xoln04f1xo

[xoln04f1xo]

The Rookie Curse has haunted McLaren for decades - dooming young drivers who can't “find balance” in their debut year.

Oscar laughs it off - until he starts losing control. Strange dreams. Glitches no one else sees. Whispers in the night. Luckily, he's not alone.

You / OC - his girlfriend - have always had a secret. You / OC can see and speak to the dead. You've / OCspent your life trying to avoid getting involved with vengeful spirits, but when one appears at the foot of your / OC shared bed, whispering Oscar’s name… you / OC can’t stay on the side lines.

(if OC is voted then it will be written in the OC POV)

[xoln04f1xo]

Fluff

Pairings: Vet!reader x Max Verstappen

Warnings: none!

WC: 1k

The rain had just started when the paddock lights began flicking off one by one.

Max was the last to leave the garage that night - something about looking over data, or maybe just the lingering adrenaline from the win. Monaco always left him wired. He tugged his hoodie over his head and walked down the narrow path to the car park, shoes splashing in the puddles that hadn't been there earlier an hour ago.

then he heard it.

A whimper. Tiny . Desperate.

He froze.

He walked back slowly and behind a stack of random crates near the Red Bull hospitality, something small and wet shivered in the dim light. Max knelt slowly, his heart catching in his throat as two round eyes blinked up at him.

"A puppy?" he whispered, like he couldn't believe it.

Soaked to the bone, the small creature looked no older than a few weeks. All fluff and trembling limbs.

Max hesitated for half a second - then pulled off his hoodie, wrapped the tiny thing inside, and muttered, "Okay, little guy, Let's get you somewhere warm."

He called Charles.

"Hey, just a random question... What vet does Leo go to?"

Charles thought it was strange at first but told him anyways.

You were sat at the front desk updating chart on the computer when the door opened.

"Hello! How can I help?" you asked with a smile.

He lifted the hoodie slightly. A wet black nose peeked out. "Oh my god," you gasped, standing. "Is that a puppy?"

"I think so. Found him near the Red Bull hospitality at the paddock." Max looked helpless, like someone who knew how to drive 250mph but not hold 2kg of fluff. "He's shaking. I didn't want to leave him."

You smiled - soft and surprised. "Come on, bring him in."

For the next hour, Max watched you work - calm, efficient, ridiculously gentle. You dried the puppy with a towel, checked over him making sure everything was okay, fed him warm formula, and murmured soothing words in a voice Max realized he didn't mind listening to. At all.

"He's underweight and probably only six weeks old," you said, scribbling notes. "No collar. No chip. Looks like someone dumped him."

Max looked down at the now-sleeping bundle in the hoodie. "That's awful."

"People can suck," you agreed, a little bitter. "But this guy? He's lucky you found him."

He grinned. "Y'think so?"

"yeah," you said, looking at him sideways. "You've got... a surprising softness about you."

He scoffed. "Don't tell anyone."

One Week Later

The puppy - officially named "Turbo" after Max's suggestion and your laughter - was living in Max's apartment, mostly on accident.

You had offered to foster him, but Max had insisted: "He trusts me. And I already bought him a bed. And three toys. And a Red Bull leash."

So instead, you helped him from a distance - texting instructions, answering frantic calls when Turbo had pissed on the floor, and sending late-night tips like "try heating a towel for his crate" or "play white noise - it helps them sleep."

Max replied with photos: Turbo in his race suit drawer. Turbo chewing on a Max mini helmet. Turbo curled in his lap while Max watched old races, looking more relaxed than you'd ever seen him.

Soon enough, Max was inviting you over.

"Come check on him," he'd say. "I think he misses you. I mean - he misses your voice. You talked to him that first night. Maybe it's soothing or whatever."

You never argued.

Late One Night

Turbo was finally asleep in his crate when Max flopped onto the couch beside you, hair damp from the shower, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms. You were both tired, but not in a bad way. More like... comfortable.

"He pissed on the carpet again," Max said, voice low.

"I told you - he does that when he's excited. Maybe don't hype him up when you come home?"

"But he wiggles so much. I can't ignore the wiggles."

You burst out laughing. "You're so whipped."

Max leaned his head back on the couch, closing him eyes. "I really am."

For a moment, silence stretched between you - easy and warm. The kind that only shown up when two people aren't pretending anymore.

"You're good with him," you said softly.

"So are you," he replied. Then, opening his eyes, he added, "You're good with me too."

You met his gaze - something tentative sparking in your chest. "What does that mean?"

Max didn't look away. "I didn't realize how quiet this place was before. Like... no one here to care if I'm exhausted or if I forget dinner. Now it's different."

You tilted your head. "Because of Turbo?"

He smiled lightly slowly. "Because of you."

No fireworks or dramatic declarations. Just Max brushing your knuckles with his thumb, then leaning in - testing the water. A warm, quiet kiss that felt more like a promise than a question.

When you pulled back, he was grinning.

"You taste like dog treats," he said.

You smacked his arm. "You're the one who fed him with your hands."

"He's bites my fingers for fun," Max said proudly. "Just like you."

Six Months Later

Turbo was bigger now, but still obsessed with Max's race boots and still tried to sleep between you both in bed. Max, to your endless surprise, had become a certified softie - he talked to Turbo like a child, ordered him custom name tags, and even referred to you two as "a little team."

During an off-week, you found him in the kitchen early one morning - messy hair, sleepy eyes, and a sleepy puppy wrapped in his arms.

He looked at you, smiled, and said, "I think he needs a brother."

You blinked. "Like... another puppy?"

Med leaned in. "Or, y'know, maybe one that's half us. Someday."

You almost dropped your coffee.

"Max..."

"Too soon?"

"A little."

He just shrugged, kissed your cheek, and whispered, "Okay. But just so you know... Turbo agrees with me."

