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uluvjay · 2 days
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Hands to yourself - L. Norris
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Lando Norris x fem! Reader
In which I said i would write riding lando in his Miura so here it is :)
Warnings?; Smut, car sex, pretty much public sex, unprotected sex( a big no no), cursing, kissing, breasts play, light fingering, sorry for any errors I missed!
You knew you were a goner the second he pulled up outside of the restaurant dressed head to toe in black, his new monster had sat on his head, playboy hoodie covering his upper half, while he wore cozy joggers.
You had already seen the videos circulating while you were at dinner with friends and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t already feel wetness forming between your legs before he even picked you up.
That’s how you ended up in an empty private car park, your dressed pushed up around your hips as you bounced on his cock in the driver’s seat of his vintage Lamborghini.
“Fuck lan.” You cried head tucking into the crook of his neck, hips rocking back and forth as pleasure filled your body.
His large hands gripped your ass tightly, kneding the flesh as you continued your movements on top of him. The little grunts and moans escaping his mouth cause your cunt to get even wetter around him, his cock getting slicker and slicker with each bounce.
Lando grunts at the feeling of your breasts rubbing against his firm chest, taking note that you aren’t wearing a bra under your dress he pulls the top down exposing the bare skin to him.
His lips wrap around your left bud, tongue flicking against it while his teeth nip at it lightly, drawing whimpers from your throat at the added sensation.
“Taking my cock so well baby.” He cooed as he switched to your other nipple, one of his large hands moving up to roll the other between his fingertips.
You panted above him, legs slowly growing tired as you continued to fuck yourself on him, his thick cock hitting that spot deep inside you on every bounce.
Lando growled deeply as he felt his climax approaching, dipping a hand between the two of you brought his fingers to rub at the sensitive bud between your thighs.
“mmf-lando!” You cried out, the mixture of his thick cock and fingers sending your body into pure ecstasy as the band in your lower stomach had finally snapped.
“That’s it baby, come for me. Come for me like the good girl you are.” He praised smirking at the way your thighs were shaking violently around him.
He took control after that, hands holding onto your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow as he thrusted up into you.
A squeal of overstimulation breaking free from you as his cock pounded into you at an ungodly speed, hitting all the right spots as he chased a high of his own.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come, gonna fill you to the brim baby, fuck you nice and full.” The Brit rambled.
You couldn’t find it in yourself to reply, to overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you so deep, having his warm body so close to yours, breasts rubbing against the cotton of his hoodie every time he thrusted inside of you.
You could feel his hips stuttering as he came, a deep growl filling the car as his head dropped back against the leather head rest. His hips thrusted a few more times before finally stilling, keeping himself buried inside you as he pulled you from his neck and placed a searing kiss on your lips.
“mm, fuck that was good.” He smirked, green eyes locked on your blown out ones.
You giggled as his words before giving him one more peck and lifting yourself off of his softening cock, whining as he slid out.
Situating yourselves you both fixed your clothes and messy appearances, you could feel his eyes boring into the side of your head as you used your camera to show you where all your smudged makeup was.
“Baby?” He called softly.
“Yeah?”
“What got you so worked up that you couldn’t wait till we got home?” He smirked, eyes taking in the foggy windows of his car.
“I-I’m not even really sure..I think it was a combination of the outfit and car, this one is one of my favorites and we haven’t had a car sex moment in a while.” You shrugged cheeks turning scarlet.
“Just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself huh?”
“No, I truly couldn’t.” You smiled bashfully as you leaned forward and gave him one more kiss before rolling your window down.
“Now let’s get home so we can continue this In the shower.”
“Yes ma’am.” He laughed before restarting the engine and pulling off.
-
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pucksandpower · 2 days
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It’s Only Natural
Max Verstappen x innocent!Reader
Summary: in which Max shows you that it’s okay to want
Warnings: 18+ content
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You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands folded primly in your lap. You watch as Max moves about, discarding his shirt and stepping out of his jeans until he’s down to just his boxers. There’s an easy grace to his movements, like a predatory animal comfortable in its skin.
Your eyes trace over the curves and lines of his body appreciatively before you catch yourself and quickly look away, heat flooding your cheeks. You hear him chuckle.
“See something you like?”
You keep your gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “I wasn’t looking.”
The mattress dips as Max sits beside you. He tilts your chin up. Reluctantly you meet his stare, the grey of his eyes as vivid as the stormy sky.
“It’s okay, you know. To want me.” His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. “We’ve been together for months now. It’s only natural.”
You swallow hard, torn between embarrassment and yearning. “Wanting is … improper. Before marriage.” The words sound weak even to your own ears.
Max smirks. “Who told you that? Your parents? The church?” He leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “They don’t own your body or your desires. Only you do.”
You shiver at his proximity, inhaling the scent of his skin. Like walking past a bakery first thing in the morning, the aroma of fresh bread wafting out onto the street. Your mouth waters.
“I know you feel it too,” Max murmurs. “This hunger. This heat between us.” His fingers trail down your arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Don’t be ashamed of it.”
Your breaths come faster. You’re trembling, but not from the cold. “Max ...”
He silences you with a kiss. His lips are firm yet soft, coaxing rather than demanding. The kiss deepens slowly, each brush of his mouth unraveling you further until you’re clinging to him, dizzy with want.
When you finally break for air, Max gazes at you tenderly. “How do you feel?”
You lick your tingling lips. “I-I don’t know. Confused. Like my body is doing things without my permission.” You press a hand to your heaving chest. “My heart is racing so fast.”
“That’s desire, liefje.” Max strokes your hair soothingly. “It’s new and frightening now, but you’ll get used to it.” He kisses your forehead. “There’s no need to be scared.”
You nod hesitantly. He’s right, this feeling is terrifying in its intensity. But it’s also tantalizing, a thirst you never knew needed quenching.
You take a deep breath. “What happens next?”
Max smiles encouragingly. “That’s up to you. We can take this as slow or as fast as you want. It’s your journey — I’m just your guide.” He lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “You lead, I’ll follow.”
Reassured, you lean into him. “Kiss me again?”
“With pleasure.”
This time when Max’s lips find yours, you let your instincts take over. Your mouth moves shyly against his at first but grows bolder, mimicking the way he teases your bottom lip, coaxes your tongue. The tender exploration sends pulses of heat coursing through you. You’re lit up from the inside, like a lantern glowing in the dark.
You come up for air again, dizzy and breathless. Max’s eyes are hooded, his own breathing uneven. “How was that?”
You press closer, craving the hardness of his body. “I want more.”
Max grins. “Do you now?”
Before you can respond, he captures your mouth again, kissing you with a passionate urgency that steals your thoughts away. You cling to him as the last of your inhibitions burns up like paper held to a flame.
There is only feeling now — exquisite, terrifying, blissful feeling.
When Max finally releases you, you’re shaking all over. He brushes the hair back from your face tenderly. “Talk to me. How are you?”
You wet your parched lips. “I feel … alive. Awake.” You glance up at him almost shyly. “Thank you for waking me up.”
Max’s expression softens. “You’re welcome.” He lies back on the bed, opening his arms to you. “Come here.”
You curl into him without hesitation, resting your head on his chest. His steady heartbeat grounds you as his fingers trail up and down your back idly. You trace random patterns on his skin, marveling at the way it prickles under your touch.
“Can I ask you something?” You murmur.
“Of course.”
You chew your lip thoughtfully. “How did you know? That I wanted this?”
Max considers the question. “I saw how your body responded to mine, even when you tried to hide it.” His hand slides to your hip, rubbing gentle circles. “I heard how your breathing changed when I got close to you.”
You flush at the knowing tone in his voice.
“Most of all though, I recognized the longing in your eyes.” Max tilts your chin up so you have to meet his earnest gaze. “You and I are the same. Our bodies have needs we can’t ignore.”
You wrinkle your nose. “Is it always this … intense?”
Max laughs. “No, it gets easier. The more you open yourself to pleasure, the less it will overwhelm you.” He plays with a lock of your hair idly. “Think of your desire like a wild horse. Right now it’s bucking and straining at the reins. But with time and training, you’ll be able to ride it smoothly.”
You consider this. “Have you trained your horse well?”
“Very well,” Max says wryly. “We understand each other perfectly.”
You bite your lip. “Will you teach me?”
Max’s eyes darken. For a long moment he just looks at you, desire written plainly across his face. Your own excitement builds under that molten stare.
Finally he nods. “If that’s what you want.” His voice is slightly hoarse now. “We’ll take it slow. One step at a time.”
Your heart flutters wildly. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
Max clears his throat. “For now, just try to get comfortable being so close to me. Explore a bit.” His hand trails down your side. “Learn what feels good.”
You arch into his touch instinctively, craving more contact. Your mouths find each other again, hot and seeking. You let your hands wander across the warm planes of his chest, tracing each ridge and valley. When your fingers brush one of his nipples, Max makes a low sound that shoots desire through you like lightning.
You tear your mouth from his, eyes wide. “Did I hurt you?”
“God, no.” Max’s pupils are blown wide, fixed on you intently. “That felt good. Do it again.”
Emboldened, you experiment with touching him the way he touched you, learning which caresses make his breath hitch and muscles tighten. Before long Max is shaking under your hands, his control fraying at the edges.
“Enough,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the bed. “Any more and this lesson will be over far too soon.”
You grin up at him impishly. “Maybe next time then.”
Max groans. “You’re going to be the death of me.” But he’s smiling as he dips his head to kiss you lazily.
When he finally releases your wrists, you wrap your arms around him, enjoying the warmth and solidness of his body. You feel different now — more awake, more alive. Like you’ve stepped through a doorway into a bigger and brighter world.
“Thank you for today,” you whisper, meaning it with your whole heart. “I feel … free.”
Max kisses the top of your head tenderly. “You’ve always been free, schatje. I’m just helping you see it.” He lifts your chin so your eyes meet. “We’ve only just started. There are so many wonders still to show you.”
A thrill races through you at the promise in his voice. You settle against his chest again, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart as you fall asleep in his arms, unafraid of wanting anymore.
Your body and heart are finally coming home to each other.
***
Morning sun spills through the curtains, rousing you slowly from sleep. The other half of the bed is empty but still warm, and the faint clatter of dishes downstairs means Max is already up and making breakfast.
You stretch languidly, yesterday’s explorations still fresh in your mind. A newfound heat simmers in your veins, sending a flush across your skin.
You find Max in the kitchen, hair charmingly mussed, wearing only pajama bottoms that ride low on his hips. He grins when he sees you.
“Good morning, liefje. Sleep well?”
You come up behind him, sliding your arms around his trim waist. “Mmm I did,” you nuzzle into his bare shoulder. He smells warm and masculine. You press a kiss to his skin, eliciting a pleased hum.
“Keep that up and I’ll burn breakfast,” Max says wryly. He turns in your embrace, fingers tilting your chin up for a slow, simmering kiss. By the time he pulls back you’re breathless and tingling.
“What’s gotten into you today?” He looks delighted.
You bite your lip coyly. “I can’t stop thinking about last night.” You flatten your palms against his chest, feeling his heart pick up speed. “I want to keep learning.”
