. Every time you do something there’s always someone or something watching. You realized that when you found a post on Instagram about the other night.

f1exlusiveupdates

f1exlusiveupdates: Charles Leclerc, ferrari driver, spotted leaving an exclusive club with company shortly after his Monaco Gp win. No images including the female’s face.

↳ user233 just a hook up, not a big deal.

↳ charlesismybf it’s me guys, I’m the female☺️

↳ formula1luver baby come home the kids miss you

327 comments 15,000 likes

Charles had sent the article to you that had been posted that same evening with a message asking to talk. It shouldn’t have bothered you the way it did but, you became extremely anxious to hear what he had to say.

The moment Charles’s had woken up he was met with a text from his brother, Arthur. Arthur had sent the article with an abundance of questions of who, what, when, why. After Arthur persisted, Charles had told him everything.

He explained your situation, the ‘break’, and he even threw in the hickey on Max’s neck to ease it all. Arthur had nothing to say. His moral compass was being challenged and he didn’t know whether the whole thing was right or wrong.

1. It was Max’s idea to take the break.

2. The relationship was already running its course (Due to mainly Max’s fault).

3. Max cheated on you too.

He explained to Charles that it wasn’t right to take his chance with you right after taking a break knowing you were vulnerable and just needed a friend, however, technically speaking he did nothing wrong. Charles definitely needed to talk to you and figure out what exactly was going on and what the both of you intended to do. He had an entire speech prepared. He wanted to ask you if you’d consider pursing a relationship with him. He understood that it’ll definitely cause a scandal and he planned to assure you he could take it as slow as you wanted to. He wanted to tell you he didn’t see you as just ‘a hook up’. He wanted a deep and meaningful relationship with you, if you’d let him attain one.

However, his speech was forgotten and completely eradicated from his brain when he saw you. You wore a simple outfit. A graphic t-shirt with jeans. Yet, you still knocked the breath out of him.

For a moment he didn’t know what to say. “Hey.”

You awkwardly smile. Your anxiety was booming and him looking so gorgeous did not help you. You had already mentally prepared yourself for rejection.

“Hi.”

You let him in and the both of you begin walking towards the couch in the living room. Awkward silent moments pass. Still, no one had said anything and the both of you stayed staring at each other.

“H-“

“Y-”

You cut each other off.

“You go first.”

“No, sorry you go first.” He says with his cheeks burning up.

“I understand if the other night was just something casual to you. And I’m sorry about the article.” You ramble. You didn’t mean to cause a scandal and make things messy for him. You hoped he didn’t hold anything against you.

“It wasn’t casual! Sorry. Sharing that night with you was so amazing. I want more of that. I know it’ll be extremely hard for you but, if you’d have me, I’d enjoy a serious relationship with you.” He quickly states, mentally cussing himself out for acting a fool.

His words take a few moments to process. You hadn’t considered the possibility that he’d want a relationship with you. Maybe it was because you had low-self worth but being in a public relationship with Charles scared you. His fan base was crazy.

The internet would have a field day if they had ever found out you have a relationship with Charles. They’d call you out kinds of names. Slut, whore, homie-hopper. You could see it clearly. “I don’t know if having a relationship would be the best idea. I don’t even know if I still have one. And besides the internet-”

“Forget about the internet. Do you want me?”

You answered within a flash, “Yes.”

“We shouldn’t let it the internet rule our lives. They won’t understand, but at least we’ll have each other.” He reaches towards your hands and holds them together, “Ma belle, I promise we can take it as slow as you need to.”

His eyes silently pleaded at you. He looked at you with his big brown eyes and long eyelashes. He was irresistible and oh-so-pretty. He acted as if he expected you to say no. How could you though? When he looked at you with longing and passion the way he was doing right now…it’d be hard to ever say no.

“Okay. But first I need to talk to Max. We never officially broke up.”

“Of course.” Before leaving, he pulls you in and leans forward. His lips feel soft against yours. A simple act of affection is so tempting and before the kiss is deepened, he pulls away and leaves your flat.

You knew what you had to do now. You dreaded every second of it but you texted Max.

vroom vroom

come over, we need to talk.