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[xoln04f1xo]

C8: LESSONS IN OBEDIENCE

PAIRINGS: Dom!Lando x Sub!Reader

WARNINGS: Bratty!Reader, Brat tamer!lando, Sir kink, leash and collar, begging, vibrator, overstimulation, bdsm club, cuffs, orgasm denial, angst, smut.

WC: 1.5k

You had gotten bold.

Cocky, even.

Maybe it was the confidence Lando had cultivated in you — all that praise, all those orgasms, all those quiet moments after where he pulled you into his chest like something precious. Or maybe it was the way he let you get away with small things lately.

A roll of the eyes.

A sarcastic comment after a command.

Not saying “Sir” when you should.

You didn’t think he’d notice. Or maybe you wanted him to.

But Lando always noticed.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t punish you right away.

No - he watched you. Quietly. Let you spiral further.

And then he snapped the leash back tight.

“You’ve forgotten who you are,” he said one night, voice calm as steel. “Forgotten who I made you into.”

You looked up from your knees, heart thudding.

“I don’t think...”

He cut you off with a single look. “That’s the problem.”

A pause. Then...

“You’re not the only submissive I’ve trained, you know...”

Your stomach dropped.

He stood from the chair, crossing the room slowly. “There’s someone you should meet. Someone who remembers her place.”

The next night, Lando brought her in.

Tall. Graceful. Radiating obedience.

Her name was Eliora. You’d seen her at the club before - always perfectly still at her Dom’s side, always collared, always composed.

Tonight, she kneeled at Lando’s feet without hesitation. Silent. Head bowed. Waiting.

You stood across the room, arms crossed over your chest, naked, tense.

“This,” Lando said, gesturing toward her, “is what obedience looks like. What you used to look like.”

You clenched your jaw.

Eliora didn’t speak. Didn’t move. She was everything you weren’t lately.

“Tonight,” he said, “you watch. You learn. You do not touch. You do not speak. You submit. Or you can leave.”

You stood there for a beat too long.

Then you turned around and walked out the door.

You didn’t sleep.

Your chest ached. Your skin felt cold without his touch.

You hated how furious you were.

And more than anything - you hated that you missed him.

Even now.

The next morning, there was no text.

No orders. No good girl. No demand to come crawling back.

Just silence.

And that silence broke something in you.

You knocked on his door an hour later, unannounced, wearing nothing but the collar and your guilt.

Lando opened the door slowly. He didn’t look surprised to see you just… tired.

You dropped to your knees instantly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I was stupid. I forgot. I let jealousy make me forget who I am.”

He said nothing.

“I’m yours,” you said, louder now. “Fully. Completely. I’ll do anything to prove it.”

A beat.

Then Lando leaned down, grabbed your chin, and made you meet his eyes.

“Anything?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m going to find out just how far you’ll go to earn your place again.”

He started small.

You spent the rest of the day bound to a chair in the middle of his bedroom, vibrator inside you, remote left on the table - untouched. A reminder of what you no longer controlled.

You weren’t allowed to speak. You had to text if you needed water, food, or permission to breathe differently.

He made you beg just to pee.

He ignored your soft whimpers. Let you squirm. Let you stew in the ache of your own punishment.

By dinner, you were trembling.

Then it escalated.

He took you to a private club event that weekend - but you weren’t a guest. You were on display.

Collared, cuffs behind your back, vibrator in, a leash held in his hand. Naked except for heels.

You were walked through a room full of dominant eyes, led to a seat, and told to kneel - and stay there.

No speaking. No moving.

He talked with other Doms. Laughed. Gave Eliora a kiss on the cheek when he saw her again.

But you… he didn’t look at.

Not until later.

When the room thinned out and the only people left were trusted eyes, he pulled you into the center and whispered:

“Be still. Open your mouth.”

You obeyed instantly.

He fed you a piece of chocolate from between his fingers.

“Good girl,” he murmured, finally meeting your eyes. “You’re remembering.”

And then came the real test.

Three days later, he texted:

Lando 💖

You said you’d do anything. Get dressed. No panties. Open the front door for me. I’m bringing someone with me.

You did it.

Heart pounding, nerves shot, you answered the door in a short dress, collar fastened, lips parted.

Lando stepped in with a smirk - and Eliora behind him.

Your stomach twisted, but you stayed still. Obedient.

“I want you to watch her again,” he said. “But this time, she’s watching you, too.”

He made you kneel together.

Made you mirror each other’s movements.

Then made you compete for his praise.

And when he whispered “good girl” in your ear after you edged on command three times in a row, you felt pride explode in your chest like fireworks.

You’d earned it back.

That night, Lando pulled you into bed and held you tightly, like something sacred.

“You’re mine again,” he whispered.

“I never stopped being,” you said.

He touched your cheek. “No. But now you remember what that means.”

And you did.

Every ache. Every rule. Every humiliating, maddening, delicious order he gave you.

You were his.

And there was nothing you wouldn’t do to stay that way.

You should’ve been glowing.

You were finally back where you belonged.

Kneeling at his feet. Gaining his praise. Wearing his marks.

Proving you could be good again.

But under it - under the high of submission, the sting of denied orgasms and the intoxicating burn of obedience - something was aching.

Something deeper.

You didn't notice it until later that night, after Eliora had left, after your collar had been locked back around your throat, after your body had been used and owned in every way.

You were lying in his bed, head on his chest, his fingers absently tracing your hip. Everything should’ve felt right. But your chest felt tight.

He must’ve felt it.

“You’re quiet,” he said softly.

You hesitated. “I’m always quiet after.”

“Not like this.”

He looked down at you. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

And for the first time…

You didn’t want to lie. You didn’t want to obey. You wanted to be heard.

“I didn’t think you’d want me back,” you whispered.

His brow furrowed.