Max’s eyes darken. For a long moment he just looks at you, desire pooling in his heated gaze. “Finish eating first,” he says finally. “Then meet me upstairs.”
Excitement bubbles through you. You eat breakfast quicker than you ever have before, then hurry to the bedroom where Max awaits, sitting on the edge of the bed. He beckons you over with a crooked smile.
“Eager today, are we?”
You nod, leaning down to initiate a kiss. Max obliges, his mouth warm and seeking against yours. When you move to deepen it further, he gently grasps your shoulders and eases you back.
“Slow down, schatje. We’ve got all the time in the world.” His tone is kind but firm. “Let’s take this lesson nice and easy.”
You duck your head, chastened. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to rush.”
Max tips your chin back up, eyes tender. “It’s okay. I know everything feels new and exciting.” His thumb brushes your bottom lip softly. “But the best pleasures are the ones we savor.”
Heart swelling, you turn your head to press a kiss to his palm. “Teach me?”
Max nods. “Come sit with me.”
You settle beside him on the bed, pulse skipping when he draws you close. His hands glide up your arms, raising goosebumps, before coming to rest lightly around your neck. His touch is reverent, worshipful.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “I could spend hours exploring you.”
He kisses behind your ear, along your jawline, each press of his lips languid and unhurried. By the time he reaches your mouth you’re trembling, hyper-aware of everywhere your bodies touch.
Max takes his time kissing you deeply, thumbs sweeping over your throat and down to your collarbones. You lean into him, chasing more of that exquisite friction, but he doesn’t allow you to rush. He pulls back again and again until you relax, surrendering to his pace.
“There you go, just like that,” he praises. “Nice and slow.”
You keen softly when his fingers trail down to trace along the neckline of your shirt, back and forth. He toys with the top button, watching your face attentively.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t stop,” you breathe.
Max smiles and pops the first button open. Then he pauses, bending to kiss the new inch of exposed skin. Goosebumps prickle across your chest as he continues his unhurried path downward, kissing each new glimpse of flesh laid bare.
By the time he reaches the last button you’re trembling violently, head tipped back in bliss. Max’s strong hands sweep up your sides and around to unclasp your bra. You gasp as the garment falls away, leaving you bare before him.
Reverently he cups your breasts, thumbs sweeping over your tightened peaks. The sensation wrings a desperate moan from you.
“You’re exquisite,” Max marvels. He bends to take one nipple into his mouth and your vision goes white, senses overwhelmed by slick heat. He suckles you gently, littering kisses across your fevered skin until you’re writhing mindlessly against him.
“Max, please ...”
He kisses his way back up to your mouth, face alight with tenderness and desire. “What do you need?”
You clutch his shoulders, nearly sobbing. “You. I need you.”
Max groans, deepening the kiss until you’re drunk on him, on this feeling. His body shifts, pressing you down into the mattress, and you go willingly, eagerly.
“Not yet, liefje.” With monumental effort he stills, pulling back to look at you. His eyes are dark, lips kiss-swollen. “Is this too much?”
You shake your head desperately. “Don’t stop. Show me everything.”
Max hesitates, muscles corded with restraint. “Next time,” he grits out. “I want our first to be perfect.”
He rolls off you and you whimper at the loss of contact. Max gathers you close, stroking your hair as you slowly come down from your near-high.
“You were incredible,” he murmurs. “So receptive. So passionate.”
You cling to him, heart still pounding. “I want you so much it hurts.”
Max tips your chin up, gazing at you solemnly. “I know. And you’ll have me, I promise.” He kisses you sweetly. “But forcing things too soon will only dull the pleasure later.”
You know he’s right. With great effort you tamp down the fever in your blood, focusing on the warmth and strength of his embrace.
“Thank you for stopping,” you whisper. “I know it wasn’t easy.”
Max smiles wryly. “You have no idea.” He caresses your face tenderly. “But your pleasure means more to me than my own.”
You lick your suddenly parched lips. “I’m ready,” you say simply. “Whenever you think the time is right.”
Max’s eyes darken. For a long moment he just looks at you, stripped bare by yearning. Then he nods slowly. “Soon.”
***
The next few days pass in a haze of stolen kisses and wandering hands. Each touch stokes the fire between you higher, until you’re dizzy with anticipation.
When Max finally whispers that you’re ready, that tonight will be the night, you can scarcely breathe for excitement. He takes you upstairs after dinner, kissing you deeply before leaving to run you a bath.
“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.”
You change into the lacy lingerie set you bought just for this occasion, hands trembling. The ivory silk and lace hugs your curves perfectly, making you feel delicate and desired.
Max returns to find you sitting primly on the bed, heart in your throat. His eyes widen, traveling appreciatively over you.
“You’re a vision,” he murmurs. He sits beside you, hand coming up to caress the line of your throat, tantalizingly close to the swells of your barely concealed breasts. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
He kisses you, slow and deep, until you’re breathing hard. With gentle hands he undresses you, lips following the path of revealed skin. By the time the lingerie slips to the floor, you’re trembling and ready.
Max rises gracefully from the bed, shedding his own clothes. The hunger in his eyes steals your breath away. He’s beautiful like this, powerful muscle and taut sinew under smooth skin. Your apprehension melts into awed desire.
“Come,” he says simply, holding out a hand.
He leads you into the bathroom where rose petals float across steaming water. Candles line the counter, filling the air with a soft glow.
Max helps you into the tub before sliding in behind you. You sigh, relaxing back against his chest. For a while he just holds you, lips grazing your temple, your cheek, the curve of your shoulder.
“Are you nervous?” He asks eventually. His breath tickles your ear.
“A little,” you admit. “Mostly just excited.” You cover his hands with your own, drawing them around to span your stomach. “I’m ready for you to have all of me.”
Max nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “You honor me.” His palms glide higher, cupping your breasts as his thumbs tease your nipples. You arch into the caress, lips parting in bliss. He kisses down the slope of your neck until you’re mindless, head falling back onto his shoulder.
“Max ...” His name catches on a moan.
He kisses just beneath your ear. “Tell me what you need, schatje.”
You take one of his hands, guiding it lower beneath the water. Max exhales harshly when you press his fingers between your legs.
“Please,” you beg softly.
Max complies, caressing you in unhurried circles. The slick glide of his fingers has you shaking, pulsing against his hand. He works you higher with gentle expertise until your climax crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, collapsing limply back against him.
Max holds you through the aftershocks, murmuring praise and adoration. As you float back down he washes you tenderly, hands worshipping every inch of your spent body. By the time he helps you from the bath your nerves have melted away, replaced only by bliss.
Max dries you off before scooping you up and carrying you to bed. He lays you down reverently and you reach for him, needing to feel him against you.
He goes willingly, covering your body with his, all heated skin and taut muscle. You revel in the delicious weight of him, the intimacy of full-body contact. Max kisses you deeply, one hand trailing down to lift your knee, opening you up to him.
He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes. “Are you sure?” His voice resonates with restraint.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Please, Max.”
He kisses you sweetly as he finally, carefully, joins your bodies. You gasp into his mouth at the feeling of him filling you so exquisitely. For a moment you’re frozen, overwhelmed by the intensity.
Max stills, letting you adjust. “Talk to me, liefje.” His voice is tight. “Does it hurt?”
You run your hands up his back, grounding yourself in the solidness of him. “No. It just feels … big.” You shift your hips experimentally and have to stifle a moan. “But so good.”
Max relaxes slightly, some of the tension leaving his frame. “We’ll take this slow.” He kisses across your cheekbones, your fluttering eyelids, soothing you as your body adjusts to accommodate him. “Just breathe. There’s no rush.”
When you finally nod for him to move, he rocks into you in achingly gradual strokes. Each glide lights you up from within, pleasure swelling inexorably. Your legs come up to wrap around his waist, taking him deeper.
Max groans. “You feel incredible.” He quickens just slightly, just enough to wring gasps from you both. “So perfect for me.”
You cling to him, this man you love beyond reason, beyond promise. He fills you in every way, heart, body and soul. “Max,” you breathe against his lips like a prayer, and his pace stutters.
“Say it again.” His eyes are molten, searing into yours.
“Max.” You pour every ounce of love and devotion you feel into his name.
With a ragged moan he claims your mouth, kissing you fiercely even as his hips snap against yours. You cry out, senses flooded by him, by the feeling of your bodies joining so exquisitely. The pleasure crests unbearably high before you shatter, clenching and shuddering around him.
Max follows you over with a harsh groan, chest heaving against yours. For an eternity all you know is each other, breathing as one.
Max rolls to the side so he doesn’t crush you, pulling you along so you stay cradled against him. You cling tightly, still joined, overwhelmed by what you’ve just shared.
Max tilts your chin up, eyes tender but concerned. “Are you alright?”
You smile shakily, smoothing back his sweat-damp hair. “I’m perfect.” You press soft kisses across his face. “That was … everything.”
Relief breaks across his face. He wraps you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin. “I love you,” he whispers into your hair. “Beyond anything.”
You snuggle closer, basking in the warmth of his embrace, the steadiness of his heart. “I love you too. Forever.”
Eventually Max slips from your body and you mourn the loss, even as exhaustion tugs at you. He cleans you gently with a warm cloth before pulling you against him once more.
You drift toward sleep, lulled by the soothing strokes of his fingers through your hair. Just before slumber takes you, Max presses his lips to your temple.
“Thank you for your gift tonight,” he breathes. “I’ll spend my whole life trying to be worthy of it.”
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mariahcarreyyy · 3 days
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Hello
Congrats on your celebration, can I request prompt 18 from your smut list with Lewis being the driver.
Thanks soo much.
# prompt no.18, getting them hot and bothered before a race nsfw 18+ below beware⬇️⬇️
mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post
"Sweatheart?"
Despite the syrupy word of endearment, Lewis' tone is anything but. Gruff and voice thick with noncommittal warning, you almost halt your suggestive touch on his thigh when you hear it—almost. Instead, you tilt your head to the side. Eyes wide, seemingly innocent; Lewis knows you better than that, though.
Restlessly, Lewis shifts in his creaky bed in his driver's room, and you pretend to ignore the growing bulge his inky racesuit confines. His thick fingers latch onto your wrist. Firm, yet unmoving. Just there. You take it as your cue to continue.
Inching your hand further up his thigh, so close and so far from where Lewis needs it, you let out a teasing hum. "Yes, baby?"
"We can't. I have—" he stutters, fingers tightening around your wrist when yours graze against his covered dick. "Have a race in fuckin'..."
"Ten minutes." You finish the words he'd trailed off, grinning up at him with a mischevious glint in your eyes. "Enough, no—? Oh."
Lewis' lips are on yours in a second, hungry and desperate. He swallows the gasp that slips past the cracks in your lips, cupping your neck and gently splaying you out on his bed. Tilting your head with a forceful hand, Lewis' hot kisses trail down to your jaw and your neck, leaves lilac stains on your collarbone.
The familiar stir in your lower stomach makes you grip the thick racesuit, fingernails nearly piercing through as you pull him in for another kiss. He grins against your high, desperate whines. "Look who's all needy now; needed to—fuck—get me all hard b'for a race 'cus y'so horny f'me, hm?"