I’ll be there in a couple minutes

read 2:03 pm

It didn’t take long for the door to your pad ring. Each step you took as you walked closer and closer made you feel extremely uneasy. The door knob felt sticky against your sweaty hands.

Max stood in front of you with a bouquet of flowers. Without asking, he let himself in (a perfect reminder that he’s been here plenty of times before and this might as well been his second home).

“These are for you. I decided to forgive you and move on. Look, we can just forget this ever happened.” He handed the bouquet of flowers to you. You stood confused, yet you quickly became agitated the moment his words process.

“You forgive me?” You questioned, daring him to elaborate.

“Are you serious right now- look, I didn’t come here to fight. Baby, I don’t want our relationship to end. Don’t end this because of one mistake you did.” He says in a condescending tone.

The nerve of him. There’s no possible way he believes he’s still in the right. For fucks sake, he still has a hickey from another woman on his neck yet he’s coming to you as if you were the one in the wrong.

“My mistake? Max you have a fucking hickey from another woman on your neck. You don’t think this has anything to do with you?”

At this point, you were seriously debating throwing his shit-bouquet at him. He remained speechless, standing like a dumb ass waiting for another word to come out of your mouth. “You know what just leave. We’re done .” You angrily push him out and (gladly) shut the door.

You let out a huge sigh and ran both hands through your hair, frustrated as ever.

y/ninstagramuser has unfollowed maxverstappen1

y/ninstagramuser has followed charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc has followed y/ninstagramuser

It was only half an hour you’ve unfollowed Max until you heard a notification from Charles. It was a link…to yet again another gossip article. You physically groaned and mentally prepared yourself to get bashed.

formulaonebestgossip

formulaonebestgossip: Has the beloved grid couple broke up? Evidence to back this claim up consists of the fact that Y/n had just recently unfollowed Max. No posts from either party has been released confirmed this.

↳ user288 highly doubt this lol

↳ redbulll24 prolly was an accident since he still follows her🤷‍♀️

↳ user444 wait, does anybody know if Y/n followed Charles before this? I just checked and they’re both following each other 🌚

replying to user444 I think so? I’m not sure tbh but it doesn’t make sense why she would follow him after all this time

replying to user444 she definitely didn’t, I remember cause I used to stalk her followers all the time

8,600 comments 20.6k likes

3 familiar bubble dots popped up on your chat with Charles. After what seemed like a minute or so, they disappeared. Then, they came back.

charles🫠

did you break up with him?

yeah, he says he still wants to work things out though.

…do you want to?

Nope.

Good.

I want to take you out.

what if someone sees us?

If that’s something you’re worried about, I can work around that. I told you, the other night wasn’t just causal.

Okay then. I’d love to go out with you☺️

I’ll send you the details ❤️

seen 12:04 pm

Suddenly, you were in high school all over again having a schoolgirl crush. It didn’t take long for Charles to let you know the time he would pick you up tomorrow. You were excited and weirdly intrigued. What type of date could either of you go on where the public wouldn’t see you?

max v.

why’d you unfollow me?

because we’re not dating anymore ??

we’re not done. I’ll have you again, for sure. 😴

what the hell weirdo. don’t make me block you.

seen 12:26 pm

Without thinking of how Charles would feel, you took a screenshot and sent it to him. Within seconds, Charles replied.

Charles🫠

I’ll make you forget him tomorrow, don’t worry sweetheart.

oh yeah? how so?

First, I’d fuck you dumb on my private jet we’re taking tomorrow. No one else would be around, so it’d be just the two of us. Then, we’ll look through online lingerie shops together while you’re sitting on my lap as I picture you wearing them. I’ll make sure you always have something pretty. Maybe I’ll even get you some nice Versace heels for funsies. By the end of the day, you’ll probably memorize my bank digits. Not that I mind, as long as I get to see you wear the stuff you’ve bought.

are you alone?

why, are you touching yourself?

can you answer my question first?

Yes, im alone. Now you answer mine.

Of course I am. I feel like you say the right words to get me going on purpose.

No, it wasn’t on purpose. How was I supposed to know you were that needy?

I’m sorry

Don’t be sorry, I love when your needy for me baby. Tell me how your touching yourself.

I have my fingers in my shorts. They don’t feel as good as you though. My body misses you.

