chaotic-good-gemini - Tumblr blog

[chaotic-good-gemini]

[OSCAR] post race, singapore grand prix 2024

[chaotic-good-gemini]

in many ways it is objectively funny that a sport with numerous ethical issues that has literally killed people, is sponsored by oil companies, gives work to former fugitives and criminals, that has had multiple cheating scandals, and used to be run by the son of a famous british fascist and a gremlin committing white collar crime is so upset about drivers swearing on the radio. the house is on fire and has been for its entire history but you're upset because the vase isn't centred on the side table 🙄

[chaotic-good-gemini]

carlos really thinks this laver cup is some sort of highschool summer camp doesnt he 😭

[chaotic-good-gemini]

so many of the "i only use chat gpt for ___" excuses are concerning because people use it in place of learning basic, valuable skills.

you don't need chat gpt to write professional sounding emails for you, there are many many guides on the internet and with a bit of practise you can learn to write them yourself. a very important skill for a professional to have, and some of the basic rules will carry over into irl conversations!

you don't need chat gpt to be a "more detailed search engine", because you're robbing yourself of the chance to learn how to find and filter information on the internet and evaluate the credibility of sources. which is a VITAL skill. plus, chat gpt is notorious for being wrong?

if you use it to write essays, you're taking away your ability to hone your research skills, your writing skills, your critical thinking skills. your ability to create persuasive arguments!

and for most of the other reasons people use chat gpt, there are non-ai websites for that! for maths, wolfram alpha. for figuring out what you can cook with the ingredients you have there's supercook and the like. for creating routines, there's about a million apps!

whatever you "only" use chatgpt for i promise there are better websites out there that you don't have to worry will produce complete bullshit???? and destroy the environment???

[chaotic-good-gemini]

"skibidi toilet is ruining gen alpha" do none of you people remember asdf. i remember asdf.

[chaotic-good-gemini]

i wish tumblr would let you append a little memo when you blocked someone so i could remember if i brought the hammer down for virulent transphobia or for having slightly too annoying of an opinion on a day when i was hungover

[chaotic-good-gemini]

it’s been 84 years

[chaotic-good-gemini]

if you're still accepting requests can ask for 🟠 with oscar please and thank you 😽

Oscar was not happy. He'd finished p1, and yet you could hear him in his driver's room, cursing and throwing things around like an animal.

Oh yeah, Oscar was fucking pissed.

Warnings: filth, dirty talk, based on hungary 2024, is it exhibitionism if the goal is to make people hear you?, squirting, Oscar's a bit of a freak in this ngl, bordering on dubious consent, very minimal prep, overstimulation?

Requested from my prompt list

Technically his race had gone perfectly, he drove great, managed his tyres, took the lead and he'd had his first Grand Prix victory in formula one. He should be happy.

But just like his first sprint victory, it had been completely overshadowed, and this time it was by the absolute mess that was the Mclaren strategy calls.

By the fuckass team that made the call to pit his twat of a teammate first.

It was supposed to be smooth sailing, instead his teammate had to fucking let him pass for him to win.

That's not racing, that's fucking… it's…

Whatever it is it's fucked. It's fucked and it's wrong and it made Oscar's win feel undeserved. And the final insult came in the form of Lando himself.

Sweet summer child, Mclaren's princess, doe eyed baby boy Lando.

He was only a prick about 1% of the time, but today he was really making up for the the other 99% with gusto.

While Oscar was smashing up his driver's room, Lando was in his own, next door, adding insult to injury by playing his music just loud enough for Oscar to hear, but he'd selected a playlist that he knew Oscar hated.

Because Lando was also bitter. So it was really just petty bickering, but with noise instead of words. Everytime Oscar threw something against the wall, or screamed in anger, Lando would turn it up a notch.

You, the team photographer, and Oscar's fuckbuddy turned unofficial girlfriend, decided to intervene before either of them decided to start costing the team serious money in property damage, or actually start brawling. It had happened only once in the two years they'd been teammates, but it was not pretty, and definitely something you'd like to avoid.