Your hand had slipped between your flushed bodies, past his tattooed chest, now rubbing his dick through the fabric. "If we have time," you murmur, relishing the silent moan he lets out when you roughly squeeze. "'don't see why not."
"Lewis! Lewis, c'mon, y'need to get out," a Mercedes personell shouts from behind the locked door, and Lewis contemplates ditching the shitty car and even shittier race for a release. "Race's starting soon!"
The driver rolls his eyes, resting on the forearms placed beside your head, and calls out bitterly, "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."
"No, you won't," you giggle, ducking under his arms and away from his heated body.
"Sweetheart," Lewis leans down, slightly to the side, to breathily whisper in your ear. "If I don't cum, the only thing I'll be thinking of in that car is your pretty face 'n pussy."
Your hand grazes past his hardness again, your touch feathery, before placing a sweet kiss on his cheek and sitting upright. "Just don't crash?"
He groans, slumping on the bed and falling face first into the thin mattress. "I'll think about it."
Later that night, Lewis comes out of the race thinking about your pretty face, thinks about painting it with his cum; he thinks about thrusting into your wet pussy, fast and hard, just how you like it; he thinks about turning you over with your ass up, squeezing and slapping the soft flesh; he thinks about pulling out when he feels your pussy clench around him, not letting you cum over and over again.
And he'll be damned if he doesn't fulfill them.
authors note. i haven't been posting much bcs my health isnt the best right now, hopefully i'll be back soon!!
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nogodinf1 · 3 days
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F1 Driver NSFW Profile: ✴ Carlos Sainz ✴ smut ✴ 18+ readers only
I. Flirt. 
He thinks of himself as a very classy guy. He has no desire to be the loudest in the crowd or draw too much attention to himself. He feels the same about flirting. He’d rather live up to his nickname, Smooth Operator, and subtly yet suavely get your attention. He's also decidedly somewhat against PDA with a few minor exceptions depending on the occasion. But when you’re alone, he’s all over you. He’s also very romantic, a man who doesn’t just buy you roses or light a few candles because he thinks that’s what he should do. He genuinely enjoys it and can riff off of the classic romantic gestures to make them perfectly tailored to you. But mostly because he’s private and quite protective, PDA is at a very discrete minimum. 
II. Propositioning.
Again, he’ll lead with romance. A deep kiss that takes your breath away. Tender and lingering touches once you’re behind closed doors. He’ll lead you to the base of the bed, kissing your neck and hands running over the skin, bunching up the bottom of your top. Carlos is also pretty controlled. He tends to have a pretty good cap on whatever emotions are just bubbling underneath, so he’s not exactly ripping you out of the party to take out in the back alley. It’s much less saucy and provocative. But once you know him, know his mannerisms and expressions, he can still light a fire in the pit of your belly by simply making eye contact with you over the ring of his glass. The mask he wears is neutral, perfectly acceptable for the public occasion but you know what he’s thinking. You can practically see it spelled out on his forehead. You’ll do your best to convince him to head home early.   
III. Libido.
He could go all day but finds that a waste of an entire day. He’s young and athletic, so he benefits from his strength and stamina. He definitely would not consider himself a sexual person though you would be first to argue that he certainly fucks like one. Sexuality would be so private for him, and he would need to feel comfortable as well, so one-night stands had been mostly infrequent before you. 
IV. Turn-Ons: tame & nasty.
Tame: Red dresses. High heels. Red fingernail polish. Dangly earrings. Low-cut tops. When you touch his bicep when you laugh. Watching you dance. When his cooking makes you moan. Reaching out for him in the middle of the night. Watching you lean over to take a golf shot and you purposefully wiggle your bum because you know he’s watching. Short golf skirts and those little white socks with sneakers. Nails scratching against his scalp. Drinking beer. Hide behind him. Letting him feed you. Watching each other from across the room.
Nasty: When you open your mouth and stick out your tongue at him to show him you’ve swallowed all he gave you. You sprawled on the bed with your hair fanned out behind you, covered in a mist of sweat with a tied, satisfied smile. When he starts taking you harder from behind so you have to reach back and hold on to him. Desperate gasps of his name. Eye contact. When he hits just the right spot and you let out some sort of exclamation. 
V. Self-stimulation.
Generally when he’s away, it's with his imagination. Maybe a sex video off the internet if he’s looking for the release to relieve stress more than sexual frustration. Would never and does not ask about nudes but happily accepts them if you’re willing to share. Facetime sex is also an option but he has to be wined and dined, so to speak. He doesn’t want you to just answer completely bare or in the shower. He wants you to make some sort of effort, maybe a lovely dress or one of his shirts and colour coordinated panties. Something that shows him you’ve been looking forward to the call as much as he has. 
VI. Foreplay.
If you wanted, he’d happily go down on you and expect nothing in return. Sometimes, you’ll even offer or reach to thank him–still dazed from your orgasm and he’ll stop you. “If only we had all day, cariño.” he’ll smile softly before he kisses you deeply and gets out of bed. He’s easily convinced for another full round in the shower but he’ll start to get antsy if you keep him beyond that. Doing something whilst you’re winding down in the evening isn’t sworn off by any means and wine can make his hands wander. But he needs to at least feel like he’s done more with his day than just you. 
VII. Rhythm.
Because he is so genuinely romantic, he prefers a tender and savouring rhythm. Relatively quiet during sex, not because he’s not feeling it or is embarrassed. He’s just always so much in his head and sex can be quite emotional for him. You can get him out of it with enough coaxing and making him feel so good he loses his inhibitions. Otherwise, he’s a lot of shallow breathing and gentle groans. 
VIII. How He Likes It.
He’s a missionary guy with some variation: legs folded to your chest, held down so you're folded in half or propped up against his shoulders. Maybe with you sideways beneath him while he’s still poised on top of you. Mostly he’s focused on keeping your eye contact  or watching you react to what he’s giving you. Though, he feels best in doggy but sometimes fully can’t concentrate on thrusting when you start circling your hips and throwing it back.  
IX. Location, location, location.
Obviously, being so private, it’s in the comfort and safety of whatever bedroom you find yourselves staying in that week. Craziest place you’ve done it is a golf course. One of the very few times you’ve let him drag you to the course and he pretends like you aren’t half asleep ranting about groundwater pollution and the loss of habitat on the way there. But he likes seeing you in the little outfit and the way you cling to him since you’re so out of your element. It’s also one of the rare times he’s gone without his usual golf entourage which makes it feel like you simply must take advantage. He’s not really much for you topping so you considered it another reason for the special occasion when you come across hole number 11 that’s shaded in shrubs and trees. The golf cart squeaked the whole time and Carlos almost ruined his own orgasm thinking someone else’s cart was starting to crest over the hill but you did it. Slightly awkward and dazed after, you still got it done. It seemed to spark a frenzy in him though, he was behind you coaching you through every swing. When, normally, he likes to throw you into the deep end and gleefully watch you struggle. It’s one memory he and his imagination rely on heavily when he’s away. 
X. Kinky.
Not particularly kinky, more about each individual experience than wanting to recreate or dedicate certain experiences every time. Solidifies the belief that “vanilla” doesn’t have to mean boring. He’s just a partner who values a connection that feels the same and based in emotions. Sex is an expression of love for him.
XI. Bedroom aids/Toys.
He’s down to use a vibrator during sex if that’s something you’re into. He’s not really that kind of devious where he’ll suggest it or just pull it out in the moment and evaluate your reaction. He’s rational enough not to see it as a competitor and he knows you rely on it when he’s gone. So he does his best to work in tandem though when things get to the nitty gritty, sometimes he can struggle to multitask so either you need to take over and put the vibrator to the spot that feels right or he’ll toss it across the bed and focus on one thing at a time.
XII. Cum.
Again, he can last a while especially if he uses the intense mind-over-matter mentality he’s perfected from racing. He’d prefer to use condoms simply because the clean-up can be easier…But isn’t opposed to going raw.
XIII. Pleasure reciprocation.
You give head fairly equally and he will try anything you ask him to. Degradation was particularly hard from him. He’d start out good, calling you names and taunting you with his dick but after a certain point he couldn’t hold up the act any more. “I can’t do it, amor. It feels wrong, I can’t do it. “ He panted heavily in your ear after his thrusts came to a halt.  But ultimately, he’s good with head. Understands the need for varaction and strong suction. Also, once he observed just how, uh, /helpful/ his nose could be…he really stepped up his game in a whole new way. 
IVX. Bonus.
Though he’s not particularly loud in the bedroom, he does indulge in dirty talk but in his native Spanish. If you’re not a fluent speaker, he tries to use it as motivation to get you to learn. 
When you ask what he’d just purred so sultrily in your ear, he tuts disapprovingly. “Tienes que seguir estudiando, mi amor.” 
He’ll stay in Spanish the entire time, sometimes even let his native tongue bleed into whatever you’re doing after. Even acts like Spanish just feels so much better on his tongue, he can’t help that he stays in it. 
One time when you’re on your knees for him, he’s particularly talkative. A soft husky tone, just between the two of you despite his empty Milano flat. He’s got one hand in your hair, keeping it out of your face as you go down on him.
“Dios–Fuck, Oh my–” It was the first time he slips between the two languages but it’s only momentary. Once his eyes came fluttering open and you pulled off him for a moment to breathe, hands taking over for a moment. “Cariño, por favor.” He sounded desperate, his free hand clutching the arm of the chair he’s seated on, hand desperately grasping at the fabric. Trying to find some semblance of reality to hold on to. 
So rarely do you have him in the palm of your hand. You were smirking to yourself, looking at him with big innocent eyes and his body started to trash. He said something else in Spanish, he had said it enough times that you knew it meant he was close. In this moment, it wasn’t lost on you that his repetition of perverted lessons in Spanish might actually be paying off. 
You put your mouth back over him, starting slowly again–a contrast to the firm, strong pace of your hand. Focusing on the head, you let your tongue rub against it and his hips bucked involuntarily. He says more in Spanish but you can’t really hear him. You’ve taken him back down your throat. No warning just as far as you can fit him. He’s practically howling now, Spanish words blending together you’re not sure if he’s coherent. 
He didn’t last much longer, whiny and whimpering when you kept sucking after he finished. When Carlos finally breaks free, he lets out a long string of curse words–jumbled between English and Spanish.
“You okay, baby?” You ask in an innocent tone, gentle hands still fondling him. He hisses as your hand caresses his tip again. He almost looks like he might cry. 
“¡Ay, carino, por favor!” He hissed, snatching your hand off his dick and reaching for his shorts from around his ankle. “Suficiente. Estoy suficiente, por favor.” You couldn’t help but giggle. Carlos, always so composed and control, fucked out and overstimulated, practically ready to jump out of his skin if you even flinched to reach out for him again. “I need time to recover.” He huffed, looking at you with stern brown eyes. 
“Si, señor.” you saluted him playfully and he sighed, side eyeing you like he was debating something. Before you can ask, Carlos peeled himself out of the chair and extended his hand to help you up. Once face to face, you kissed him. Letting him taste himself on your tongue before you both went your separate ways for the day. 
“I think you could use some one on one tutoring,” he tutted, looking you up and down.
“Por que?” you asked back with mock insult. 
Carlos didn’t answer. Just rolled his eyes and bent to swing you over his shoulder, dragging you up to your bedroom. 