“When I walked out…” You swallowed, the memory still raw. “I knew I was being a brat. I knew I was disrespecting everything you built in me. But when you didn’t text back, when you brought her in… I thought maybe that was it.”

Lando sat up slightly, his hand moving to cradle your face.

“I had to remind you of who you are,” he said. “But I never stopped wanting you.”

You blinked hard. “Even when I pushed you that far?”

“Especially then.”

You tried to laugh, but it cracked in your throat. “Why?”

“Because I don’t just want your obedience,” he said. “I want your fight. I want your fear, your pride, your rebellion - all of it.”

His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“You think I want a doll?” he asked. “I could have a dozen perfect submissives at my feet, waiting to obey.”

You didn’t need to ask. You’d seen them. Eliora. Others. Perfect. Quiet.

“But none of them are you.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“When you came back to me, when you dropped to your knees and told me you’d do anything… I knew then,” he said. “You weren’t submitting to the rules. You were submitting to me. The man. Not just the Dominant.”

A beat of silence. Then another tear slid down your cheek.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you choked. “For pushing you. For forgetting.”

Lando leaned down and kissed your collarbone, your shoulder, the hollow of your throat. Soft. Bare. No control. Just love in disguise.

“You didn’t forget,” he said against your skin. “You were scared. So was I.”

That caught you off guard. “You?”

He nodded. “You’re the first person I’ve actually… let in. Past the leather. Past the protocol. You crawled into a part of me that no one else touches.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to keep it together.

“But when you walked out,” he said quietly, “I thought I’d lost you. And I didn’t know how to punish that. Because I wasn’t angry. I was hurt.”

It broke you.

You climbed into his lap - not as his submissive, but as yourself. Raw. Unshielded. Entirely his.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered.

“Then don’t leave,” he said. “Even when it’s hard. Even when I push. Even when you hate me for a second.”

“I don’t think I could,” you said, fingers digging into his shirt. “You don’t just own my body anymore.”

He looked into your eyes. “Say it.”

“You own me.”

A pause.

“All of me.”

And then the collar didn’t feel like submission anymore. It felt like a promise.

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[xoln04f1xo]

[xoln04f1xo]

CHAPTER 7: UNDER HIS CONTROL

PAIRINGS: Dom!Lando x Sub!Reader

WARNINGS: Edging, begging, fingering, vibrator, teasing, dirty texts, mentions of alcohol, brat!reader, punishment, control.

WC: 1k

It had been two months since you signed the contract.

And somewhere between the collar and the rules, between “Sir” and “please,” your world had rearranged itself. You still went to work. Still smiled at the barista. Still answered texts from friends.

But everything you did was threaded with the knowledge that you belonged to someone.

Lando’s control had begun to stretch beyond the four walls of his flat.

It started with orders during the day.

No panties at work.

Drink water.

Send a photo of your thighs under your desk - now.

Touch yourself for sixty seconds, but don’t come.

And when you broke a rule - even something small - he always knew.

Lando 💖

You’re needy today. Too mouthy. Wear the vibrator when you go out. You don’t get to feel empty when you act like a brat.

He was everywhere. In your thoughts, in your texts, in the way your thighs pressed together at the most inconvenient moments.

And you loved it.

The newest addition was a remote-control vibrator. A small, discreet toy tucked inside you during your day, controlled entirely from his phone. No one knew. No one could tell.

But you did. Every minute.

The buzz could come at any time.

At the grocery store.

In a café.

At work, during a meeting.

It was maddening.

And tonight, he planned to push you even further.

Ashley had come over for a casual night in - wine, leftovers, sweats, and music in your kitchen while you chopped vegetables and she danced barefoot across the tile floor.

“He texted again?” she asked, glancing at your phone lighting up beside the sink.

You tried not to look. Tried to stay focused.

But the moment your eyes flicked down to the screen, your pulse jumped.

Lando 💖

You’ve been brattier than usual. Playing innocent. Looking smug. Acting like I won’t ruin you when I see you. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?

You exhaled. Squeezed your thighs together.

Ashley snorted. “Girl, if you don’t pick up that phone...”

You silenced it.

Too late. It buzzed again.

Lando 💖

I’m in your bedroom. Door closed. If you make a sound, if she even notices what I’m doing to you later, I’ll make you beg with tears in your eyes. You’ll come on your knees in the hallway like a desperate whore you are.

Your fingers fumbled on the cutting board.

Ashley raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you croaked, voice an octave too high.

She smirked. “He’s texting you brat punishment again, isn’t he?”

You gave her a look.

She held up her hands. “Hey, I don’t blame him. You’ve been sassy as hell lately.”

You were about to reply - some clever little jab - when it hit.

The vibrator.

Low. Subtle. Deep inside.

Your knees buckled just slightly.

You grabbed the edge of the counter like you’d dropped something. “Fucking hell…”

Ashley blinked. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you managed. “Just… nicked my thumb.”

“You need a band-aid?”

“No,” you said quickly. “It’s fine. Just stings.”

But it wasn’t your thumb that stung.

He turned it up.

You pressed your legs together, your whole body tensing as the buzz rose to a pulsing rhythm that made your toes curl. Your head dropped. You gritted your teeth.

Ashley turned away to grab the wine from the fridge. “Hey, you want another glass?”

You nodded furiously, gripping the counter with white knuckles.

Another text lit up.

Lando 💖

Be silent.

Then another.

Lando 💖

If I hear you make so much as a gasp through this wall, I’ll tie you to your own fucking headboard and edge you until you cry for hours.

You moaned internally.

Ashley poured the wine, oblivious, humming to the music.

You stood still, panting quietly, eyes glassy, thighs trembling.

And then...

Silence.

The toy cut off.

Just. Stopped.

You choked on your own breath.

Ashley turned back. “You okay?”

You gave her a strained smile. “Fine.”

But your panties - if you were wearing any - would’ve been ruined.