I bet it does. Don’t worry though, I’ll see you tomorrow princess. Can you insert a finger into yourself?

I did it. I wish it was you instead :(

Don’t be sad, ma belle. Just keep touching yourself.

I’m close Charles. I wish you were here.

keep touching yourself sweetie.

I didn’t come. Max texted me.

Can you block him for me, cheríe? With the cherry on top.

Of course, anything for you.

Thank you 💗. I have to go but I’ll talk to you soon.

liked message

You felt as if you’d been robbed from you high. The pleasure you’ve felt until the moment Max texted you was something you’ve never experienced by just merely looking at words on a screen.

Max was still ‘asking’ to start over. Yet, it was something about the way he said it that proved he still truly didn’t think he did nothing wrong. He pointed the faults at you and hasn’t realized his own mistakes in the process. This had got you second guessing. What if you really were the one in the wrong? You quickly shook the thought away and scrolled through Instagram.

Nothing interesting had happened today and so you took a small walk around your neighborhood before returning back, sweaty and tired. When you arrived to your door, a large bouquet of flowers sat in the door step. It didn’t take much to figure out they were from Max. You like being gifted things. Receiving gifts was your gift language, something you’ve told Max plenty of times, yet only now he’s doing the gifting. You ponder for a moment. Maybe it was because of how pretty the flowers were that you began to second guess yourself. You looked at the pink wrapping and the white roses decorated with golden butterflies and fairy lights. You wondered if you’d been to hard on Max.

You tossed the flowers onto your couch, not caring about the fragility of them. The rest of the day had been spent with updates from Charles, who had been attending formula 1 meetings all day long. Once night came, you texted your good nights to each other and went to bed.

It didn’t take long for the sun to rise and finches to start singing. The color of the sky had been a beautiful light blue color with cotton candy shaped clouds. You got up and splashed water on your face and rubbed your inner eye boogers away. The time read 11:49 am as you checked your phone. No new notifications other than Charles good morning text had been sent to you, sadly. It’s your own fault for having no social life.

Since Charles was meant to pick you up at 1:30, you had a decent amount of time to get ready. You picked a white summer dress with spaghetti straps and floral prints. It reached towards your mid thigh, enough to be slightly scandalous yet still long enough to remain a proper dress for any occasion. For jewelry, you opted to a small pearl necklace and shiny small earrings. The shoes you were white platform 3 inch heels with a cute lace ankle buckle strap. After putting on light make up, it was 10 minutes until 1:30 and someone knocked on your door.

You fully expected it to be Charles, until it wasn’t. Max was standing in front of your door once again with a plain light blue button up and navy jeans.

“Where are you going looking so pretty?” Max stares at your body with intent as leaned against the door frame. A voice behind him spoke to him,

“She’s going with me.” Charles held a luxurious looking box and he pushed himself in front of Max and passed it to you.

Inside, there was about 50 small cut roses mixed in with a couple pink roses to make a heart effect. The black box had a bow around it. The brand was in another language you couldn’t pronounced in a gold and Italian style.

“These are beautiful, Charles.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek as Max had burned holes through his back.

“Those are okay. Where are mines though?” Max desperately looked through doorframe into the apartment.

“Somewhere on the couch. Probably dead by now.” You said, locking the door behind you and holding Charles hand. “We have somewhere to be, don’t we?”

He nods in agreement as you guys begin to walk away from Max who still stood in front of your apartment.

Click📸

The ride to the airport was talks about each others childhood and teenage years. His hand rested upon your thigh as he drove with his other arm. You’d found out Charles had 2 siblings. One older and another younger. He asked questions about, where you grew up, where your family’s from, and asked questions about your job. Your mother was a well-known model in the 80’s, so with the amount of traveling, you technically grew up everywhere. Naturally, you pursued a career in modeling. People loved you. Not because of your ‘beauty’ but many say it was the way you carried yourself and how you manipulated the energy around you to feel comforting and safe. Some called you a nepo baby, but really, that’s just what they want to believe. You believed modeling was made for you. You loved the sponsered gifts from extravagant brands, the free beauty products, the party invitations, traveling, but overall it was the way you felt on the runway that won your heart. Some may argue you were a little too materialistic, but if there’s no harm in it, what’s the problem? Max was sweet, most of the time, during your relationship. Though there was this one time, he ‘jokingly’ called you a gold digger. It was one of those phrases that just stuck with you for some reason. You didn’t believe it. You rarely asked for him to buy you stuff and so you were just confused, not offended. Besides, you had your own money. If there wasn’t a man to spoil yourself, you’d do it yourself. As you arrived to the port, Charles took a different entrance than the regular one. He pulled into a large lot with big green hangars in a row, each holding a different jet. There was only one jet outside the hangar. It was standard size yet smaller than the average public jet and by the looks of it ready to go on any command. Boarding the jet and taking off didn’t take long however the cocktails that you’ve both ordered did.