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charles-leclerizz · 3 days
Text
EPISODE 01 : Start your engine
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🏁 EPISODE AGE RATING : U/A 16+ [contaings swearing]
🏁 GENRE : Drama, Action, Sports, Romance
🏁 WORD COUNT : 10 K [ 10 , 366 WORDS ]
🏁 MUSIC SUMMARY : THE GREATEST BY SIA, PUMPT IT - BLACK EYED PEAS
🏁 CREDIT [S] : "BEHIND THE SCENES" BANNER, NETFLIX PLAY BAR BY ME [@charles-leclerizz], TEXT DIVIDERS BY @cafekitsune
🏁 TAGS : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon], OTHERS [@weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam, @inejghafawifesblog,d3kstar], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK !
DIRECTORS CUT : first episode children, better get soome snacks and a drink, and i highly reccomend looking at the masterlist, aisha's profile and the porsche f1 team links, since they will explain everything. It is also recommendeed you first read the trailer, which is once again found on the masterlist below.
Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷
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The opening credits of the series begin to play, revealing bold block letters reading,
“Bahrain 2025”
And in the background, the black fades to reveal an aerial view of the landmark circuit, a staple of the history that defines Formula One. As the shot zooms in, we see the morning mist rolling over the grey, freshly re-laid tarmac of the track leading up to the garages of each of the 10 teams, most of them shutdown and blocked away from prying eyes. Though, as the camera moves forward, the view widens and we can see at the very end of the line, the Porsche garage emitting a yellow glow.
The acrylic entrance leaks hues of gold whilst we finally approach the opening where we see Aisha jumping in place, a set of Bose x Porsche headphones sat on her ears, the white body and metallic automobile logo on the muffs bouncing with her movements.
She looks up from her focussed point beneath her, facing the camera that zooms in and captures the determined flare within the pools of her eyes.
 The music, already beginning its powerful bass bursts, dims and briefly we can hear her laboured breathing as she stretches her hands above her and unzips the tight athleisure jacket that she had worn previously for warmth. The adidas logo crumples as she throws it away, revealing a cropped sports bra, white with grey stripes at the sides containing an embroidered Porsche logo on her left breast.
Soon enough, the music comes blaring back and the camera merely turns to follow her body as she begins to run away from the safety of her team enclosure. The scene ends with her exiting the shot, running down the initial straight of the first ever track she will race as a formula one driver.
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“Aisha, what drives you in the world of Formula One?” A deep, cryptic voice off camera asks the driver sitting in shot. She smiles menacingly and leans back against her seat, her hands planted on her elegantly crossed legs as she adjusts the low cut, ‘V’ collar of her waistcoat, the colour matching the iconic Porsche guards’ red, of the rest of her risqué pantsuit.
“What drives me?” She chuckles, a low, raspy amusement that reverberates against the stormy backdrop behind her, “The competition, the domination, it runs in my blood;” She leans forward, as if the camera crew were privy to her obvious need to achieve. Aisha’s thin, golden bangles on each of her wrist’s jingle as she goes to adjust her volumous hair, “it’s not about the winning, it’s about obliterating the finish line.” She shrugs nonchalantly, despite the aggressive competitiveness that crackles in the air.
The voice chuckles at her threatening demeanour, yet continues, “Some media outlets commented on your driving style, since F2 and F3. They say it’s violent. What’s your response?”
Aisha bites her lip, thinking on the best way to diplomatically answer the question, despite her need to curse the people who doubted her.
Instead, she sighs with faux disappointment and her wide, mascara rimmed eyes move down to her rouge and gold nails whilst one of her fingers comes to slip beneath the platinum stud that sits comfortably on the left of her nose.
“Violent?” She asks, her voice barely above a murmur, “They could’ve been more descriptive.” She rolls her eyes once before inhaling, “Try...relentless. When I’m on track, behind the wheel, it’s war. And I aim to be the last one standing, if you can’t get with the program, move out the way. Cause I’m here to win.”
Her promise of no mercy is palpable as she shifts minutely in her seat, tapping her nails against one another whilst waiting for next question.
“What about the rest of the grid?” The interviewer prompts, treading carefully with his words, “Any words for them?”
Aisha scoffs under her breath, uncrossing her legs and flipping over the golden dainty necklace that rests within her exposed cleavage, the glinting logo of her team catches the light whilst she adjusts herself.
“Why words? They’ll know what I’m here for when I pass them. They’ll feel it, the fear, the resignation. I’m a whirlwind, all they can do is get swept up in it, this season, I am not racing against them, their teams or even their car; I’m racing against their hatred of losing to me.”
She smiles at the camera, eyes crinkling at the sides as her nose scrunches, a pure juxtaposition to the threat that peeled out of her mouth like scalding, hot water.
“Before we end. For your fans, what do you want them to know?”
“Hold on for your life, they’re about to witness history on the track. Cause I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to fuck shit up.” Aisha grins wickedly and laughing loudly at the flurry of reactions off camera from the crew that stood behind the myriad of wires.
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Three different scenes are overlayed one another, the first being of Lewis Hamilton, giggling at someone off screen before focussing his large doe eyes onto the interviewer who also sat behind the large camera.
The second being 3X world champion Max Verstappen, who sits heavily onto the provided stool and sips at the can of the sugary energy drink in his hand, Max stared at the camera, a bored sheen coating his crystalline blue irises as the third, and final driver’s scene overtakes his.
This time Charles Leclerc enters the identical set, the Ferrari golden boy had narrowly escaped his fans-who’s screams of joy could be heard in the background as he waved a final time and pocketed a bright red, branded Ferrari pen whilst sighing, glancing around haphazardly.
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“Lewis”
Hamilton perks up at his name, smiling serenely, prompting the interviewer to continue.
“The world of Formula one is ablaze about new entry, Aisha Patel. Do you think, as a seasoned professional, she has what it takes to compete?”
Lewis whistles lowly, leaning back against his seat and wraps his arms around himself, “Damn- starting strong huh?” He snorts once before re-adjusting his posture, “Y’know, we’ve heard of her up here. And she’s talented, but obliterating F3 and F2 does not directly auto-translate to domination on our track.”
“Is that scepticism that I hear?” The interviewer chases after the hesitation in the driver’s voice, like a dog after a juicy bone.
“Call it...” Lewis arches an eyebrow as he mulls over his words, “Healthy cautiousness. I’m waiting to see how she handles the pressure after the lights go out.”
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“Max”
Max hums lazily, as though he had one too many bubbling seltzers that sat, pristine on the refreshments table, “Yeah?”
“Aisha Patel.”
Max clenches his jaw at the sound of her name.
“She’s said to rival your aggressiveness on track, what are your thoughts on her joining your world?”
Max scoffs at the seemingly preposterous statement, “What about her? She’s aggressive, so what? It’s skill that matters here in the big leagues. Give a baby a steering wheel to a supercharged car, that’ll be aggressive. I’m not holding my breath for her. “
“That sounds like someone who’s threatened?” He probes the already on edge driver.
“A threat?” Max chortles as if someone had offered him a mere penny for his thoughts, “I haven’t been threatened since kindergarten. I’ll let her have her try at the status quo, take one for the team and all.”
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“Charles”
The alarmingly red adorned man tilts his head inquisitively at the interviewer, his gentle smile popping his dimples.
“Miss. Patel has been said to be relentless on track, throwing caution to the wind. Your thoughts on her violent debut?”
Charles hums as he nods his head, “It’s nice to see fresh blood on track, bonne, she’s certainly caught people’s attention. Let’s see if she’s all bark and no bite.” He mummers the French praise before shrugging at the end of his sentence.
“You’re excited to compete against her?”
“Of course- who wouldn’t be? New team, new driver. The more varied the sport, the more interesting.” He answers neutrality laced into his words, despite the excited glint in his eye.
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“Thank you for your insights.” The interviewer thanks the men in their tapes, each of them reciprocating with equal politeness.
“Of course,” Lewis grins and claps his hands, turning to start chatting once again as he dismounts from the chair, already walking away.
“No problem,” Max nods his head once, stepping down from his seat whilst receiving a fresh can of Red Bull.
“Cheers mate,” The camera captures Charles leaning forward to shake the interviewer’s hand whilst patting his shoulder, before detaching to go and talk to the gaggle of Ferrari personnel who had gathered within the filming shed.
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The 2025 drivers had gathered onto the Bahrain track, the relentless mid-day sun beating down on them as a few of them had the pleasure of black umbrellas being held above them, whilst other’s held small hand-fans in the large palms, basking in the cool breeze that the battery powered trinket provided.
Aisha walked out, her racing shoes tapping against the tarmac as she made her way towards the others. A few Porsche employees trailed behind her, one of them stayed closer behind her, offering her a metallic, grey hand-held fan along with a chilled bottle of water.
“Thanks,” She murmured, brushing the hair that managed to escape her ponytail, “It’s fucking boiling.” Aisha complained, tugging at her fireproofs whilst another employee came up to her, patting her face with a setting powder as an attempt to dry her skin.
“Can’t really help it, love.” The media admin, Sarah, pointed out removing her focus from one of the jittery interns to the driver, “Now- you’re going to walk out, fans are going to see you. Are you sure you don’t want to hide your face right now?”
Aisha cracked open the bottle in her hand, having pressed the condensation coated plastic against her forehead long enough. She faced away from 2-3 people surrounding her to peak past the acrylic barrier, onto the track, where the rest of the drivers stood haphazardly scattered around the starting position boxes that had been freshly painted onto the concrete polymer.
“It’s fine, I think I’ve already heard all their opinions on me.” Aisha groaned, fanning her face again as she kicked a non-existent pebble beneath her toe, “What could go wrong?”
She peaked out again, like a tense meerkat, only to be surprised with her teammate, Pierre chatting with his former partner, Esteban Ocon. His racing suit was already zipped up fully as he basked in the fan’s unintelligible shouts and squeals, the thick, grey fabric stretched over his body nicely as the different sponsor logos morphed to the wrinkles and dents of the cloth.
“He’s already out there.” She hissed, “Making me look like shit.” Aisha banged the back of her crown against the wall that provided her with the much-needed shelter, from both the sweltering rays and the assessing gazes of the crowd above.
“Nonsense lovey.” Sarah assured her, picking at the hem of her fireproofs and pressing a few of the sweaty, stray strands of hair back into position, “Pedro’s just catching up with some friends.”
“Pierre.” Aisha corrected, pulling up her identical suit from hanging lowly from her waist to her shoulders, thankfully she still had time to leave it unzipped.
“Whatever.” She flapped her hand dismissively, “Baguette man isn’t doing anything you won’t have to.”
“Okay,” Aisha breathed out, keeping her lips taught and still as her rouge lipstick was touched up by another Porsche jersey adorned worker, “My helmet?” She looked around, patting herself, as though it would appear out of thin air.
Sarah looked around her surrounding, panicked, before snorting and pointing to the ledge behind the group, “There ya go babe.” She leaned past Aisha to knock on the head gear.
“I’m a mess,” Aisha whined, picking up her helmet whilst rubbing the glossy exterior with an open palm, she runs her fingers over her last name that’s printed on the back.