Eventually, Ashley left - with a hug and a wink.

“Tell your sir he owes you a good ruin,” she said with a smirk. You blushed all the way to the door.

The second it shut, you didn’t make it two steps before a hand slammed against the wall beside your head.

Lando was there - eyes dark, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding back for hours.

“Did you think that was funny?” he growled.

You swallowed. “I wasn’t...”

He grabbed your chin, forced your face up.

“You teased me in your kitchen. While your friend danced around and you clenched around my toy like a desperate little whore who forgot who she belongs to.”

You whimpered.

“You don’t touch yourself. You don’t tease me. You don’t look smug when you’re the one getting used.”

He spun you toward the wall, hand at the back of your neck, pinning you gently but firmly.

“You think I didn’t see your little smirk when I stopped the toy?”

“Sir...”

“Silence.”

His hand slipped down, flipping your skirt up roughly. No panties.

Good girl.

“You wanted attention?” he hissed. “You got it.”

And then his fingers were inside you. Fast. Relentless.

“You think I’ll let you come?” he snapped, voice low and furious. “After that little show?”

You moaned, legs shaking.

He leaned close to your ear.

“You’ll come when you’ve learned how to behave. When you’ve remembered who you kneel for. When you’ve earned it.”

“Please…”

“I’ll keep you right here. Against this wall. Shaking and dripping. Until you cry for it.”

When he finally let you fall apart - hours later, hands bound to your headboard, soaked and begging, collar tight around your throat - you screamed his name into the sheets.

And he kissed your spine as you trembled.

“Mine,” he whispered. “Even in the kitchen. Even in front of your best friend. Even when you pretend to be clever and strong and untouchable.”

You turned your head, face flushed, eyes wet.

“I don’t want to pretend,” you said softly.

He touched your cheek.

“Good,” he said. “Then don’t.”

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[xoln04f1xo]

CHAPTER 6: MINE

PARINGS: Dom!Lando x Sub!Reader

WARNINGS: Begging, collar and leash, crawling, new rules, teasing, edging, fingering, dirty talk, punishment.

WC: 0.9k

It started with a look.

Not one of Lando’s usual unreadable glances - not that steady, dominant stare he used when you were stripped down and obedient.

This one was sharp. Tight. Controlled on the surface but burning underneath.

You saw it flash across his face when you laughed a little too long at the bartender’s joke.

When you touched his arm playfully in front of his friends.

When you leaned over the table just enough to make everyone look.

You didn’t mean to provoke him.

At least… not at first.

It had been a good night. Dinner with a few of his teammates, wine, conversation, energy. But afterward, back at his flat, the silence hit heavy.

He was quiet. Still.

You kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag by the door, humming to yourself.

“You looked tense,” you teased gently. “Was it the wine, or watching half the table stare at my tits all night?”

He didn’t smile.

You turned to him, eyebrow raised. “Sir?”

He stepped toward you slowly. Deliberately. Eyes dark.

“You think that was funny?”

You blinked. “I was joking...”

“You were testing me.”

His voice was calm, but low. Dangerous. Like something underneath had cracked.

You swallowed. “And what if I was?”

A pause.

Then he grabbed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look up at him. “Then, little one, you’re about to learn the difference between teasing… and disobedience.”

Your thighs clenched.

And that’s when he said it.

“New rules.”

He let go of your face, stepped back, and began unbuttoning his sleeves - not fast, not flustered. Measured. Controlled.

Like he was about to dissect you with patience.

“From now on,” he said, “you do not touch yourself. Not without explicit permission. Not once. Not ever.”

You opened your mouth, but he raised a finger.

“I don’t care how wet you get. How needy. If I find out you’ve touched what belongs to me, you’ll regret it.”

You swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.”

He circled you slowly.

“Two,” he continued. “You will keep your collar on - not just in the playroom. All day. Every day. Until I say otherwise.”

Your eyes widened.

“That’s...”

“Not negotiable,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You want to act like you’re mine in public, want to flirt and misbehave?” His hand skimmed your throat. “Then you wear the proof.”

You exhaled shakily.

He leaned in. “Three… you’re going to relearn what it means to serve. Not just when you’re tied up. Every minute. Every breath. Until I decide your attitude is properly corrected.”

You felt it in your chest - that familiar drop.

The shift from playful to powerless. From brat to belonging.

You obeyed.

“Hands behind your back.”

You moved into position, chest rising and falling faster.

Lando stepped closer, pressing a soft leather collar into place around your neck - nothing flashy, just a single small gold ring at the center.

He buckled it snugly, then clipped a short leash to the front.

You whimpered.

He gave the leash a soft tug. “You’re mine. You don’t get to act like anything else.”

Then he stepped back and sat on the couch, legs spread, relaxed - like he had all the time in the world.

“Get on your knees.”

You dropped instantly.

“Crawl to me.”

You hesitated just a moment too long.

Snap.

The leash pulled once.

“I said. Crawl.”

Heat flooded your face as you obeyed - slowly making your way across the floor, naked, collared, completely exposed. You had never felt so small. Or so watched. And when you reached him, he tilted your chin up with his knuckle.

“You want to misbehave?” he asked. “Then you beg to earn me again.”

You stared up at him, lips parted, shaking now.

“Please, Sir.”

“Not enough.”

“Please… let me serve you. Let me make it up to you. Let me show you I remember who I belong to.”

His eyes flared. “Better.”

He pulled you into his lap and guided your mouth to his thigh - not his cock. Not yet. Just enough pressure to remind you who was in control.

“You’re mine outside this room,” he said quietly. “Not just when you’re gagged or bound. When you’re shopping. Sleeping. Working. Your pleasure belongs to me. Your body belongs to me. You don’t get to play at ownership when it’s convenient.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And if I say stop?”

“I stop.”

“If I say beg?”

“I drop to my knees.”