The attendee had finally returned with the cocktails and before drinking, you and Charles clinked your glasses. His hand rested on your thigh and you asked, “Where are we going?”

“Las Vegas. I was hoping you’d attend attend the gp there.” He said. He lightly traced circles around your thigh. You felt small shockwaves of electricity shooting towards your core. Even though he sat right next to you, you felt as if you were so far from each other.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon? The internet thinks Max and I only broke up barely a week ago.” You said, looking into his eyes while scanning his reaction.

“But…” his hand inches closer to your inner thighs, “I want to see you.” He quietly pleads into your ears as his hands travel further and further. There was an urge in your core begging him to go further, like it was thriving off his touch. His hands caress your inner thigh, squeezing them and teasingly brushing over your panties. One of his hands reach your head and pulls you in a breath taking kiss. It was deep and slow yet it was enough to get your heart beating like crazy. His other hand reached towards the inside of your dress, snapping the band of your panties against you in a teasing manner. He pulled away, grabbing your hand and lifting you from your seat towards his lap.

You sat on his lap, facing towards him while your legs were in an M position sticking out. Your heads clashed as your mouths merged together, intensifying the feeling in your crotch. His hands felt like fire as they traveled from your thighs to your waist. He ran them slowly up your waist during your kiss and then slightly pushes you further down his lap, letting you feel his hard-on. You feel your core soaking up and you find yourself wishing you were doing more than tongue kissing. Not breaking from the kiss, you grind down on him and as a result a soft groan left his mouth. “You drive me so crazy.” He whimpers, eyes never leaving you.

“I sure hope so.” You tell him, hands trailing down his chest down towards his crotch. He looks at you daringly, gasping when you cup his clothed crotch and slowly pull down the zipper to his pants. You take his member out, admiring the beauty that laid in front of you. His pink almost red tip with pre-cum sliding down looked so perfect in your hands. You slowly massage him up and down. He tilts his hand back and lets out a pornagraphic moan.

You suddenly let go of his shaft to turn around. With your back facing his face, you pulled down your panties and raised your pretty summer dress, flashing your ass for just a moment before aligning yourself to him. You sit down on him and instinctively the both of you let out noises of pleasure. You feel him slowly filling you up more and more until you finally sink down all the way. You begin to grind forward before you sharply get pushed back down.

“Stay still.” Charles warns you. “Let’s get you a new wardrobe.” You confusedly wait for Charles to pull out his laptop and place it in the movable table in front of you guys. He types in his passcode and searches up, ‘Victoria Secret’.

“Each set you get, you’re allowed to move once.” He whispers to your ear then pulled the computer closer towards you.

“But I want to move already.” You begged and whined.

“Then start shopping, baby.”

You scrolled down the page, quickly browsing to add the first thing you see into your cart. The first set was a light red pretty coquette set. The bra had beautiful lace designs with a tiny bow in the middle of your breasts.

“Wouldn’t you look so pretty in that?” He says, trapping your hips and grinding on his dick, finally creating some sort of friction for you. You were craving more movement by the second and so you glued your eyes to the screen.

The next set was a navy blue set that had a strap design around your hips. As you were about to add it to your cart Charles stops you, “You’d look absolutely beautiful in this but, I don’t like the color blue.”

You whined but continued scrolling until you found a maroon 3-piece lingerie set. It had heart shaped garters around the thighs and another connecting to your stomach with the ring of the garter stopping in the middle of your stomach, where your belly button was at. Charles had hummed in approval and moved your hips up and down with his hands stuck on your waist.