“A hot mess.” Sarah corrected her, hooking their elbows together whilst ushering forward the teenage interns next to them- their hands shaking with apprehension as they gripped the phones in their hands, the gadget recording each moment.
Aisha stilled slightly as her foot contacted the tarmac, the crowd already hushing with undivided interest on her mere shadow. She could feel anxious sweat begin to build up on the nape of her neck, flushing her face and glistening against her skin.
Finally, after a few minutes of inner turmoil, she allowed Sarah to guide her out within the crowd of other team’s media escorts and her fellow drivers. The grandstands erupted with chaos, the rushing of footsteps- scrambling to take the first photos of her in her debut, the unravelling of flags, the patriotic colours burning against the pristine plexi-glass barriers and multiple little girls shouting happily at her image.
Aisha forced a smile onto her face, the unexpected praise soothed her blushing ears as she waved up at the viewing boxes.
“Well, well. Nobody’s ever screamed like that for me.” A voice creeped up behind her, causing Aisha to whip around with a cautionary hand on her chest.
A cheeky grin greeted her, “Lando” Aisha breathed out, leaning to the side of his stature to acknowledge the rabid paparazzi behind of them with a tight-lipped nod.
“Hey,” He greeted her, bouncing on the balls of his feet and tapping the top of his helmet that sat squeezed between his arm and waist, “You nervous?” Lando tipped his head boyishly, his curls falling over his forehead, hazel eyes softening as he watched her.
“Not really,” Aisha lied, “do you need to pee?” She looked at him anxiously, watching as he stopped bouncing like a full bladdered toddler, and stood still. Lando chuckled under his breath and opened his mouth to answer, until he lurched forward under the weight of a heavy arm that hung from his shoulders.
“Little Lando Norris.” Daniel chuckled, rubbing his knuckles over the younger’s head, and snorted when Lando pushed his hand away stumbling out from his hold, “Already chatting up the newbie?” Daniel looks at Aisha with a smirk, “I think his pubes finally grew in.” He faux whispered, his voice gritty as he winked.
“I’m not chatting up anyone,” Lando smacked Daniel between the eyes before walking backwards, next to Aisha, “Just catching up.” He shrugged, side-eyeing her, gauging a reaction from her steely expression. Luckily, he got one, Aisha’s eyes widened slightly, her eyelashes fluttering to match her hearts faster pace as she slowly turned her head to meet his eyes.
“Catching up?” Daniel inquired, suddenly interested, “You guys know each other from before?”
“Yeah, we karted together.” Aisha crossed her arms over one another, before accepting a cold can of thumbs up from a staff member, “Still remember how he shit his pants.” She mumbled.
“I did not!”
“What the fuck.”
Both men exclaimed at the same time, Lando blushing a furious red and Daniel cackling loudly- leading to not only the attention from the other drivers that stood in a 200m vicinity but also Aisha snorting out her drink from her nose.
“I did not shit my pants.” Lando gritted out the last part, to stop prying ears of the other men approaching to become privy to his humiliation.
“You did though?” Aisha arched a brow at him, “I passed by you on the last lap, therefore winning-“ She poked her outstretched pinkie from her can into his puffed up chest, “And that made you so mad, that you shit your pants.”
“Oh god,” Daniel wheezed, taking support on his shorter teammate who had trotted up to join the conversation. Yuki scrunched up his face, tilting away from the force of the elder before looking at Aisha sympathetically,
“You excited?” He grinned slightly, showing off the gap between his front teeth.
“Definitely. How could I not be?” Aisha looked down at Yuki, shifting her weight slightly as an attempt to lower herself, “The crippling pressure? The thousands of viewers? The weight of both of my country’s on my shoulders?” Aisha blew a nonchalant breath from between her lips whilst waving her hand in front of her face, “No biggie.”
The three men stared at her, blank expressions on their face, one of them pressed their lips together, smacking them and creating an equally awkward “popping” noise for the group to bask in.
“I meant more like, the race and stuff..” Yuki mumbled, scratching the back of his head before yelping when Daniel smacked the nape of his neck, “But yeah, what you said works too, fo sho, no doubt, no doubt.” He corrected himself hastily.
“Fo sho?” A fourth voice chimed in, this time with a French lilt to his words, “Who’s got yuki talking like that?”
Aisha looked away amusedly from the smaller driver to the voice, her eyes widened at the blaring red that adorned the man in front of her.
“My period wasn’t due until after the race.” She commented, meeting the man’s intense gaze, “Are you here to ask if I’d like to continue watching?” She tilted her head innocently.
“Ah, I see.” He scrunches his nose at her, “You’ve got our baby Yuki talking like that.”
“Hey, fuck you man.” Yuki protested, throwing his arms up with a huff.
“I know you want to,” The seemingly french-man retorted back with a shameful wink,
“You wink like you’re trying not to cry.” Lando pointed out.
Aisha clapped her hands at her revelation, “That’s what it looked like!”
Lando shrugged, as though it was obvious.
“Okay I’m sorry, I’m not here to start the next French revolution or whatever-“ She mumbled, holding out a polite hand as a civil greeting.
Though, she was not met with his acceptance immediately, instead the three men surrounding her grimaced and hissed through their teeth- Daniel shook his hand out like he had just burned himself. Aisha looked around, oblivious to the reason for their reactions and jolted her hand out to the man.
“I’m from Monaco,” He snarked, accepting her hand begrudgingly, “Not France.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” She shrugged in reply.
“Charles” he gritted out, squeezing Aisha’s hand tightly- a poor attempt to veil his distaste, “Charles Leclerc, Ferrari driver.”
“Really?” Aisha squeezed harder, taking a step back to roll her eyes over his bright red suit, “Couldn’t tell.” She snorted.
“Right, well” Lando coughed, reaching forward to peel away both of their hands simultaneously, “This was fun. Meeting new people.” He took Aisha’s hand in his but dropped it quickly when she looked down at their conjoined fingers. Lando coughed, the tips of his ears blushing a furious scarlet, before he shifted to glance at his oh-so-interesting boots.
Luckily, the situation was saved by one of the administration workers clapping their hands and speaking robotically into a megaphone, “drivers, please make your way to your positions.”
The seasoned drivers around her began to exit their conversations and walk towards the bleachers style setup at the start line of the circuit. At least 12 black, metallic chairs sat in a row behind a small plaque, displaying bold white font that detailed the circuit name and the iconic formula one logo sprawled along the edges of the display board.
“Didn’t need this fucking helmet.” Aisha hissed to herself, jogging to one of the Porsche employees that stood at the edge of the camera shot, handing off the piece of equipment, before making her way back to the crowd.
She zipped up her suit and removed the piece of elastic from her hair, letting the noir waves fall down her shoulders as she scanned the already in place men in front of her, thankfully Pierre waved at her and ushered for her to take place next to him, standing behind the pair of Mercedes drivers who were snickering at some joke the other had just told.
Aisha huffed, clasping her hands behind her waist whilst jerking her head side to side due to odd strands of hair tickling her eyes and nose, before she could exasperatedly wipe her face with her hand, a pair of fingers had come and brushed against her nose. Aisha minutely followed the soft pads across her cheek before trailing her gaze up to the origin, Lando met her eyes, his own irises blown out as his hand lingered by her cheek- his thumb twitching across her skin before he coughed and re-took his position.
“Thank you,” She murmured beneath her breath, neutralising her face against the onslaught of obnoxious camera shutters and piercing sun rays.
“No problem,” Lando nodded slightly, his eyes flicking back to her face, tracing her features with his shy stare, “You did great in qualifying, yesterday.” He hastily complimented.
Aisha tried to fight against the blush that made its way up her neck, “thank you,” she snipped, pressing her lips together as a futile attempt at hiding her girlish smile.
Lando huffed out a laugh, turning his neck to grin at her, “anytime.”
Finally, the pictures had come to a stop, and the long-barrelled cameras were packed away and the grid were herded to a large, open roof truck. Another admin worker trailed behind the last driver into the pen-like vehicle, stepping up the stairs to hang back from the railing after locking the gate, “everyone’s here?’ she asked, giving a once over the flocked in men, and woman.
“Aisha, you’ll be first to talk to Lawrence,” She met eyes with Aisha, who was already waving to the rowdy fans who had collected at the banisters of the grandstands, “And then it’ll be whoever’s closest.”
The lady nodded once when the drivers thanked her, then she caught Aisha’s gaze again and she smiled reassuringly, “See you guys around.” She waved and dismounted from the railing with a jump.
The large platform began to move as the truck silently hummed to life, Aisha moved from her comfortable position at the back of the area-leaning against the matte, black railing towards Lawrence who smiled excitedly at her approaching figure. As she knitted through the small groups of 3 drivers littered in her path, she continued to wave at the fans who shouted and screamed at each subtle view they managed to glimpse of her.
“Aisha! Hi!” Lawrence greeted her, offering his hand for her to shake and swivelled around to collect a microphone.
“Hello, hello.” Aisha grinned back, accepting the long piece of tech from him, comically rotating it in her hands observing the porous black material that had been painted with a flaring red to create the F1 logo.
“So, you’re finally here! The big leagues, and yesterday’s qualifying must’ve been very exciting.  We’ve all been so blown away with Porsche’s car, and your performance. P5 ! Amazing. Walk us through what you’re feeling right now?”
“I mean, it’s a confidence booster of course, qualifying top 5- but I think that along with that it’s proving to myself and other little girls like me that it isn’t about who you are, but what you can do, regardless of gender or background.” Aisha nods once, leaning her elbow against the railing to crane her neck around and take in the track that lay ahead of the speedily moving vehicle.
“It’s great that you can showcase your talent and inspire young minds, but with that said- there’s obviously a pressure that comes with entering such a male-dominated sport.”
Aisha stilled slightly, her eyes wide and unblinking for a beat, “I mean, there’s always going to be extra expectation on you when you’re breaking barriers. The way I see it, this is an opportunity to pave the way for future generation, so really, its fuels my success and goes to show that gender or race, doesn’t correlate to your ability on track.”
“Well said, and while we’re on the topic of your determination, whilst being in the spotlight almost 24/7 and the battles on track, how do you maintain focus? It must be overwhelming.”
Aisha chuckled, turning to look at the other drivers, a few of them had tuned into her interview not-so-subtle whilst others were still deep in conversation, “I mean, when you’re battling against jumbo sized toddlers, and then being put under the loving spotlight of the media, I agree, it can be pretty overwhelming sometimes. But then I remind myself, why am I here? What am I here to do? And at the end of the day, it’s just me, the car, and the track, so I really don’t mind it too much.”
She shrugged at the end of her sentence, flipping her hair over her shoulder before unzipping the thick race suit. Revealing her tight, fireproofs beneath, the Indian flag sat proudly on her shoulder whilst her team logo lay sprawled across her chest along with the sponsor logos littered across the rest of her front.
“You make it seem so easy Aisha,” Lawrence laughed, oblivious to the tension that had gathered in the young woman’s shoulders and the tightness of her eyes that had increased tenfold throughout their conversation, “Last question before I let you go, to all of  your young fans gathered here today-“ he pointed up to the bleachers that came into view on the straight that the truck was approaching, where multiple younger children stood, jumping in their spots as their Porsche hats bobbled on their heads, “-what would you tell them? Especially those who are most likely facing challenges in their racing journey?”
