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#f1 x memes
maxcuntstappen · 13 days
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F1 via The Interwebs™️ (x)
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daisybianca · 3 months
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pairing: lando norris x femalereader
summary: ruining Lando's live stream is your favorite thing to do when in the mood.
warnings: female masturbation, mention of sexual actions, cursing words
(a/n): lando's recent stream look. I'm unwell.
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YOUR HEADPHONES WERE filled with the sweet melody of Taylor Swift's "London Boy" and then you remembered that in the next room of the house you really did have a London Boy waiting for you.
Your boyfriend had one of his usual streams, and it was always your choice to step away from the place where he was doing them and not take part in it. You didn't like the idea of giving fans more content about your relationship than there already was.
By changing the song of the playlist, you settled on something more freaky, like the wreeknd.
Hearing Lando's voice and loud laugh echoing from the next room, you opened the app on your phone and joined his live stream.
Your username was a random name that only Lando recognized.
God, he was so hot.
Messy curly hair, an unbuttoned white t-shirt, and grey plaid pants.
He had heard your wish to let his beard grow long, and you loved every moment of it. Watching the screen intently, listening to his strong accent through the device and from the adjacent wall, you felt your heart flutter loudly. Your jaw nearly hit the floor when you saw from the screen Lando laughing at something and pulling back, spreading his legs widly while bending his head back.
Swallowing, you decided to write a message in the comments that only he would recognize "Turn off the Stream and come over here. Im in the mood."
A few seconds later, he read it. He didn't say anything. He just smiled.
Again, you chose to write the same comment in case he didn't pay much attention to it the first time.
"I'm not shutting down the live. If anyone wants to tell me something, they can come here and tell me themselves."
You smiled and turned off your phone.
Is that how he wanted it? With games?
He asked and shall receive.
You got out of bed, opening your closet and wearing the most revealing and slutty piece of clothing you owned. You also put on a pair of high heels and began to walk slowly towards the next room.
The door was closed so you touched the handle and began to open it gently.
Two beautiful eyes met yours. Then they scanned you from head to toes.
Whatever Lando was trying to tell his viewers was now forever gone.
His jaw closed and he licked his lips. His eyes were on the verge of popping out of their sockets.
Bringing a finger to your lips, you murmued "Shhh."
You felt his eyes follow you as you closed the door and sat comfortably on the couch across from him.
You weren't, of course, visible on the camera. And your boyfriend did his best not to show his viewers the uncomfortable situation he was in. He kept talking, but you were sure he didn't understand what he was saying either.
You stopped looking at him and tried to forget the fact that you had to be discreet because thousands of people were somehow in the room with you.
Spreading your legs, you pushed your warm hand where you wished Lando's was right now.
You immediately shuddered at the very first contact. Twisting your body a little, you gave your boyfriend a better angle of your wet--dripping actually--spot.
His eyes never abandoned you. At one point, you heard him hissing plaid from his breath. "Fuck." His voice made you shudder. "Thats it." He said and closed the live show without saying anything else to his audience.
You stopped the movements and touches on your body and looked at him throwing the headphones on the chair and walking briskly over to you.
That's my boy.
"You want to fucking make me come in front of thousands of people? Huh?" He walked towards you and started unbuttoning his pants. You just smirked and bit your bottom lip. "Acting like a little brat, getting treated like one, right?" He grabbed your neck and forced you to him. After taking one huge taste of your lips, he let you down and removed his white t-shirt. "Open your legs. You're lucky I didn't choose to fuck you live, baby."
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nightskylonging · 2 months
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marsinout · 2 months
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Charles: Max, you need to stop your “pretty boy” stuff! Max: You need to stop being so cute. Charles: Max, it's not going to work on me! Max: That tight Ferrari outfit works on you. Charles: Stop. Max: You have a sexy hairstyle. Charles: You're embarrassing yourself! Max: You have perfect eyes. Charles: Charles: Kiss me.