This had gone for what you thought was eternity. At the end there were 17 sets of lingerie in Charles cart which he had pay for (happily). The sets ranged from dark to light shades of red with the occasional pastel purple sets. It got to a point where you got so desperate that you outsmarted his game. You filtered the results the block all blue sets and after you started spam pressing ‘add to cart’.

After your post-orgasm bliss wore off, you had excused yourself to the restroom and roughly cleaned yourself up. You returned from the restroom and sat in your original seat next to Charles. He took your hand and entwined it with his. He rubbed circles around your hand before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It didn’t take very much for the two of your to fall asleep, hands still entwined lovingly.

Charles had woken up groggily and let go of your hand to rub his eyes. He looked out his window seat into the dark sky and reached into his pocket for his phone. He grabbed it, only to find out it was yours. Yet something had caught his eyes. You had a message from a random number.

1+400-765-3479

Unblock me, Y/n.

He wasn’t sure who this was at first, then something in his brain clicked. He needed to be sure, though.

who’s this?

Max.

Charles had physically laughed. A little part of him wanted to show his claim on you yet there was still a rational part in him begging him not to be messy. Except, Charles is a messy person. Without a blink, he grabbed your hand and entwined it with his. He took your phone, took a picture, and sent the photo to Max. Max left him on read for the remainder of the flight.

A firm hand on your shoulder shook you awake. You learned outwards to the window and saw a bright blue sky then you looked to the right and saw Charles smiling at you.

“Morning, cheríe. We’ve landed, let’s go.” He said, gathering his carry on bag. You gathered all strength to get up and walk down the hoarding stairs. You felt a pit of hunger dwelling in your stomach and you suddenly wished you had ate before the flight.

“I have a special day for us. We’re going to this beautiful private beach and I’ve had someone set up a small picnic for us. You’ll like the beach, it’s beautiful.” He says, holding your hand down the stairs. His infamous ferrari was only a couple meters away.

“How come we didn’t come in that car on the way here?” You asked, curiously.

“Well, I had to ship it out here so I sent it out earlier than when we left. That’s why.”

You let out an ‘oh’ as he opened the door to the passenger side for you. He gets in his seat, turning on the roaring engine and drives out of the port. As always, his hand rests on your thigh rubbing circles into your skin. A sudden realization hits you.

“I didn’t pack any clothes.” You say, looking at him in disbelief.

“I didn’t either. We’ll hit the mall after we get to the beach.” He says, unworried.

The drive towards the beach was fairly quick. You figured it was because the port was close to the ocean. He pulled into what looked like a cliff only to surprise you by stepping off the cliff into well hidden stairs. The stairs were narrow and so he reached backwards to guide your hand down and ensure your safety. The stairs were long and risky yet you made it down with no issues. At the bottom, there was a small booth with a worker in it, giving a small nod towards Charles. Charles continues guiding you into the sand and he leads you to a gorgeous picnic set up. There was a white blanket across the sand with pillows placed elegantly in front of a white small table.

The table was placed under the shade of a white with hints of beige umbrella. China plates were set on the table with napkins on top of them shaped in elaborate designs. There was 2 fairly large wooden basket and a glass of wine next to it.

“How did you set this up?” You asked, walking around the beautiful set up. He sat down and you mimicked his actions.

“My brother’s in the country. I paid him to do it. I thought he would’ve just did something simple but he impressed me.” He reached towards the wooden basket. “Let’s see what he chose for our lunch.”

Inside the first basket, there were endless fruits such as watermelon, grapes, cherries, dragon fruit, and pineapple. Two silver sporks were set in the side of the basket along with extra sets of napkins. In the other basket there was plenty ingredients for a do-your-own sub. Two butter knives were also included. One to spread the mayo and another to cut the 2 medium sized baguettes.

The two of you began making your own, adding the right ingredients to satisfy your taste buds. You munched on your subway sandwiches until they finished, then the two of you fixed yourselves a plate of fruits. A comfortable silence was shared between the two of you as you took in the view in front of you.