Aisha smiled serenely, imagining herself in the seats that sat so far away from her, what her younger self would long to hear to make her racing career just a little bit easier, “To all the younger dreamers, never let anyone else tell you your limits. They may say to stop, but you need to believe that you can keep going. Chase your passions relentlessly because if you do, then the only barriers will be the ones we allow ourselves to see. Keep fighting, because one day, you’ll see that you’re right where you need to be.”
“Wow” He sighed, hand on his heart, “That inspired me.” Lawrence laughed heartily, “Finally, maybe just a few words in your native language, now from what I know you spent at least 3 years living in India? For your education?” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her response.
Aisha nodded happily, “Yes, I did! so you want a message in Hindi? There are so many languages in my country, but sadly I’m only fluent in Hindi, despite being Gujarati myself.”
“That would be great, please do.”
“Sabse pehle, main apne sabhi fans ko bahut saara pyaar dena chahti hoon. Aap log mere liye inspiration ho, aur main hamesha aapke saath hoon. Aap sabka support mere liye bahut important hai, aur thank you kehna chahti hoon.”
[First of all, I want to give a lot of love to all my fans. You are an inspiration for me, and I am always with you. All your support is very important for me, and I would like to say thank you.]
“Amazing, thank you so much Aisha,” Lawrence gently took the microphone away from her and offered a grateful smile before looking towards Fernando who had made his way towards the pair.
“No problem,” Aisha stepped away, patting the eldest driver’s back once before turning away and making her way towards Lando, who had already been looking towards her, waiting for her to approach him, along with Oscar and Logan who were engrossed in conversation.
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The scene fades away from the three seasoned drivers and in the blackness another title appears, “RACE DAY” and following this the Porsche garage is finally revealed for the first time, much like the other teams the hard acrylic surfaces were decorated with the team colours and many engineers, technicians and workers were rushing around whilst other’s begaan to detach the hydraulic tubes from the cars in preparation for the first race of the season.
Before the first car revved up with anticipation, the halo was shown displaying the driver number and surname, “GASLY 10” and with that, the tubes were removed and the driver’s engineer pulled away, removing the iPad from Pierre’s gloved hands, allowing him to speed off towards his starting position.
The camera pans over to the second car that is yet to exit the garage, the driver within seemed to be hurriedly re-reading the car statistics, consuming that data over and over again, the scene rotates from the back of the car towards the front, where from beyond the middle column of the halo we get a glimpse of the large helmet following her heads sporadic movements, the Indian and British flag printed onto the front side of her head gear, peeped in and out of view as she handed away the tablet and she pulled on her gloves that lay waiting on the chassis in front of her.
With a confident thumbs up, she followed one of the Porsche employee’s guiding movements towards the other racers who sat in their cars, waiting for the start. Maintaining an even pace, she passed by the other cars, the exposed carbon fibre of Esteban’s Alpine in P10 and bright orange of Oscar’s McLaren in P7. She found her box waiting for her car as she pulled in and slowly removed her foot from the acceleration as she joined the grid in waiting for the formation lap.
The music faded away, to allow Aisha’s monologue to play over the still of the onboard camera, “This is it, I thought to myself, all the years of hard work and sacrifices have led up to this moment. This isn’t like F3 or F2-“ the live replay of the sleek interior of her F1 car is replaced by exhilarating moments of on track battles from her previous racing leagues, “- this is F1, where dreams are trampled on and shattered if you can’t keep up.” Her voice trembles slightly as we hear her take a deep breath in and the cars are overtaken with a new scene.
We see Aisha, in the same deep red sultry pantsuit, her side profile contrasted in the shadows as her chest rises and falls, “I remember the moment exactly, I told myself ‘Aisha, soak it in, the cheers and the feeling of other’s dreams, their expectations, cause it can make or break you.” She laughs incredulously at herself, “dramatic I know.”
“But it was electrifying, the whole thing, the thrum of the engines, the anticipation. I have never felt anything like it. But it’s everything I’ve trained for and everything I’ve wanted since I was little and racing go-karts.” Snippets of the raging, overwhelming sound of spluttering go-karts overtake the screen as one after another, we see young Aisha, drowning in an oversized sponsored uniform cut through the chequered ribbon.
“To the other drivers on the grid, it’s just the first race of the season, but for me, it’s my debut, it’s the first and only chance to prove that I’m meant to be here.” Aisha claps her hands, and the bursting flashes of her karting days cease, and we’re brought back to her, sitting in the tall stool, legs crossed over elegantly as she waves her heel back and forth, “The countdown began, and it’s lights out and away we go.”
The red lights above the Bahrain track fade away one by one, Crofty’s voice is matched with hers, and just as the sound of the engines crescendo, the scene ends.
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“Right Lando- “
The young British man makes his way into the stool, wobbling slightly as he flails his hands before rocking back to stability. He lets out a relieved breath and crosses his arms over his chest, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with the golden, volt bracelet on his wrist the Luis Vuitton logo glinting in the light from his absent-minded movements.
“Hi, yes, I’m here.” Lando looked up at the interviewer, his eyes bouncing between the 3-4 different camera’s capturing him from odd angles, “Which-“he pointed at one of them, “-which one am I looking at?”
The interviewer laughed before leaning forward and tapping the lens of the middle-most camera, “This one.”
Lando breathed out, “great” before adjusting the pillowing fabric of his hoodie and stared straight into the glass barrel in front of him, “I’m Lando Norris, and I race for McLaren Formula one team.”
“We ehm we didn’t need that. It- it’s different from Drive to Survive,”
Lando cringed and rubbed the back of his head, causing the bracelet to ride up beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, “My bad- “
“Don’t worry about it, Now-“The sound of cue cards being shuffled could be heard, “Onto the first question, we’ve heard rumours about you and Aisha, especially during your karting days, care to elaborate?”
Lando sucks air through his teeth as he smirks, “Me and Aisha…” He looks down to his hands, fingers finding purchase on the angled charm of his bracelet, “We go way back, I mean, it was either me or her who were winning the races, she was,” He sighs heavily, his eyes starry as he looks back up to the camera, “She was, no, she is everything.”
“Can’t help but notice the bracelet that you have on, anything significant?”
“It’s symbolic, I guess?but nothing too big.” He shrugs it off, hiding away the jewellery from prying eyes.
The interviewer presses their lips together, humming whilst shuffling the cards once again, “Right, of course, but some fans have already started to notice that you and she are…close.”
“Close? We’ve always been close, it’s like electric with her, it’s hard not to be attached to her talent.” Lando smirks playfully, winking at the camera, “Karting with her was so intense, we pushed each other to the limit, and I will always hold her and those memories close to my heart.”
“Seems like obsession,” They laugh.
“Oh, it most definitely is, I mean, have you seen her?” Lando flourishes dramatically with his hands, as though the woman was sitting right next to him.
We are brought back to the first driver’s briefing of the season, mere days before the Bahrain Grand Prix, Aisha had just sat down next to Pierre and began to chat amicably with her new teammate, bouts of laughter erupting from the pair momentarily.
The camera pans from the bonding partners to Lando, still hiding his head between his palms in embarrassment, though from between his ringed fingers we see his emerald irises peeking through the gaps, staring thoughtfully at the enrapturing driver who was currently fiddling with the van clef, indigo bracelets that shimmered around her wrist.
Oscar, who was also curiously watching the woman jogged Lando, snapping the man out of his trance, “Mate- you’re drooling,” He poked his teammate’s cheek.
Lando slapped away the finger that prodded his face, “I am not.”
“Whatever you say,” Oscar hummed, turning his attention back to the administrator who was flipping through a few data filled papers, bringing their mouth closer to the bendable microphone. Oscar leaned into Lando, bumping their shoulders together, “Just be careful.”
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Aisha breathed out a sigh, capping the black, matte Bulgari pen, slipping it into the awkwardly small purse that hung from her shoulder. She slammed the driver’s door of her car, having just finished a load of signing and smiling with fans, her main objective was to get through the security scanners peacefully.
“Hey stranger,” A voice came up behind her, tapping her arm.
“Lando,” Aisha tried to contain the quiver in her voice, “I thought you already got in.” She adjusted the neckline of her top, the tight sleeves hugged her shoulders and left her skin exposed to the warm sun.
“I did, I just needed something from my car and then I saw you,” He grinned at her, tapping his key card against the scanner, walking seamlessly through the rotating barrier, “You look like you’re about to walk a runway.”
Aisha laughed, tucking a straightened lock of hair behind her ear, “Thanks, you look…” Aisha assessed his outfit, a pair of light blue baggy, Levi’s and one of his own merch hoodies, “normal.” She cringed at her unnecessary honesty.
Yet, Lando just laughed and nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah- compared to you.”
Aisha continued to walk through the paddock, the British driver at her side whilst she waved to those personnel that passed by. She looked down at her own clothes, a neat, navy, off-the shoulder top that hugged her chest in all the right places was tucked into a grey mini-skirt, compliments of one of the many brand ambassadors of her team, the item was paired with a thin brown, gold buckled belt along with knee-high go-go boots.
“You could say that” She conceded, adjusting the golden Porsche chain that clung to her neck, “I was wondering…”
“Yeah?” Lando pocketed his hands.
“I you wanted to get dinner. For old times’ sake?” Aisha leaned forward on one foot, tilting her head hopefully before coming to a stop and waiting for his response.
Lando beamed widely, his eyes sparkling, “Definitely, I would be an absolute idiot to turn you down.”
Aisha blushed and looked down at the bracelets on her wrist, multiple layered golden chains which reflected light against her face in the most euphoric way, “Great, I’ll ju-“
“AISHA, oh my god it’s really her, AISHA!”
A shrill, young voice erupted from behind the pair, and a group of 3-4 young girls came running up to the pair. Aisha laughed to herself, plucking out the pen once more.
“Hello,” Aisha greeted the pre-teens who surrounded her, two of them dressed in a signature papaya orange whilst the other two sported metallic, silver Porsche merch, “You guys look so good!”
She accepted the hats and odd poster that the girls shyly handed her, “We’re so excited to see you race! You’re the only one who looks like us.” One of them spoke, her copper toned, youthful cheeks bobbed up with her smile as her long, black ponytail weaved with her excited movements.
“That’s so sweet, I think I might just win the race for you.” Aisha opened her arm for the girl to step into as they took a photo.
“Ehm, Lando, could we get an autograph as well,” Another one asked, already unfurling a second poster along with presenting the enraptured male with a sharpie.
“Absolutely! How could I resist?” Lando accepted the pen and began to sign the poster along with some newly presented items that the other two girls had produced.
“Thank you, guys, so much!” Aisha waved off the girls and turned back to Lando, already handing over her phone for him to enter in his number.
The young fans were squealing on their way back to their parents, who were just as excited for their young daughter’s interaction, “Did you guys see the bracelet?”
“What bracelet?” Another one asked, carefully rolling up her poster and handing it to her father, who tucked it under his arm and offered his hand for her to take.
“Lando’s, the one he wore for the whole of last season…” She adjusted her cap, looking confusedly at her three friends.
“Oh…I didn’t.”