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marsinoff · 3 months
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*in an argument* Charles: Fuck you- Max: -later. now listen here-
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yaren23 · 1 year
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BEAUTIFUL 😭
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Via:
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sharldose · 15 days
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Charles: Do you think you could take me? Max: Yes. Charles: Max: Oh you mean fight-
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chillielo · 6 months
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Prompt 14 + 20 with Nando or Webber
wanting more | FA14
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pairing: fernando alonso x fem!reader, mark webber x fem!reader
prompt: avoiding to think about the future + being scared to make the next move because everything is fine the way it is
summary: fernando’s not scared of anything. except losing you.
warnings: age gap (reader in 20s), implied sexual activities, slight corruption kink if you squint
a/n: writing this request was the equivalent of me throwing things at the wall and hoping it sticks 🤡 hope u like the spanish dilf tho
the first time he realises that there’s an uneasy feeling in his chest is when he hears his mechanics talk about you. they practically worship the ground you walk on, thanking the heavens for their generosity whenever you grace the aston martin garage with your presence.
they know you are his, so they don’t touch and only look. but it still makes him unsettled when he sees you chat animatedly with them about some tiktok trend he doesn’t understand.
still, he pays no mind to the twang in his chest and takes it out on you later in the night, punishing you for flirting with other men.
the second time the same uneasy feeling hits, fernando is gripping the edge of the table so tightly he thinks he could probably splinter the wood.
you are so young, so sweet and so innocent. and he knows he’s not the only one who thinks that. he never expected mark of all people to be having dinner at the same restaurant, nor did he expect mark to not so subtly ask you if you’d like to ‘hang out’ sometime.
your eyes sparkle and fernando does not like that. he values what he has in the present and he likes the casual relationship he has with you but damn it.
he needs assurance that you’ll still be by his side tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the day after after tomorrow and-
he clocks it then.
he is afraid of losing you.
somehow, he has come to expect to see you in his future even though he never thinks about his future with you.
yet, instead of expressing his feelings like a normal adult, fernando chooses to swallow his emotions and challenges you to get through the night with his hand sneaking up your thigh.
the third time his fear strikes, it gives him a sense of deja vu as well. mark is here at the same bloody restaurant again. except this time, there’s no hesitation in the way he joins the table, smiling and chatting away with you like the two of you were old friends.
and then the dreaded topic is brought up: the future.
specifically, your future.
fernando pretends to be disinterested as he plays with his food but his ears are perked as he listens closely to what you have to say. he secretly hopes that he is included in that future of yours.
“i was thinking about starting a small business or maybe adopt a pet.” you answer naively.
mark laughs. “that’s great, but i meant to ask what are your plans for settling down? when do you want to get married?”
fernando nearly crushes his wine glass between his fingers. but the liquid courage is more than enough to make him finally face his goddamn fear.
“actually, y/n and i have yet to discuss our plans for that yet. we’re just taking it day by day, you know?”
he fixes an intense stare at you, not mark, his eyes pleading for you to play along and to say that you want the future he is envisioning for the both of you.
you falter, and he sees the hesitation in your eyes and every agonising second of silence threatens to break his heart into pieces.
“yeah, nando’s right. we haven’t discussed anything at all.”
mark’s eyebrows shoots up, and he takes one look at fernando and decides it’s time to give up.
“i see. i guess i’ll leave you two to it then.” he chuckles good-naturedly, clapping fernando on the back before he leaves.
the spaniard lets out a sigh of relief, his heart is still hammering in his chest like a rabbit’s and it’s throwing him off.
“so… we have plans for our future?” you ask teasingly, tilting your head towards him.
it takes him a few moments to gather his thoughts before he nods and repeats, “yes, our future.”
“i want so much more with you.” he says a little breathlessly, his voice tender with emotion.
you laugh at him, but he doesn’t mind. actually, scratch that— he minds it a lot but he’s willing to let it go because you’re so pretty and you’re driving him crazy with fear and anxiety.
because what if you don’t want a future with him?