So you knocked on Oscar's door.

“No!” he yelled from inside.

“It's just me, Osc! I'm coming in!” you answered, opening the door carefully before stepping in.

The sight before you was hot pitiful.

Stuff was everywhere. Several things including his phone and a bottle of water, were smashed next to the wall separating the two drivers.

His helmet was on the other side of the room, his massage table was upside-down and the sofa cushions had been thoroughly roughed-up and strewn around the room.

And in the middle of all this was Oscar, still in his race suit, red faced and panting hard, sweat soaked hair plastered on his forehead.

The way he looked at you almost made your knees buckle. You'd barely ever seen him so angry.

He'd managed to keep his carefully composed image together after the race and during the interviews, but now, now he was letting it all out.

As you walked in his features softened ever so slightly and he rushed towards you, enveloping you in a tight hug. So tight you could barely breathe.

Neither of you said anything, bodies entertwined, just gently rocking to whatever shit-stirring music the prick next door had selected.

God, he wanted to punch him so bad.

He would have to find another way to let out his pent up aggression.

He made noise low in his throat before his hands started trailing downwards. Down to cup your ass and squeeze, hard.

You squeaked and jumped in his hold but he held firm, keeping you pressed against him.

He was breathing hard against your neck and you almost felt like he was about to eat you alive.

“Oscar?” you tried, no response.

He roughly turned you around and pushed you down onto the only thing he'd left intact, the desk.

The conveniently empty desk, which was against the same wall that the music was coming from.

The force with which he pushed you made you stumble, and you just about caught yourself before you almost got a concussion.

“Oscar, what-” you started to say, but the sound of him quickly unzipping his suit and his hand coming to push you down cut you off.

“Baby I love you, but right now I just need you to bend over and take it.”

You whole body shuddered at his tone, and he chuckled darkly.

“I knew you would like this, my little slut is up for anything.”

He very rarely talked to you like that, or got into this kind of mood, but when he did you turned into mush.

You enjoyed careful, loving, passionate Oscar as much as the next person. But this Oscar… this one was a real treat.

The hand between your shoulder blades pinned you down while the other one pushed your cute little skirt up and pushed your underwear to the side.

Two fingers breached you and you moaned loud, hopefully covered by Lando's music.

“God you're so wet. I think i'll just slide in.” Oscar pumped his fingers a few times before going to push his fireproofs down around his thighs, freeing his cock that had been at least half hard ever since he'd crossed the finish line.

“I'm going to need you to be louder than that if we want Lando to hear how good I'm treating my girlfriend” he muttered darkly into your ear.

You gasped and didn't even have time to protest before you heard him spit in his hand and cover his cock, carefully putting it against you and pushing in, just over half way.

It's a good thing you were lying down on the desk, because your legs went completely numb as the feeling of his thick cock stretched you open.

“Fuck, that's good. You're my good girl aren't you? Gonna take all of my cock like I know you can?”

You couldn't answer, but he adjusted his position and thrusted in all the way in, and the noise you let out definitely wasn't covered by Lando's music.

You'd be surprised if the whole building hadn't heard you, and you would be worried about it if it weren't for the amazing dick you were currently getting.

You literally couldn't shut your mouth. Your jaw was wide open and Oscar didn't hesitate to stick two of his fingers in there to ensure you couldn't hide your moans.

The loudest moans you'd ever produced came spilling out at every thrust, and Oscar couldn't help but feel proud of the pleasure he was managing to give you while being so selfish.

Because he wasn't doing this for you, he was doing this for himself, for his pride, to let out his frustration and anger, and mostly to piss off Lando.

You were unable to move, the pressure on your back was pushing you roughly against the desk, you could barely breathe, every thrust sent your hipbones knocking into the edge of the desk, your cervix was taking a beating, and your nails were splitting because of how hard you were scratching the surface under you.

It was fucking perfect.