“Neither did I.”
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The screen faded away from Lando, sitting with his teammate whilst gawking at Aisha and we’re brought back to the present, the on-board camera of the Porsche is aimed at the lights that have just gone dark and all at once, a symphony of rubber against concrete fills the scene.
Aisha navigated turn one with ease, emerging from the throng of cars still in P5, her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she focussed every ounce within her body on the track ahead. The bright spotlights above her cast a blinding hue over the grandstands, illuminating the eager fans from around the world, their flags waved in their air as they watched with anticipation when she approached Lewis from behind, pressuring the world champion ahead as they weaved into the next turn.
Aisha aimed for the apex, seeing the slightest gap for her to slip past, as she pointed the head of her car towards the opening, she held her breath and pressed on the throttle. Aisha lurched backwards as she could feel the crackles of her under-board hit the track with each increase in speed she made, yet she managed to dodge the Mercedes car and fly down the straight, maintaining her tyres as best as she could.
The radio thrummed to life in her ear as her race engineer, James, began to speak, “Great work with Lewis, already around 1.15 behind you. Take care of your tyres for now and defend.”
Aisha breathed heavily as she continued to meet the corners and walls with barely an inch to save herself as a highly effective attempt to prevent more overtakes, “Got it.”
She continued her pace throughout the laps, the continuous build up over 20 rounds had inched her closer and closer to Carlos who was struggling in P3, his braking getting worse and worse with each sharp turn.
“James- how much closer do I need to overtake?” Aisha gritted out, flitting her eyes to the large, white metallic DRS sign that entered her limited field of vision.
“Only a bit more Aisha, it’s time to push.”
Aisha stepped harshly onto the gas, her engine thrumming all around her as she charged closer to the bright red Ferrari ahead. She could see the rubber of the tyres in front burn and smoke with every swerve. The roar of her engine filled her ears, drowning out the noise of her own heartbeat as she braced herself for the challenge, “Here we go,” she murmured, voice firm and steely with determination.
She surged her car forward, pushing her machine to the limit as she matched Carlos’ pace with precision and determination, the desert heat bore down in mirage-like waves as the two drivers danced on the razor’s edge of competition. One by one measly lap, the distance shortened until they were wheel to wheel, and all Aisha could do was grit her teeth until she could taste the tangy calcium as she continued the precipice of a wipe-out, the promise of a podium too good to lose.
Aisha’s heart pounded with exhilaration as they hurtled down the straight once again, soon enough the pair were met with the sharpest corner yet, Aisha pushed further and Carlos relented, edging away meekly to allow her to slip by. The crowd’s cheers washed over her, a wave of euphoria crashing over her senses as her heart swelled with triumph.
“WOO! P3!”
“Amazing work Aisha, halfway there. Get some distance between you two.”
“I can take on Checo,” Aisha promised, her aggressive spirit burning deeply within her core as her eyes narrowed into the back of one of the red bulls.
“Go for it, but be careful, your tyres aren’t that good.” James warned her, his voice crisp with caution.
“I got this.”
Aisha revved up once her power had flashed a promising green on the screen in front of her, “It’s time to pounce.” She promised herself whilst flicking the DRS button with her thumb, letting the flap behind her quiver open, the force launched her forward like never before as the lap count leached into the 40’s, Checo hadn’t yet pitted, neither had she, and suddenly, it was a battle of the wills.
She tried all that she could, nudging her nose into the smallest of gaps and backing out when he had angled himself predatorially, grazing her front wing enough for her heart to jump into her throat, “What the fuck is he doing? Fucking cocksucker, he wants to kill me or what?” Aisha had to remind herself to lower her voice.
“It’s within regulation, keep pushing you’re approaching DRS again.” James assured her.
The car trembled beneath her, like a jaguar waiting to pounce again after one failure, she pressed again. This time she nipped Checo’s wheel, causing for him to quickly move out of the way, narrowly missing a spin-off and allowing Aisha to speed into P2.
“FUCK YES! HOLY SHI-“
Aisha’s celebration was cut short when a dangerous thrum approached her rapidly, she attempted with all her might to duck and weave into and out of his path, but Checo was relentless, continuously rubbing against her wheels and forcing her to utilise her power.
“Fuck, fuck what the actual shit?” Aisha screeched as she continued to sloppily defend, her anger bubbling up like hot water.
The red bull growled and pounced in front of her, clipping enough of her front wheel to send her spinning. Aisha shouted with malice, throwing up her hands as her wheels began to rotate rapidly, “BASTARD!”
Her vision blurred as the world around her continued to haphazardly shift, the fans above stilled with trepidation as they watched her strangle her wheel with both hands and wrangle the car back into position.
“Okay, so that’s P5- P5, Piastri, Sainz, Perez and Verstappen in front of you,”
“Copy.” Aisha grumbled darkly, manoeuvring the vehicle so that she could continue to viciously speed down the final lap, murderously defending her position as her stomach finally settled and head stopped pounding with adrenaline.
The race ended with Crofty heartily congratulating her over the commentary,
“And Verstappen has won the Bahrain grand prix! with Checo in P2 and Sainz in the Ferrari in P3. Now the fans have spoken, and new-comer Aisha Patel has been voted driver of the day, rightfully so, securing a solid P5 finish after a challenging battle on the track. it's fantastic to see her scoring valuable points in her debut race. And let's not forget the incredible debut of the Porsche F1 Team! It's clear that they're a force to be reckoned with in the championship.”
A view of Max passing through the finish line is shown, sparks flew behind his car as he speeds through and turned into the parc ferme. Aisha is also shown, her eyes steely from within her helmet and as she stops her car she clambers out of the cockpit and rips of her headgear, a scowl evident on her usually cool face.
She pushes open the gate to the media pen, narrowly avoiding Max, who spared her a dark glance from over his shoulder before turning back to the interviewer.
“Yeah, people make stupid decisions sometimes,” She heard him answer the unintelligible question. Aisha could already feel the anger burn her throat as she whipped her head around and met Max’s eyes, he stared back, an inferno raging within his blue iris’. She opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by her Media manager, pulling her away gently, Aisha followed tearing her eyes away from the Dutchman. Yet, she could still feel his heated gaze on her.
Aisha scoffed passing by Carlos and Checo, who were conversing in fast Spanish, and headed towards the common media area, where eager and ravenous reporters began to clamber on top of one another as they caught sight of her sweaty face and stringy hair.
“Aisha! Aisha!”  They called, loud voices breaking through the microphone and blowing through the audio.
Aisha huffed and went towards the tell-tale white microphone, the sky sports logo sprawled all over the foam cover,
“Hi Aisha, congratulations on the P5 today,” Mark started, holding the microphone out for the visibly annoyed driver.
“Thank you,” She snipped, but blinked a few times before forcing herself to continue, “Y’know could’ve been a P2 finish for Porsche today, but I’m happy with both Pierre and I’s finish, at least we scored some valuable points.” Aisha robotically recounted her PR training.
“Definitely a tough break for you out there,” He nodded solemnly, “Care to walk us through what happened with Checo on lap 43?”
Aisha sucked in a breath, looking behind her where her PR person stood, arms crossed over her Porsche shirt as she shrugged, “Yeah, of course, it’s disappointing end to my race, P2 would probably be a dream, but Checo made a-“ Aisha bit her tongue momentarily, looking into the few dozen camera’s pointed at her, until she noticed Checo’s reflection walking behind her, heading to the cool-down room, “-a dickhead move absolutely dangerous, there was contact because he couldn’t use his eyes, and that caused me to spin out. It’s racing, I know, but you don’t see race winners or legends making moves like that.” Aisha hissed.
Mark stared at her, mouth agape before he recollected himself and forced a flabbergasted laugh, “Well, that’s one way to put it.” The other surrounding reporters were close to drooling at the mouth, their own mics pushed further through the gaps as they imagined the debaucherous headlines they could create from her outburst.
“How were you feeling during that moment?”
“Truthfully?” She tilted her head, “Pissed, but you probably didn’t you marky-moo, my radio probably told you that. But after I managed to regain my original position, I was more determined to just finish the race with a solid end.”
He laughed at that but stilled when Checo emerged once again from the cool-off room, “Checo!” Mark called, oblivious to the thunderous haze that overtook Aisha. She checked behind her shoulder, and her upper lip curled with malice,
“I’ll let Checo say his bit- “She murmured, “Excuse me.” And left the pen, heading towards the Porsche garage whilst avoiding eye-contact with Lucy, her fuming PR manager.
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“Hey! Checo!” Aisha called out, throwing down her headphones, leaving her race engineer in concerned confusion as she approached the red bull driver, amid his team, oblivious to the storm about to hit him.
“Oh, hey Aisha-“
“Do not, hey, me.” She snarled, “What the fuck was that on track? Were you trying to kill me back there? You could’ve overtaken me in so many other ways.” Aisha approached him, prompting Checo to take a simultaneous step back, hands raised.
“It’s racing Aisha, I had to make a split-second decision.”
“We all make decisions, Perez,” She snarled, hands balling up into fists, “You don’t see Charles or Carlos or anyone with half a brain doing what you did? You messed up my race!” Aisha’s voice begins to raise, drawing attention of the red bull personnel, since the pair had manged to slowly move up to the entrance of the garage, and prompting a few camera men, who were following around Lando and Oscar to pan over to her.
Aisha groans, smacking her palm against her head a few times as a display of aggression before turning back to a very sweaty, nervous driver, “Never mind my race- you had fucking so many other options, why? Why did you decide to clip my wheel? Is it because being overtaken by a woman was so embarrassing, for red bull’s number two, you couldn’t handle it?” Aisha mocks him, before starting to approach his frozen form, a violent fire burning in her eyes and spreading to her limbs, igniting them with her fury.
Just as there was merely a centimetre between the two, a pair of strong arms hooked themselves around her elbows, holding her hand away from Checo, who had started shouting about his “personal safety”.
“Are you fucking stupid?” A gruff voice whispers into her ear.
Aisha kicks out, a futile attempt to free herself, “Let me go,” She whips her head around, her hair flying,
“Can you stop? I will literally knock you out.” The voice continues, grunting when her foot narrowly misses his groin.
“Fine-“ She huffs, going limp as she shoots daggers into Checo’s retreating back being escorted by a flurry of blue clad workers, “Fine, let me go,” She mumbles.
The man drops her onto the floor instantly, allowing her to stumble over her feet. Aisha finds her footing once more and spins around to meet his eyes, “Max?”
Max stares down at her, his eyes squinted with annoyance, “Who else? You’re in front of the red bull garage.” He rolls his eyes and steps a large stride away from her.
Aisha blinks once. Twice. Before scoffing and crossing her arms, “Yeah. Thanks.” She snarks before walking away from him, leaving the dutchman standing, fuming in his spot. She manages to skip over the McLaren crowd but had attracted almost half a dozen cameras on her, the large intimidating lens’ were pushed into her face haphazardly, narrowly missing her face a few times.