“And if I say no?”

You exhaled, eyes fluttering. “Then I say thank you.”

He didn’t fuck you that night not the way you expected.

He edged you over and over, fingers relentless, lips whispering filth and praise into your ear until you were shaking, crying, begging without shame.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Beg louder. Let them hear it.”

“Please, Sir, please...”

“You’ll come when I say. Not before. Not ever before.”

“Please...”

He kissed your cheek, then pulled his hand away just as your orgasm was about to crash.

“No.”

You cried out, breath broken.

He smiled.

“That’s the sound of a lesson being learned.”

When he finally let you come - hours later, after you'd begged so sweetly your voice cracked - he held you against his chest, stroking your hair.

And then, softly - so soft you almost missed it - he said:

“I don’t just want your obedience, Y/N.”

You looked up at him, dazed.

He touched the ring on your collar.

“I want your devotion.”

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[xoln04f1xo]

Loose ends & Blushing starts

A/N: I decided to do this as a 2 in 1 fic as it was easier for me and in the same request, this was requested before Christian H*rner was fired from red bull.

LOOSE ENDS

Warnings: Christian H*rner

WC: 0.5k

<<<<< Max Verstappen x Fem!Horner!Reader >>>>>

The Red Bull garage always hummed with controlled chaos - engineers shouting into radios, tired rolling past, telemetry flashing green on screens. But today, the tension was thicker than usual.

It wasn't Max. He was as cool as ever, helmet in hand, leaning against a workbench while chatting with his race engineer. No - the shift had come the moment you walked in.

Your last name held weight in the paddock - Horner. Even if you didn't use it much.

A reporter caught you just outside the hospitality suite, mic shoved in your face.

"You're Christian Horner's daughter and you're dating Max Verstappen. Isn't that...complicated?"

Max paused mid-sip of his electrolyte drink, watching closely. Your answer came with practice calm.

"I don't really have a relationship with my father anymore. So, no, it's not complicated. It's actually quite simple."

You didn't blink. Max's subtle smirk of pride was enough reassurance.

But by dinner, your phone was lighting up like a Christmas tree.

Christian:

You need to call me. Now.

Missed call x3

You stared at the screen, the knot in your stomach tightening. Max glanced at you across the table.

"He saw it?"

You nodded.

"You gonna call him?"

You hesitated. "I don't want to fight. But I'm tired of pretending like he still matters in my life just to make things comfortable for him."

Max reached across, his hand firm over yours.

"You don't owe him anything. Especially not in silence."

The confrontation came the next day.

You were pouring yourself a coffee in the team’s back room when the door opened. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

"That was unnecessary." His voice. Controlled. Cold.

You slowly turned, coffee in hand. "Was it untrue?"

Christian looked older than he had a few years ago. Or maybe now you were just seeing him clearly.

"You could’ve come to me instead of airing it to the press."

You gave a humourless laugh. "You mean like how you didn’t come to me before cutting me out of your life? Before prioritizing a team image over your daughter?"

His jaw clenched. "This isn’t the place for this."

"Exactly," you snapped. "But you made it about your place. And never once thought about mine."

The room fell silent.

Max stepped in quietly behind you. Not interrupting. Not protecting. Backing you.

"If you're trying to patch things up," Max said, looking directly at Christian, "maybe start with listening instead of defending your ego."

Christian looked between you both, visibly thrown off by Max’s calm challenge.

You stood taller. "I meant what I said. I’m proud of where I am, and who I’m with. And if you think my loyalty lies with Red Bull just because of blood, then you really never knew me at all."

You left first.

Max followed without hesitation.

Later, as you sat in Max’s driver room, wrapped in his hoodie, scrolling through another swarm of headlines, you finally let yourself breathe.

"Estranged Horner Daughter Speaks Out - 'I Don’t Care About My Father’s Role.'"

You looked at Max. "Do you regret being with me?"

He frowned. "What kind of question is that?"

You shrugged. "Because I come with drama."

He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

"You don't come with drama. You come with strength and if anyone doesn't like it, they can deal with me."

You kissed him. Slowly. Quietly. Finally feeling safe in the noise.

BLUSHING STARTS

Warnings: none!

WC: 0.3k

<<<<< Charles Leclerc x Fan!Reader >>>>>

The heat in Monza was stiffling. 35°C, and not a single cloud in the sky. Your cheeks were flushed from excitement, and maybe a little sunburn.

Winning a paddock pass through an Instagram contest felt like a dream - one minute you were watching race edits on tiktok and the next you were being escorted through the Ferrari hospitality, heart thudding in your ears.

You didn't expect to see Charles Leclerc.

Much less bump into him.

Literally.

"Oh!" You backed up, hands flying to steady your cap, and when you looked up, there he was - every inch of him real and very tall. His green eyes widened.

"Désolé...sorry, I didn’t see..."

You froze. "Hi."

"Hi," he echoed dumbly.

Silence.

Your smile turned awkward. "I'm on the garage tour. Big fan. Like, massive fan."

He blinked. "Right. Yes. I'm Charles. Obviously. I mean... not obviously like, you’d know me, but..."

You laughed. "I do."

He laughed too, but it was nervous. He hand went to scratch the back of his neck. "Great. That's... great."

Was Charles Leclerc blushing?

You tried not to stare, but the red blooming on his ears was impossible to miss. He cleared his throat.

"You've...uh, been a fan long?"

"Since your Sauber days," you said. "Before the Netflix era."

His brows shot up. "Old-school. I like that."

As your tour guide rejoined the group, Charles surprised you by falling into step beside you.

"Mind if I join?"

"Don't you have, like... driving to do?"

He grinned. "Not until FP2."

So he stayed.

He asked questions - about where you were from, your favourite race, whether you preferred the V8 or V6 era. And with every minute, he got redder. His stutter lessened, but the smiles came quicker.