As the desk rocked, the edge of it hit the wall repeatedly and you were sure Oscar had placed it there on purpose. Just to make a point to Lando, that Oscar had someone there for him. Someone he could count on who loved him. Someone he could use.

And use you he did. You were floating, brain like tv static as Oscar gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and pounded into you harder than he ever had before.

You felt so high on pleasure that your orgasm came and went almost unnoticed by you, but Oscar definitely noticed.

He quickly pulled out, ripped your now ruined underwear off, and turned you over on the desk.

“Fuck, look at you. Completely drunk on my cock.”

He slid back inside and started thrusting straight into your g-spot with renewed vigour.

“Fuck baby you're so good for me. My good girl, all for me.”

If you hadn't been completely out of it, you'd have noticed how Oscar was speaking unnaturally loudly, and throwing angry glances at the wall every now and then. Again, this wasn't for your benefit.

“You can give me another one can't you? Come on baby, come all over the cock that's making you feel so good”

He was nailing your sweet spot dead on every time and a hand had joined the party to thumb lazily at your clit, lighting your whole body on fire.

This one you definitely felt coming, it was building deep inside you, making your toes curl and your breaths come out in high pitched whines, and you registered a new wetness between your thighs.

“ Perfect girl, Perfect fucking cunt.”

Oscar was over the moon, he was making you squirt all over him, the desk and the carpet.

“Yes baby, fuck- good girl. Fucking soak me baby that's it.”

He only lasted a couple of thrust before the image of you limp in his arms, eyes rolled back and thighs clamping around him trying to stop his assault on your overstimulated pussy, overwhelmed him and he came with a shout.

His hips stilled as he felt like his soul had been sucked out via his dick.

It took you a few minutes to regain control of your limbs. Oscar had fucked all the energy straight out of you.

You noticed the music next door had stopped completely. And then the realisation of what just happened set in.

Oscar had just fucked your brains out, and everyone, including Lando had probably heard you.

It got Lando and Oscar to stop fighting, and to you surprise you never got repremanded for inappropriate workplace behaviour.

But to no one's surprise, Lando never put his music on higher than 50% volume ever again

[chaotic-good-gemini]

I've started a collection I like to call "Substances were consumed"

Regularly updated

[chaotic-good-gemini]

Blocking y’all using the anti piastri tag cuz what the hell do u mean “anti piastri” … this him?

[chaotic-good-gemini]

there are two wolves inside you… one is Max Verstappen threatening retirement and the other is Fernando Alonso threatening to never retire

[chaotic-good-gemini]

theres smth like humiliating abt interacting with a mutual that doesnt interact with u like i like their posts and im like oh no fuck i lost im their bitch now what am i gonna do

[chaotic-good-gemini]

Carlos: “Fuck, so tight”

[chaotic-good-gemini]

Stop gatekeeping Piñon from us 😭😭

[chaotic-good-gemini]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[chaotic-good-gemini]

[chaotic-good-gemini]

Hi bunny!! Can I please get scones with a side of juice, served by Max Verstappen? 🫡 thx bae

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? check out the menu! i've been really back to writing since my chest infection got better so please! send me orders! i love seeing what ya'll request!! as for this one, thank you so much!

scones ("but what if they see us!) + juice (cockwarming) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, semi-public sex, oral sex (max receiving), cockwarming, risky sex, girlfriend!reader

sim racing was supposed to be fun. a relaxing activity for max to turn off part of his brain that was working overtime after a practice. it made logistical sense that after a long day of racing, he would go home and race some more.

but maybe that was max's weird brain.

so, why streaming with his friend was he so stressed. and why his eyes were less on the game in front of him and more on the camera. he scratched the side of his face as he tried to compose himself. but it was rather hard when his lovely, caring, kind, amazing girlfriend was between his legs with his cock in your mouth.

this all started as a bet. you had heard all about max's self control, that max was a storm that he kept at bay. he had nerves of steel. so it was simple, he got to stream with the boys and not break concentration.