Charles had pulled out 2 wine glasses and opened the wine bottle letting out a loud ‘pop’. The red liquid poured beautifully into the glass cups. Within moments, the two of you clinked your glasses and drank the liquid. You ached to be closer to Charles and so you moved yourself to his side. He wrapped of his arms around you and continued sipping the wine with the other.

“This is beautiful, Charles.” You murmur softly. He holds you tighter in response.

“You know I really like you?” He says, while staring off into the ocean. His eyes move to you only to find you already staring at him.

“I really like you too.”

He places a kiss on your head. “I hope one day we can walk through the entrance of the paddock holding hands in front of everyone.”

Your heart warms up. You’ve never felt happier than you do right now and you find yourself hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to maintain this happiness forever.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 #formula one #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #girljournal #smut #sugarbaby

[piggyinthesea]

woah.

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

*

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

*

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

*

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

*

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

*

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

*

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky. 

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core. 

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature. 

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. 

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long. 

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss.  He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

[piggyinthesea]

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

please think i’m pretty please think i’m pretty

[piggyinthesea]

I accidentally clicked lando, please let the reader end up with Charles 😭

what are we feeling this week?

[piggyinthesea]

working on 2 fanfics!! Haven’t uploaded, I know I know, but I AM working on stuff. Don’t think I’m not doing anything 🥲

Curious though, should I drop the part 2 of “Night in Monaco” or the new fanfic of Carlos x Reader?

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #espn #formula 1 #carlos sainz

[piggyinthesea]

chapter one: colour me red

Chalres Leclerc x Fem!Reader + Carlos Sainz Jr x Fem!Reader

Warnings: new relationships, a little bit of flirting, carlos is having some bad thought - malice from carlos as well, charles is oblivious, alcohol and the consumption of, reader is getting caught in a wicked web already, a bit of lying and one hint to a sexual innuendo

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's Note: welcome to my new series! chapter one isn't very long, just an opening little thing but chapter two will be juicy and I will be posting the first insta file on Sunday :) I'm not sure how often I'll be updating as I have classes but I will try to get chapters out to you as often as possible :) I hope y'all enjoy it!

Call My Name Masterlist

--

Preseason was such a boring time to be a Formula One driver.

Most of their responsibilities were turning up for events being hosted by sponsors and attending multiple meetings to make sure that they have everything they'd need in the car. As much as that does benefit them, they would much rather be on track.

Hence why they were so glad today was the last of the preseason events. Ferrari was hosting their season opener at Maranello this evening.

Carlos has been twirling around from the moment he arrived, being dragged from one sponsor to the other as if he didn't already see them at some point in the last few weeks. The one person he was really looking for was his teammate, Charles.

The Monegasque driver had been hinting to Carlos that he's seeing someone, and that he would be bringing her to the event to meet everyone. He can still hear Charles' words in his head; a beautiful woman, god she's so beautiful.

Carlos, whose curiosity got the best of him, went looking for this beautiful woman online, searching every variation of a headline he could think of and yet, nothing.

He was starting to believe that Charles made her up.

Speaking of Charles, he was nowhere to be found. He figured he'd get a drink and then head out in search of his friend.

He isn't sure what came over him as he approached the bar and as much as he knew staring was rude, he couldn't help himself.

To his left, sat the most beautiful woman he had seen in his life; hair curled and tossed over her shoulders, her complexion complimented the red dress she had on and Carlos' eyes wandered over her legs, crossed over one another and he looked up and down until he stopped at the black heels she had on - the bottoms red like her dress. Expensive, he thought to himself.

A woman's voice breaks his thoughts; "did your mother not tell you that staring was rude?"

He smiles when his eyes meet hers. "Only if there's a reason I shouldn't be staring."

"So you're saying," you twirled the straw in your glass. Carlos notices your manicured nails, French tip - a term he learnt from his sisters. "That there's a reason you should be staring at me?"

"Can't help myself," he smiles again, stepping closer before sitting on the stool next to hers. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

The woman laughs, her hand resting on his arm that was stretched out over the bar counter. Carlos' knees bumped with hers, her own leg shifts, stretching out and her foot pressed to the bottom handle of his seat.

Carlos is lost in thought, watching as your lips wrap around the straw. His mind is filthy, he can't help but think what your mouth would feel like around his - You called him out to him.

