MATCH MADE IN HELL PT1 | MV1
MATCH MADE IN HELL PT1 | MV1
an: i am slowly finally finishing off all my requests and this was one of them, i had so much fun and my dear friend loved reading this so i hope i did justice to the request. anyway max hmu x
wc: 2.2k
part two | part three
THE CHAMPAGNE WAS STILL STICKY when she found out.
She had spent the past hour celebrating—laughing, grinning until her cheeks ached, drinking in the sight of thousands of fans chanting her name. World Champion. The first female Formula 1 World Champion. The words tasted sweeter than the bubbly that had been poured over her head on the podium.
And then it all shattered.
She hadn’t even been looking for it. Her phone had been left abandoned in the motorhome while she basked in the euphoria of her win. It was only when she returned, still buzzing from the adrenaline, that she saw the messages. A handful of texts from a friend, a link, and a simple message that made her stomach turn cold.
I’m so sorry. You deserve better.
Curious, still lightheaded with joy, she clicked the link.
And there it was. Photos. A grainy shot of Nathan at a club in Monaco three months ago, another in Dubai during the summer break, then one just last week in Austin. Always with the same woman. A brunette with legs for days and a familiar smirk. Someone from the team, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Her throat closed up, fingers trembling as she scrolled, every image a knife to the gut. It wasn’t just a drunken mistake. It was calculated. Repeated. Lied about.
Nathan fucking Donovan. Her teammate. Her fiancé. The man she had trusted with her heart, her career, her future.
The sound of the paddock outside was muffled, drowned out by the rushing in her ears as she dropped her phone. For years, she had turned down every offer from Red Bull. They had been calling since her first podium, since her first win. They had wanted her, but she had always said no. Because of Nathan. Because she had wanted to win with him. Because they were a team, a partnership, a power couple.
She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
She had been a fool.
By the time she lifted her head, the decision was made. She wiped her damp hands on her race suit and reached for her phone. The Mercedes crest on her chest suddenly felt suffocating, like a brand that no longer belonged to her.
Her fingers moved with a steadiness that surprised her as she typed out a message to her agent.
Call Red Bull. I’m ready to talk.
That was six months ago.
Now, she had her foot down on full throttle, fighting her teammate.
The roar of the Red Bull RB20’s engine vibrated through her bones as she flicked the car into the corner, tyres screaming as they clung to the edge of grip. Ahead of her, her teammate—Max Verstappen, two-time world champion and an arrogant bastard on his best days—held position, defending like his life depended on it.
It had been like this all season. A relentless, brutal fight for the title. They had the fastest car on the grid, Red Bull’s latest engineering marvel, but they weren’t teammates in any real sense of the word. No teamwork. No cooperation. Just war.
And she was winning.
Six months ago, she'd walked out of Mercedes with her head held high, ringless finger curled into a fist. The world had lost its mind. The media had spun its stories, her ex-fiancé—Nathan Donovan, lying, cheating, spineless piece of shit—had played the heartbroken victim, and the fans had taken sides. But she hadn’t cared then, and she didn’t care now.
Let them talk.
She’d spent years at Mercedes, loyal to a fault, standing by Nathan’s side because she’d thought they were a team, on and off the track. And he’d thrown it away. Lied to her face. Made a fool of her.
So, she’d made sure to humiliate him in return.
Signing with Red Bull had been the first strike. The second had been selling the place they lived in, after all it was in her name - not her problem that he had nowhere to live for two months.
Now, the third was coming—because with two races left in the season, she was leading the championship. And Nathan? A non-factor.
The thought made her press harder on the throttle. The car twitched under her, skimming the edge of disaster, but she held it steady. She was close. A tenth behind Verstappen, closing fast.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” her race engineer crackled through the radio.
She smirked.
Too late.
The gap was nothing now. Less than a tenth.
She was right on Max’s gearbox, weaving slightly in his mirrors, making sure he knew she was there. The car felt alive beneath her, the Red Bull’s aerodynamics biting into the tarmac, begging to be unleashed.
Final lap. Final sector.
Max was still defending, but she could see the cracks. He was too focused on keeping her behind, positioning his car to block, reacting rather than attacking. And that was his mistake.
She took the wider line into the penultimate corner, knowing he’d cover the inside. Then, in a move that was either genius or madness, she lifted off ever so slightly, making him think he’d done enough—before throwing everything into the exit.
Tyres screamed, her car twitched—then hooked. She got the drive she needed, rocketing past him just before the final turn.
Too late for him to do anything.
The chequered flag waved. She crossed the line first.
“YES!” Her own voice rang through the radio, pure adrenaline and triumph. “Fucking get in!”
Her engineer was shouting in her ear, the Red Bull garage was on their feet, and somewhere, she knew, Nathan was watching. Watching as she won. Watching as she proved, once again, that she was better than him.