"but what if they see us!" was max's first questions. but you silenced him with a few kisses and told him it would be fine. this only piqued his interest, "and what if i win this bet?" he asked as he snaked an arm around you shoulders. you were pulled close to him. his competitive spirit got the best of him.

you rubbed his chest and giggled, "well, anything you want, max. anything, well, except maybe murder. but, any which way you want to fuck me, you can have. but!" you tapped his nose, "only if you win."

"and what if you win?"

you just smiled at him, "oh don't worry, max." you waved your hand at him, "no need to worry about that at all!" which only alarmed him further.

so now he was white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he tried to keep up the conversation with his friends over the discord call. his attention was split three ways and it was making his brain melt.

it was a little over stimulaing, but the constant throb of your lips around his cock managed to anchor him to some kind of reality. the feeling was familiar.

in all fairness, you quite enjoyed his cock in your mouth. even with the blanket over his head and lap to keep your little secret hidden. it was hot under the fleece blanket, but when max shifted every so often, it made it worth it.

"yeah, mate, yeah." max said idly, he exhaled deeply as he tried to compose himself. but it was hard when you started to move your head a little more. his eyes almost rolled back into his head. he couldn't even grab the back of your head.

that would blow your entire cover.

but, deep down the entire thing was painfully hot. the thrill of possibly being caught. of having to be sneaky. it was rare that you two were sneaking around, so moments like these made liquid heat course through his veins.

you shifted a little under the blanket and continued to lick at his cock.

he felt your name on his tongue, but kept it together. even though it was a private call between friends. he didn't want to blow your cover, but it was hard when your mouth was on him so nicely.

usually he liked to hold onto your head and rock his cock up against your throat. so to leave everything up to you while he tried to split his attention was hard.

"how's your girl, mate?" he heard.

he frozen for a moment and felt you squeeze his thigh. he cleared his throat and said, "oh you know, same old, same old." your tongue grazed his achy tip and he almost threw the steering wheel. he exhaled once more, "i mean, she's fantastic as always." he chuckled.

he shifted in his seat a little bit and you giggled to yourself as you kept his cock in your mouth. you made a small noise and max coughed to cover the noise.

he thought he was done with the race, but was coaxed into another. and it was getting even harder to keep it together. he could feel his cock in the back of your throat.

you felt like a dream, you always felt like a dream. right now he wanted to just got his fingers into your hair and push his cock as deep as it'll go. he wanted to stain your throat with his cum.

"pretty girl." he muttered to himself absently.

his friend asked, "what was that?"

max's eyes went wide for a moment, he said, "nothing, nothing! just thinking about what my girl is making for dinner tonight." he nervously scratched his face, "she's my pretty girl, right? sorry, mate, too deep in my thoughts."

his cock hurt, but his balls hurt more. he felt his heartbeat in his ears, which made it harder for him to focus on what his friends were saying.

"shit." he exhaled deeply, the sweat clung to his neck.

the orgasm crept up on him, he tried to split his attention. but primal need to climax down your pretty throat overtook his mind. he held back any lustful noises and coughed into the collar of his shirt as he came in your mouth.

you swallowed hastily and heard the slight noises that your boyfriend was making. you had fully broken him. he heard him cough through another moan as his cock grew soft in your mouth.

"hey mate." max said, his jaw tense. he could feel the blood in his face, "i have to go real quick, i'll talk to you soon, yeah?" and didn't wait for a response before he turned off his camera and left the discord call.

when he knew everything was off, he leaned back in his seat and covered his face with his hands. his heart was pounding as he felt you got up. soon the blanket that was covering your head was now covering both of yours.

you gave him a searing kiss and draped your arms around him. the kiss tasted salty and it made max's exposed cock twitch. you said in a sing-song voice, "i win!"

he groaned and looked at you, he could feel the what radiating off of you. he took the blanket off of you both and you and said, "please, whatever you do. just be gentle." <3