“what a way to ask me to be your girlfriend.” you smirk.
fernando shakes his head. he is serious about this.
“no, not girlfriend. i want you to be my wife, mi amor.”
he would quite literally lay down on the pit lane and tell lance to run him over if you said no right now.
“shit old man, what have i done to you?” you’re grinning like the devil but you’re not rejecting him. you’re moving closer and closer, tempting him with your playful attitude.
“don’t know and i don’t care. just say yes to me.” he whispers but he isn’t begging. (of course he is)
you smirk and your gaze falls to his lip.
the resounding ‘yes’ is present in the way your hands find his neck to pull him closer so that you can kiss that grumpy frown off his face.
—end.
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saintescuderia · 9 days
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pancakes (pt. 1)
welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.
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AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.
series masterlist here :)
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P1 - bulgarian split squats
Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym. 
The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes. 
Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season. 
One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.
These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.
Never again.
Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day. 
Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.
You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place. 
You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special. 
Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname. 
It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain. 
Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body. 
And then you went about destroying your legs. 
It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.
“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.
“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.
“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”
You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.
“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates. 
“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’
Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.
Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a ’true blue Aussie.’ The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was AFL.
Why is it called football if the players pick it up?
Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.
Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.
“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.
No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.
If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer. 
So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.
The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.
"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."
You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.
"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.
“I might be leaving Alpine.” 
You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.
“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.
You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.
“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.
He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it. 
“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.
Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.
“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."
“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.
“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.
“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.” 
“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.
“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.
Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.
He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.
Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.
He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.
It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.
And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.
By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through. 
By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.
By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.
“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."
You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."
"I don't know what to do about Alpine."
"Call a lawyer."
Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."
"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speak of which, the fuck is that?"
“What?” He asked and realised she was looking at his feet.
“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed. 
“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.
“Put these on.”
“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”
“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”
Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in. 
“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.  
“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.
"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."
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ladymarvel27 · 24 days
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Charles getting replaced:
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Don't know if by Carlos or by Max.
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charizznorizz · 3 months
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CHARLES LECLERC IN HIS BARBIE ERA 💗😩😩
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carlossainzwho · 3 months
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WHY WAS THIS ON MY FYP
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daisybianca · 7 months
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pairing: lando norris x femalereader
summary: lando seems too innocent sometimes. however, as your boyfriend, his hidden kinks start to unveil themselves. oh, and they're very, very hot.
warnings: cursing words, sexual activities, female pleasuring
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"DO YOU HIDE any of your kinks from me, baby?" You asked, glaring at your boyfriend as his soft hair caressed your flesh. His beautiful face was buried between your legs, and his features lit up once you exclaimed the words.
"What?" His accent kicked in. His colorful eyes narrowed and a smile appeared on his lips.
"I'm no fool. You know what a kink is." You giggled and scratched his neck playfully. "Shoot. I'm prepared."
You heard your boyfriend’s delicate laughter. "Baby, I might be crazy in love with you, but I'd never reveal to you something like that."
"Why?" You frowned, starting to get a bit annoyed.
"I don't know, I just..." Lando let out a breath and got up. "I feel like you're too perfect to know that I picture you and me doing such dirty things."
He got comfortable on the bed next to you and then gently grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you to your favorite seat. His lips. You dat on him, as your chest was on his eye level. You could already feel something sharp and hrad poking your thigh.
"Lando, I..." You tried to find the right words to persuade him. Sometimes, he made you think that he'd never been in a relationship ever before. Or maybe that he was too perfect for you. "We are a couple, aren't we, baby?"
"Yes, love." His response was instant, and his hands found your waist, grabbing it as if he were the owner of it.
He indeed was.
"Okay, then tell me, Lando." You tried to change his mind by fake-puppy eyeing. It always worked, to be honest.
Lando proceeded in a long exhale. "Fine." You noticed him bit his lip. "But don't you dare asking me to actually do it in real life."
You chuckled. "Why?"
"You'll see why once I say it."
You moved yourself on top of him to get more cozy, and his eyes were very beautiful. It's too beautiful, in fact.