Aisha had to hold herself back from stealing the cameras from their holders and smashing them onto the ground. She could feel a self-depreciating throb begin to build in her head, the memory of all the idyllic children watching her, and those who had felt represented by her made tears prick at her eyes. In that moment, with too many lens’ focussing on her quivering lip, she hoped that they wouldn’t catch the salty sadness that threatened to stream down her face
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The post-race interview scene fades away, and a familiar red bull jersey is announced into the scene, the dark blue merging pleasantly with the dark grey background. We’re introduced to Checo’s frame, a placid smile on his face.
“Hi checo,” The interviewer greets the driver, who nods in acknowledgement, “Well, Bahrain was an intense time for you, especially the on track accident with Aisha, would you care to talk us through the whole thing?”
Checo clears his throat briefly, “Yeah, uhm, it was a tight battle with her, and she was holding her ground y’know, but I saw an opportunity to make a move and I took it.” He shrugged once, reverting his gaze away from the camera, “And, as an unfortunate by product, she ended up spinning out, but it’s racing, these things happen.”
“I think everyone knows that she seemed quite upset about the incident, did you have a chance to speak with her afterwards?”
“uhm, people say things when they’re angry, and Aisha was frustrated but I’m here to win races, that’s what I’ve been hired to do. Once again, it was a choice that I had to make, and it’s hard to consider everyone’s emotions while I do it.”
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“Max, we recently interviewed Checo, and he had some…words to say about the situation in Bahrain, specifically with Aisha after the race. Now, we saw that you had intervened just in time, what was going on during that moment?”
Max shifted in his chair, slipping down slightly, and crossing his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I could see that the situation was escalating, with Aisha getting increasingly angry, it would’ve ended pretty badly.”
“You sound so sure about that.”
“Trust me, I know anger when I see it, and I know that races can get heated especially when avoidable occurrences aren’t avoided, but I also think that emotional regulation is crucial to compete.” He distractedly runs a thumb over his bottom lip.
“Does this change your initial views on Aisha entering the sport? Since you were pretty, pessimistic.” The interviewer cringes just as the words escape their mouth.
“I wouldn’t say I was pessimistic,” He quickly rejects, “But I think she had something to prove, just like any of us, she isn’t exempt from it. And she, raced like any of us would’ve in the moment, so do I suddenly think of her as a saint? No, but do I think that she’s building up to something? Maybe.”
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“Aisha!” A voice calls from behind her, Aisha smiles at the fans who had offered her a notebook to sign, she watched them walk away before responding,
“Yeah?” She tucks away her pen into the silver, Porsche gym bag that hung from her shoulder.
Lando jogs up to her, tapping his card against the scanner before pushing through the gate and reaching her side, “Great race, you handled it...well…” He trailed off, unsure of how to spin off his compliment.
Aisha laughs at that, throwing her head back, ”It’s okay Lando, you don’t have to say anything” She tugs at the sleaves of her tight black jacket, the hugo boss label stretched over her chest as she pulled at the fabric, “I- I can get pretty mad,” Aisha shrugs, kicking an imaginary pebble with her shoe, rustling her oversized tracksuit bottoms, the three parallel lines on both her legs fluttered with the airy clothing.
“Yeah, that probably didn’t go down to well on camera,” He itches the back of his head, “I actually came to ask if you’re staying at the same hotel as the rest of us, Oscar took my car and I’m stranded.”
“Lando…” She sighs, adjusting the strap of her bag, “If you wanted to ride in my Porsche, you could’ve just said so.” Aisha gestured to her silvery 918 Spyder, the high-end sports car shimmered beneath the spotlights of the private car park.
Lando hissed through his teeth and grinned, “You caught me.” He held his hands up, “It’s the only way I can be photographed in the car without causing an uproar.”
Aisha tilted her head at him, “Oh, so nothing else is convincing you?”
“Hmmm, that, and maybe the very beautiful and scary woman who drives it?” Lando offered, holding out his hand for her to take.
She looked down at his open palm before searching the area around them, the rest of the grid had departed long before, leaving just her car and another in the parking. Aisha squinted her eyes at the remaining automobile, a Honda NSX, the only owner being none other than a certain grumpy blonde, who was more focussed on his back seat than on the couple who still stood in the middle of the concrete.
Accepting his hand, she revelled in the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his, soft skin against coarse knuckles, a warm aura enveloped her being as she guided them towards her car, pulling out the flat fob to click open the expensive machine.
Yet, as she watched Lando retreat into the passenger’s seat with an amazed, “oh damn.” and went to unlock the trunk to slip her duffel bag into, she felt an icy gaze glued to her back.
Aisha turned once behind her to where Max was sitting in his driver’s seat, eyes glued at first on Lando, an unrecognisable expression painted on his face before he slowly slid it up to her face, and his once oddly neutral gaze turned into an annoyed squint.
With that, the dutchman tore his eyes away from a now, slightly agitated Aisha, towards the open road and pulled out of the car park, speeding away to what she assumed would be the hotel.
“Hey,” Lando leaned over the dash, reaching for her hand that rested on the headrest of her seat, the other braced on her car door as she watched the retreating Honda, “You okay?”
Aisha jumped out of her disturbed haze, and back to where Lando was now rubbing his fingers over hers that had tensed enough to turn her milky brown skin into a pale white, “Yeah- I’m fine, just checking for reporters.”
“I’m that embarrassing?” He teased, watching her intently as she fastened her seatbelt and smiled at the sound of the purring super engine.
Aisha snorts, “No- not at all, just making sure that McLaren’s golden boy isn’t photographed inside a Porsche- with the grid’s certified crazy woman.” She pressed on the gas.
“Yeah, but…what if I want that?”
“What?” Aisha’s eyebrows knitted together; eyes still glued to the unfamiliar roads ahead as the GPS stopped squawking at her for a brief moment.
“I don’t care if you’re the crazy woman…You’re just, you. I don’t care about the rest.” Lando smiled lazily, his eyes studying her quickly flustered face.
“You’re a horrible flirt Norris.” She grumbled.
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mafiatsunafish · 2 days
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I say: How is this my concern? I'm a spectator
He says: No spectators at chasm's door ... and no one is neutral here. And you must choose your part in the end
Mahmoud Darwish, from The Butterfly's Burden;
"I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theater" (tr. from the Arabic by Fady Joudah)
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princemick · 3 days
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Is being a sport fan art?
Hello everyone! I'm doing a research assignment about the relationship between being a sports fan and art and how I precieve one to be the other!
If yall have like 5/10 minutes of your time free to answer this form for me that would be awesome and would help out a lot! ya'll are so free to send this around to whatever people or groupchat. it doesnt matter what kinda sport fan they might be, I want as many answers as I can!!
thank you sm!!
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lorarri · 11 months
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❨ main f1 masterlist | football masterlist ❩
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𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈
𝟕 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 → oscar piastri x fem! mexican! model! reader
everyone knows you are dating a driver - they just don't know who and with that the witch hunt leads them the most unlikely candidate
𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 → oscar piastri x fem! american! gf! reader x logan sargent
oscar has a case of mistaken idenity or a double life either way the headline makes for some funny posts from his two partners
𝐆𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐃 → oscar piastri x fem! lando's ex fwb! reader
bestfriends break up but where they really bestfriends to being with? or something more gues we will never know since she moved on to someone who gave her everything he couldn't
𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐅𝐅 → oscar piastri x fem! ferrari! f1 driver! reader
extremely awkward or extreme chemistry no one really knows at this point but don't worry it will all become clear soon
𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑 → oscar piastri x fem! redbull! f1 driver! reader
a twitter thread of some of are fav f1 aussie couples best moments and mark webbers never ending suffering
𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 → oscar piastri x fem! motogp driver! reader
a story that wasn't meant to be posted puclibcly and everyone is scrutinising but they don't have there facts staight
𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 → oscar piastri x fem! gf! reader
everyone’s favourite opposites attract couple celebrate their four year anniversary and everyone is so happy for them
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blueballsracing · 2 days
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i did a deep dive of max’s old instagram posts and these are my favorites
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pookiepiastri · 18 hours
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My guy had such a bad Aus GP he had to go to a waterfall to reconnect with nature 💀
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reidiot · 2 days
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charles leclerc after saying "it's like this"
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lewishamiltonstuff · 3 days
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More cursed reaction pics for y'all ☺️
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Lando.N Driven Desire: A Tale of Passion and Speed Part 1 (lando backshots innit)
As the night unfolded, you found yourself drawn to the sleek silhouette of Lando's vintage Lamborghini parked outside the restaurant. Dressed in his signature black attire, with his Monster cap and playboy hoodie, he exuded a casual charm that left you breathless.
You had already caught glimpses of him in viral videos, and the anticipation had ignited a fire within you long before he arrived. So when he pulled up, it was inevitable that things would escalate quickly.
Soon, you found yourselves in the privacy of an empty car park, your dress hiked up around your hips as you straddled Lando in the driver's seat, his Lamborghini providing an unexpected backdrop to your heated encounter.
Moans and expletives mingled in the air as you rode him fervently, the rhythm of your bodies syncing perfectly amidst the leather confines of the car. Lando's hands gripped your hips possessively, guiding your movements as you sought pleasure in each other's embrace.
His skilled fingers found their way under your dress, teasing your bare skin and eliciting desperate cries from your lips. With expert precision, he exposed your breasts, his lips and tongue setting your nerves ablaze with every touch.
"You take me so well," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he lavished attention on your sensitive flesh.
Lost in a haze of desire, you surrendered to the intoxicating sensation of him inside you, the car becoming a sanctuary for your shared passion. With each thrust, he pushed you closer to the edge, his own climax looming on the horizon.
In a flurry of movement, Lando took control, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he chased his release. You clung to him, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment as pleasure consumed you both.
As the echoes of your shared ecstasy subsided, you found yourselves catching your breath, basking in the afterglow of your impromptu tryst. With a tender kiss, you exchanged a silent promise to continue your escapade elsewhere.
As you straightened your disheveled attire, Lando's gaze lingered on you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
"What got you so worked up?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
You couldn't help but blush, the memory of your arousal still fresh in your mind.
"I think it was a combination of the car and your outfit," you admitted sheepishly. "And maybe a little bit of your irresistible charm."
Chuckling softly, Lando leaned in for another kiss before starting the engine, the anticipation of what awaited you both at home adding a new layer of excitement to the night.
With a mischievous glint in his eye, he revved the engine and drove off into the night, leaving behind the lingering heat of your shared passion and the promise of more adventures to come.
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formulaborb · 2 days
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he is so damp i love it
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nogodinf1 · 2 days
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(more) f1 drivers + astrology memes ✨(part one)
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misspaddockverse · 1 day
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we’re close to the end guys 😭😭😭 last chapter tomorrow!
New Chapter out!
“Els? You there?”
“Yes. Hi. I…” she hesitated, not wanting to worry his tired, busy, and sleepy brain even more.
“What is it?” He asked, softly, his voice a bit lower and more delicate.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, hugging the pillow tighter against her chest.
There was a shuffling on the other side of the line, a door being open and shut, followed but Daniel’s kind reprimand:
“Honey, what did we say about being honest, uh?”
Okay. That was fair. She closed her eyes a bit, trying to order her own thoughts.
“Right, sorry. It’s just. Nate, he asked about his little sister.”
“What?” Daniel shot right back and she could picture his eyes widened and mouth agape, “Shit. How- I mean, why? Where did that come from?”
READ HERE
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