By the time the tour ended, he tugged gently on your sleeve before you walked off.

"Hwy, umm... do you want to come back to the garage tomorrow? I mean... if you're around. I could... show you the simulator. If that's not lame."

You blinked. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

His cheeks flushed deep red. "Yes. Unless you say no, in which case I was absolutely not."

You grinned. "Then yes."

When you left the paddock that day, you were still beaming. So was Charles. According to Carlos, he didn’t stop smiling all evening.

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[xoln04f1xo]

PAIRINGS: Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: endometriosis, reader is in a lot of pain, FLUFF, emotional

WC: 0.7k

The hotel room was warm and still, a small slice of quiet amidst the chaos of a GP weekend. Rain tapped softly on the tall windows, a hush to the world outside.

You were curled up on the far side of the bed, half-buried under the duvet, pretending to scroll through your phone. Your breathing was steady, your face composed - but every inch of your body felt like it was at war. The pain was relentless aches that pulsed and clawed deep in your abdomen, twisting in ways that made you want to scream.

You wouldn't of course.

Oscar had a long day. Media, meetings, prep for quali tomorrow. He didn't need your pain on top of everything else. You were used to this. You lived with this. And you'd gotten good - too good - at pretending it wasn't as bad as it actually was.

From the bathroom, you heard the soft click of the light switching off, then the gentle sound of bare feet on carpet. Oscar emerged a moment later, toweling his damp hair, wearing joggers and a hoodie. He looked tired - but bright, like he always did around you. His eyes flicked toward you as he moved to the bed.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You offered a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Fine. Just tired."

Oscar's eyes narrowed - barely. It was subtle, but you saw it.

He climbed onto bed beside you, not pressing too close just yet. You held still as he studied your face for a moment, then gently reached to brush a few strands of hair behind your ear.

"You're doing that thing again."

You blinked. "What thing?"

"The one where you pretend you’re okay, and you’re not. I know what your real smile looks like." His voice was calm. Patient. But firm.

Your throat tightened.

For a second, you thought maybe you could still keep up the act. But then another cramp hit - sharp, like your insides were being wrenched apart - and you couldn’t help it. Your breath hitched, your body curled further in on itself. Your eyes stung, vision going blurry as the pain clawed up your spine and settled in your hips like fire.

Oscar didn’t speak. He just moved closer, wrapping one arm around your back, the other brushing softly through your hair.

"Hey, hey, love…" His voice was low, soothing. "Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?"

You sniffled against his chest, your facade finally cracking. "It’s always like this," you whispered. "I didn’t want to make it a thing. You’ve got enough going on."

Oscar sighed into your hair, a sound full of tenderness and frustration. "You are never a thing I don’t have time for."

The tears came freely now, hot and silent. You hated crying from pain - it felt like weakness. Like defeat. But in Oscar’s arms, you didn’t feel judged. You felt held. Safe.

He shifted slightly, carefully helping you lie back so you weren’t curled so tight. "Let me help, yeah?" he said, already moving. He disappeared into the bathroom for a second and returned with a warm towel folded in his hands.

You watched, sniffling, as he slid it gently under your hoodie and pressed it against your lower stomach.

"There," he murmured. "Not a miracle, but it’ll help a bit."

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Oscar sat beside you, hand resting on your stomach over the towel. Not pushing. Just being there.

"You didn’t ruin the night," he said softly, as if reading your mind. "You don’t have to push through it for me."

"I hate being like this" you admitted after a beat. "I hate that it wins sometimes."

Oscar leaned down, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple. "It doesn’t win. You’re still here. You got through today. That’s strong, love. You’re stronger than I’ve ever been."

You let out a small, breathy laugh - wet with tears, but genuine.

He stayed there, thumb brushing softly across your skin, grounding you. Minutes passed. The storm outside deepened. But the one inside you began to still, little by little.

"You want tea?" he asked eventually.

You shook your head. "Just you."

His lips quirked at the corners, and he shifted down beside you, arm wrapping around your waist as you finally let your body rest against him.

And for the first time that day, you felt a little less like you were fighting alone.

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[xoln04f1xo]

maybe… could have worded that better? 😣

UMMM 😳 OSC I- 😭

I don't think this should've been said 😭😕

[xoln04f1xo]

have ya’ll seen this??

some fans are so unserious ☺️

[xoln04f1xo]

CL16 - Cheating Prank

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[xoln04f1xo]

this UK law for banning ‘inappropriate content’ is a load of bullshit and they clearly didn’t think it through cause people can use fake ID’s or use a VPN. There’s really no point in putting a 2 hour time cap on social media. I get it cause of children seeing things that they shouldn’t but like… if people wanna have a wank, let them have a wank 😭

[xoln04f1xo]

CHAPTER 5: SAY IT

PAIRINGS: Dom!Lando x Sub!Reader

WARNINGS: fingering, oral (f!recieving), teasing, public play, sir kink, overstimulation, use of safeword.

WC: 1.1k

It had been nearly a month since you signed your name on Lando’s contract - black ink on smooth white paper, your consent sealed like a vow. Since then, everything had changed.

Not just the sex - though that was unlike anything you’d ever known. It was the silence between his orders. The weight of his gaze across a crowded room. The way your body began to respond to tone alone.

He didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to touch you. He just needed to look at you a certain way - that calm, commanding, unreadable look - and suddenly your knees were weak, your breath shallow, your mind already bending.

Obedience had become instinct.

And tonight… something was different.

You were on his sofa, curled at the end like always, legs tucked under you, wearing one of his sweatshirts and nothing else. Your head rested against a cushion, but your eyes stayed on him - seated across from you in his chair, fingers loosely curled around a glass of whisky. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows, showing the veins in his forearms, the elegant watch you never saw him take off.

"You’ve done very well," he said quietly.

You blinked. "Sir?"