You couldn't resist that. No straight, non-blind woman could, you were sure about that.
You'd like to take control and ride him once he was done telling you what he had to say. But you couldn't way for much longer. You could already feel yourself soaking wet down there, and he hadn't even touched you wet.
"Okay." You tried to make this as brief as possible. "Tell me."
"Well..." he started. "You know how much I love your ass." Lando blurted out.
Of course, you knew how much he adored your curves. He didn't miss a single chance to smack or squeeze your ass whenever the opportunity occurred.
You smiled. "Go on."
"Well, I--" You could tell he was a bit embarrassed, and that kind of frightened you.
You and him had been together for almost a year, and he seemed to struggle revealing things ti you as if you two had hust starting seeing each other.
"I think I know where this is going." You said, caressing his soft cheeks and hair. His face was kind of red, making his innocent eyes pop up more. "I can already tell it's something really, really dirty." You teased him, and he blushed even more. "And hot."
Gosh, you were so freaking wet.
Lando's eyes filled with pure curiosity. "How'd you know?" He wondered with his beautiful, british accent.
"You're so hard beneath me that it actually hurts my thigh."
Surprised by your statement, Lando looked around and exhaled as if this was too much to handle. He grabbed you by the waist hard and pulled you closer to him.
He didn't proceed to kissing you, though. He just rested his forehead against your, closing his eyes and placing his hands on your cheeks.
You heard him shallow. "You know, you're making it more difficult if you say things like that, angel."
"Thanks for telling me." You smiled against his smile, feeling his warm breath tickle your sensitive skin. "I'm writing it down so I can do it more often." You teased again.
His pretty eyes were still closed as if opening them would mean losing control.
"Fuck, (y/n)," Lando growled. "Don't do this to me, please." He begged, his eyes remaining stubbornly shut.
Please.
"Okay, if you want me to stop, you'll have to tell me." You smiled. "I promise, I'm not going to suggest doing it unless you say so."
Your gaze finally met his.
He applied a small peck on your nose, then on the area of your lips, then lowering his head to reach the skin of your neck.
Your flesh was warm under his touch.
"Ride my face, baby." His accent pronounced.
Your eyes widened, and you were so glad he didn't witness that. His head was buried on your neck and hair.
"Do you want me to?" You asked, just to be completely sure. "Do you think you're going to handle it?"
"Yes, just do it?" He started kissing you.
"Really? What about breathing?" You pulled just a few inches away in order to be able to talk. "Are you sure you'll be able to breathe?"
Lando filled the gap between the two of you once again, not letting you exclaim a word. "Just shut up and ride it, baby." He pulled your shorts and panties away with our swift move. "From now on, you're not opening that beautiful, little mouth of yours again. Only to beg for more or scream my name. Got it?"
You tossed his shirt on the floor, and then your own shirt followed as well.
He laid down, and before you even got the chance to understand what was going on, he pulled you to him. Without talking, he placed you on top of his head, and he twisted his tongue to make your stomach swirl into a million circles. "God, I knew you were soaking wet." He said.
He did that a few more times and a few moans escaped from your lips.
"Move your hips for me, love." Lando said, encouraging you.
You did as he said and the feeling on your stomach only got more intense.
Too much.
Too hot.
Too perfect too handle.
Just like Lando.
He geabbed your thighs with possessiveness, swnding another wave of pleasure through your entire system.
"Fuck, Lando..."
At first, he just utilized his tongue.
He wouldn't let you come until three of his fingers were into you.
You screamed in pleasure and the orgasm arrived only when he said it.
This is heaven, you thought. And it also goes by the name Lando Norris.
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nightskylonging · 1 month
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marsinout · 3 months
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Max: Babe? Charles: Yes? Daniel: Yes? Lando, grabs popcorn: I am so gonna watch this drama.
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marsinoff · 3 months
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Lando: If we put Max and Charles in a room, who do you think would come out crying first? Oscar: The room.
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