"Does that line ever work for you?"

"Sometimes."

"Well," she smiles at him, her nails scratching over his arm before moving it. "You're not so bad yourself," she smiles at him sweetly.

Carlos sits with the woman for a while longer, buying her another drink as they chatted; he revealed more than she did, she simply nodded along and when he asked what she's doing here, she told him she's been invited.

As has everyone else; he tells her and she smiles, shrugging.

Someone rests a hand on her lower back, causing her to shift in her seat to see who it is. Carlos looks over, seeing that his teammate, Charles, was now leant down to press a kiss to the woman's cheek.

"You're okay?" He asks her, his hand on her shoulder as he stands behind her. Her hand reached up to rest on his, nodding. "Absolutely."

"Carlos," Charles smiles, "I see you've met y/n."

Carlos blinks, looking between you and Charles; he finally makes the connection. You were the mystery woman.

"So you're y/n," he smiles at you - to be fair, you didn't tell him your name nor did he ask.

"I am."

"I was starting to think that Charles made you up, that you weren't real and were just some fiction of his imagination." He smiles, making you two laugh.

"She's real, mate!" Charles laughs and you nod, offering him your arm. "I'm very real, feel free to pinch me and confirm."

As innocent as your gesture seemed, there was something underlying in the way you said it, the way you looked at him. Carlos doesn't say anything, glancing at his teammate before he reaches for your wrist. His index finger and thumb dragged across the soft skin of your wrist, meeting in the middle to pinch you.

The two of you are smiling at each other, Carlos's hand rests over your wrist and as much as you knew you needed to move your hand, you didn't. Charles was oblivious, he's yet to notice the tension growing between the two of you.

He speaks, squeezing your shoulder. "If that's all, mate," he smiles, "I'm gonna take her around to meet everyone, yeah?"

You smile at your boyfriend, scooting off the stool which lifted your dress a tad too high for Carlos's mind not to wander.

"I'll see you around, Carlos." You smiled at the man, interlocking your fingers with Charles' before picking up your glass.

Carlos nods, "don't let them bore you too much," he tips his beer bottle in your direction, taking a sip as you walk off with his teammate.

God, he wished he didn't feel the way that he did and he knew it was wrong, so bloody wrong, but he can't help it.

Charles was kind and he deserved love, Carlos knew as much but if you, this beautiful woman - so sweet and so charming, loved him as much as Charles seemed to love you, then why would you flirt with him?

You didn't suit Charles; you were opposites.

Mysterious, funny, charming, kind, sweet, smart - as the list goes on, Carlos does realize in fact that you do suit Charles in some ways but he held a bias.

He met you first, here.

That meant you were supposed to be his, not Charles's.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, he would make sure you would be his one way or the other.

---

It's quiet, the room smells manly in a way, a scent that you've come to know as Charles. The bathroom door was opened after his shower, the man brushing his teeth as you watched tv in bed.

A phone buzzes on the nightstand, you don't look over but Charles hears it from the bathroom. "Is it mine?" He calls and you lean over, reaching for it.

His phone screen was dark but yours had lit up. "No! It's mine," you call back, pick to check who had messaged you.

There's a notification from Instagram.

Carlos Sainz (carlossainz55) has requested to follow you. 3m ago.

Charles comes out of the bathroom, finding you staring at your phone. "Everything okay, love?"

"Yeah," you smile, "just instagram."

He gets into bed, pulling the duvet up. "Anything interesting?"

"No," you shook your head, unlocking your phone to accept the request. "Just my friend tagging me in some give-away," you laughed before setting your phone back down.

Charles smiles, letting you lay against his side as you two watched whatever was rerunning on tv.

A few floors below the two of you and a room to the left, a man's phone lights up with a notification from Instagram.

Y/n L/n (youruser) has accepted your follow request. 1m ago.

Carlos reaches over for his phone, reading the words and smiling to himself; it's every man for himself now.

--

add yourself to the call my name taglist!

taglist: @aadslovesmads @lieswithoutfairytales @steephanie07 @topguncultleader @darleneslane @barnestatic @ravisinghs_wife @elisaa-shelby @piggyinthesea @cmleitora @kmc1989 @themandaloriansdiaries @oconso