He smirked. "Don’t play innocent. You’ve been holding still. Obeying. Waiting."

Your breath caught. He was right. The anticipation had been building for days - his texts getting shorter, his touches fewer, each session more restrained than the last. Like he was waiting for something. Building toward it.

"I’ve been patient," you whispered.

"You’ve been perfect," he corrected, setting the glass down and leaning forward. "And now I think you’re ready."

You swallowed. "For what?"

He stood.

You stood, too, instinctively.

Lando walked up behind you and placed his hand lightly at the back of your neck. His fingers didn’t grip - just rested there, heavy enough to make you feel owned.

"We’re going out," he murmured into your ear.

You stiffened slightly.

He chuckled. "Don’t panic. No one will know. You’ll stay close, quiet, soft. I’ll touch you when I want. And you’ll take it without a sound."

Your heart thudded hard in your chest.

“Understood?”

"Yes, Sir."

He brushed his lips along your temple. "Good girl."

The outfit he laid out for you was minimal: a short black skirt, a sheer button-up shirt, a delicate collar that fastened invisibly behind your neck. No underwear. No bra. Just layers of suggestion and control.

You stared at yourself in the mirror while Lando adjusted your collar.

"You look," he said slowly, "ruinable."

Your knees threatened to give out.

The gallery was stunning - all white space, slow jazz, and the clink of expensive glasses. It was filled with people Lando clearly knew: investors, photographers, a few F1 figures, though no one approached him like a fan.

You stayed at his side, just like he told you to. Eyes lowered slightly, smile polite. His hand rested at the small of your back - a reminder, a leash made of touch.

But it didn’t stay still for long.

While he chatted with a couple near a modern sculpture, his hand slid lower. Slow. Deliberate. Then slipped just beneath your skirt, fingers grazing the slick heat between your thighs.

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard.

He never even paused in conversation.

A second stroke. Then his thumb circled - lazy, firm, teasing. Your breath hitched audibly, and he leaned down, murmuring:

"Careful. You don’t want to embarrass yourself, do you?"

You shook your head, mouth trembling.

He chuckled softly, withdrawing his hand, licking the tip of his thumb as he turned back to the couple like nothing had happened.

You thought you might pass out.

By the time you were back in the car, you were buzzing with frustration, soaked and aching. The second the doors closed and the privacy glass slid up, Lando pulled you across the seat and into his lap.

"You did so well," he murmured, nuzzling your jaw. "Standing there, letting me touch you. You’re such a good girl, you know that?"

You whimpered, pressing your thighs together, desperate.

"Please…"

His hand came up, cupping your cheek, tilting your face toward his.

"What do we say?"

You swallowed. "Please, Sir."

"Please what hmm?"

You were trembling now.

"Please let me cum. I need it. I’ll be good. I am good."

He inhaled sharply at that. His hand dipped between your legs again - just the pressure of his fingers, rubbing gently. No penetration. No mercy.

"Say it again."

"Please, Sir," you gasped. "Please let me come. I’ll do anything."

He grinned against your skin. "That’s my girl."

But his fingers stilled.

"Not yet."

By the time you got home, you were dizzy. The anticipation had built into something unbearable - more than arousal, more than pain. It was devotion. You’d never wanted like this before. Never felt so owned by something you still had the power to stop.

And you didn’t want to stop. You wanted to drown.

He stripped you slowly, letting your clothes fall one piece at a time until you stood naked before him, body quivering.

"Kneel."

You dropped instantly.

His fingers slid into your hair as he unbuckled his belt with the other hand, the sound making you flinch in anticipation.

"No touching me," he said. "Not yet. Hands behind your back."

You obeyed.

"You’ve earned this," he said as he walked around behind you. "Every time you obeyed. Every time you held still. You’ve earned the right to fall apart."

And then he was touching you - fingers stroking your folds, slow and deliberate, his breath hot against your neck.

"You’re dripping," he whispered. "You ache so pretty. So needy."

You whimpered, pushing back against his hand.

He chuckled. "Say it again."

“Please, Sir,” you begged. “Please let me cum. I need it, I need you, please...”

That broke him.

He shoved you onto the bed, flipped you to your back, and buried his mouth between your legs without another word.

The first orgasm ripped through you before you could even breathe. The second came seconds later, as his fingers slid inside you, curling expertly, his voice low against your skin:

"That’s it… take it… cum for me, just like that…"

You were sobbing with it now, trembling, overwhelmed - and he didn’t stop.

Three. Four. Five.

Only when you gasped “red” did he slow, kissing the inside of your thighs, then your hips, then your belly as you tried to breathe again.

"Perfect," he whispered. "You were perfect."

He pulled you into his lap, still shaking, and held you close, murmuring over and over:

"My good girl. My beautiful, obedient, perfect girl."

You fell asleep against his chest, marked with praise, soaked with satisfaction.

And in the quiet of the dark room, as his fingers traced lazy circles on your back, he whispered something against your hair.

"You don’t even know how much I crave you."

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[xoln04f1xo]

PART 2: ALWAYS, I DO

PAIRINGS: Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: wedding drama, pure fluff, swearing

WC: 1.6k

Part 2

Six months after Oscar proposed to you on that sun-kissed beach in Fiji, you stood in a hotel suite in Tuscany - staring at your reflection in the full- length mirror, your wedding dress perfectly hugging your frame, heart racing.

Not because of Oscar. No - loving Oscar had always been the easiest thing in the world.

But because of everything else.

Your maid of honour, Ruby, bustled into the room with her phone in her hand and a pin between her teeth. "Okay... so the flowers have finally arrived. Late. But they're here. Except the florist mixed up the palettes and gave us... wait for it... lilac and sage, not orange and teal."

You blinked. "I'm sorry what?"

She yanked the pin from her mouth. "I already threatened to cry in front of them. They're redoing the bouquet now."

You took a deep breath. You could handle this It was fine.

And then the dopr slammed open.

"The DJ isn't here." Lando Norris stood dramatically in the doorway, looking like a Best Man who had just run a race through hell. "He missed his flight from London."

"Oh Christ on a fucking motorbike." you muttered, sitting abruptly on the edge of the bed.

He winced. "But I can plug in my phone and I've already got a playlist called 'Oscy's wedding bangers.'"

You buried your face in your hands. "Okay, thank you Lando."

Oscar, bless him, had been whisked away earlier for photos with his parents and the groomsmen, probably completely unaware of the total shitshow on your end. Which was probably for the best since he had been nervous - adorably, endearingly nervous.

You could still hear his voice from two nights ago in your head.

"I still don't know how I convinced you to say yes, you know." "Because your the love of my life Oscar."

And he was.

So you stood up. You smoothed down your dress. And you said, "I don't care if the DJ is Lando Norris with a playlist full of Dr Dre, or if the flowers are lilac instead of orange. I'm marring Oscar freaking Piastri today."

Ruby grinned. "That's my girl."

MEANWHILE...

Oscar stood just beyond the hedges lining with vineyard courtyard where the ceremony was about to happen, fidgeting with his cufflinks.

"Mate, if you keep pulling at those, they'll come off," Lando said, adjusting his own tie and holding a can of his monster with the other.

"I know, I know. I just..." Oscar blew out a breath. "I want today to be perfect y'know?"

Charles clapped him on the back. "You proposed on a beach at sunset. You are the standard now."

Oscar smiled faintly but his mind was a whirl.

He wasn't worried about the marriage - never that. He'd known from the moment you laughed at his awkward post-race interview in Monaco two years ago that you were it. But still... a wedding. Everyone watching. All eyes on him and you.

And then the music began.

His heart skipped a beat.

THE WEDDING

You stepped into the sunlight, escorted down the isle by your father, as the soft acoustic version of "Can't Help Falling In Love" drifted through the air. The isle was lined with rows of family, friends, and several drivers - Lando, Charles, Logan, even Max with an uncharacteristically gentle smile.

But Oscar saw only you.

His breath caught.

You looked ethereal. Not just beautiful - you. Glowing from the inside out. That same white sundress warmth from Fiji nut in lace and pearls.

As you reached the altar, your fingers slid into his, grounding him. He gave you a little wink with tears in his eyes, barely noticeable, and you nearly burst into tears right then.

The officiant smiled. "We are gathered here today..."

You barely heard the rest. Your heart was thundering. Oscar's hand squeezed yours gently, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

When it came time for vows, Oscar insisted on going first.

He turned to face you fully.

"I spent most of my life chasing speed," he began. "Winning races. Perfect corners. I thought I knew what adrenaline felt like. But nothing compares to the way my heart races every time I see you."

You felt tears brimming.

"You ground me," he continued. "You make me better. You see the best in me - even when I don’t. And somehow, for reasons I’ll never fully understand, you chose me."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper.

You blinked. "Did you write them down?"

"Of course I did. I didn't want to risk crying and forgetting everything."

You laughed, already crying.

"I promise to always support your dreams, to always bring you flowers when you're sad... even if they're the wrong colour... and to love you in every time zone, every country, every moment."

He folded the note back up and added, "You're my forever lap."

You burst out laughing, wiping tears from your cheeks. "That was so cheesy."

"Still counts."

Then it was your turn.

You took a breath. "Oscar… I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with someone so quietly, so fully, until you. It was never a big explosion... it was a thousand tiny moments. You making me tea without asking. You texting me before every flight. You looking at me like I hang the moon, even when I haven’t washed my hair in four days."

He laughed, eyes glassy.

"I promise to always be your home," you whispered. "To believe in you even on the days you don’t believe in yourself. And to be the calm in the chaos, the soft landing when the world feels heavy."

You took his hand again, voice trembling.

"I love you more than words will ever be able to say. But I’ll spend forever trying."

The officiant smiled, eyes misty.

"By the power vested in me… I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss..."

Oscar didn’t wait. His lips met yours in a kiss that made the whole world blur.

The cheers were deafening - Lando literally shouted "GET IN THERE" - but all you could hear was his voice in your ear when he pulled away:

"We did it, love."

LATER THAT NIGHT

The party was chaos in the best way. Lando did DJ for half an hour (until Charles stole the aux). Your cake had a little fondant Oscar in a race suit and you in your dress. You slow-danced under fairy lights to a soft ballad, and Oscar kept his hand on your waist like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like that.

And when it was just the two of you again, back in the villa, barefoot and giggly from champagne and happiness, you collapsed onto the bed together, still in your wedding clothes.

"I think I’m gonna cry again," Oscar whispered, brushing hair from your face.

"Don’t," you smiled. "Because if you cry, I cry. And if I cry, my mascara’s going to stain this pillow forever."

He kissed your forehead. "I’m serious. That was the best day of my life."

You rolled into him, ring glinting in the moonlight from the open window. "It’s just the beginning."

"Yeah," he murmured. "But what a start."

And in the quiet comfort of your new forever, surrounded by the echoes of laughter, love, and a wedding day that wasn’t perfect but was, in its own way, exactly right - you knew: Oscar Piastri wasn’t just the love of your life.

He was your home.

(And neither of you slept that night either... 😉)

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[xoln04f1xo]

those thighs look so ridable 😣

[xoln04f1xo]

What do we think about sub!Lando??

I personally love it but i'm curious to what you think and if you would write it!

I think i've written maybe one? I personally only see him as dom!Lando but I'm willing to write more of sub!lando because these photos are speaking to me.

[xoln04f1xo]

When is the chapter 6 coming out for 'drive me crazy'? xx

I'm currently focused on 'rules of he room' but I will write the chapter maybe next week... 😬