The thought made the victory even sweeter.
She pulled up into parc fermé, hands shaking with the aftershock of adrenaline as she switched off the car. A second later, Max’s Red Bull rolled in beside her, stopping with just enough aggression to make his frustration clear.
She smirked.
Helmet still on, she climbed out, raising a fist to the cheering crowd before stepping onto the scales. Cameras flashed, capturing every second. She could already imagine the headlines.
She turned just as Max yanked off his helmet, dark blonde hair a mess, jaw clenched. He took one look at her, exhaled sharply through his nose, then muttered, “Fucking hell.”
She grinned. “That’s what you get for leaving the door open.”
His eyes narrowed. “That was not a door. That was a crack in the wall.”
She shrugged. “Still got through, didn’t I?”
Max let out a sharp breath, shaking his head, but there was something else in his expression. Not just frustration. Something almost… impressed.
He wouldn’t admit it. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But she could see it, clear as day.
And the best part?
No matter how much of an arse he could be, she knew one thing for certain: he hated Nathan as much as she did.
banner-
The post-race press conference was the usual mix of adrenaline, exhaustion, and barely concealed hostility.
She sat in the middle, winner’s seat, hands wrapped around a bottle of water, pretending to listen as the moderator rattled off formalities. Max was to her left, arms crossed, jaw still set in frustration. Charles—third place finisher—was on her right, mostly just happy to be there.
The first few questions were routine. Race strategy, tyre management, overtaking opportunities. She answered smoothly, flashing the occasional smirk at Max whenever someone mentioned her overtake. Each time, his jaw tightened just a little more.
Then, inevitably, someone brought up Nathan.
A journalist from one of the more sensationalist outlets leaned forward, microphone in hand, voice dripping with feigned innocence.
“Amazing drive today, congratulations. Obviously, this is a huge result in the championship fight, but I have to ask—do you think your performance this season has been motivated at all by… personal matters? Specifically, your past relationship with Nathan Carter?”
The air in the room shifted.
She had heard a lot of bullshit in these pressers, but this? This was almost impressive in how blatant it was.
She opened her mouth, already crafting the sharpest, most dismissive response possible—
But Max got there first.
He leaned forward, elbow on the table, voice dripping with casual disdain.
“Yeah, mate, I’m sure she’s leading the championship because of her ex. Not because she’s fucking fast or anything.” He raised a brow. “You want to ask me if my performance is motivated by my tragic breakup in 2022? Or is this just reserved for women?”
Silence.
The journalist blinked, momentarily stunned. Then stammered, “I—I was just—”
Max tilted his head. “Just what?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting back a smirk.
The moderator swiftly cut in, moving things along, but the damage was done. The clip would be everywhere within the hour, and Max knew it. He settled back in his chair, arms crossed once again, looking completely unbothered.
She glanced at him, just briefly.
Still not friends. But maybe, just maybe, a little less like enemies.
After the press conference, she barely made it two steps out the door before Max fell into step beside her.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, casually twisting the cap off his water bottle.
She snorted. “For what?”
He gave her a pointed look. “For shutting down that absolute cunt before you could say something that’d get you fined.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles.”
“Clearly.” He took a sip of water. “But I like watching them.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She wasn’t about to admit it, but watching that journalist’s face crumble had been the highlight of her day—besides the win, obviously. And Max had delivered it with all the effortless arrogance of a man who lived to piss people off.
They reached their driver rooms, the doors right next to each other. She pushed hers open, stepping into the quiet, adrenaline still thrumming in her veins. Her suit was damp with sweat, her body still buzzing from the intensity of the race, but it was a good feeling. A victorious one.
She had just pulled her race suit down to her waist, reaching for a towel, when she heard a door open behind her.
Not hers.
Max’s, probably—except the footsteps that followed weren’t his.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the room.
“Well done. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”
Her entire body went rigid.
She turned.
Nathan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face carefully neutral—but his eyes gave him away. Cold. Calculating.
She exhaled sharply through her nose. “What the fuck do you want?”
Nathan stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. “You need to cut the shit.”
She laughed, crossing her arms. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, mate.”
His jaw tightened. “The comments. The narrative you’re letting people run with. It’s damaging my reputation.”
“Your reputation?” She arched a brow. “Pretty sure you did that yourself when you stuck your dick where it didn’t belong.”
His expression flickered, just for a second, before the mask slipped back into place.
“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I have lawyers. You keep dragging my name through the mud, and I’ll make sure it costs you.”
She tilted her head. “Is that a threat?”
He shrugged. “A warning.”
She scoffed, turning away, but he kept going.
“I mean it,” Nathan said, voice dropping lower. “This little act of yours—playing the scorned woman, running off to Red Bull like a child—it's pathetic. You think people actually respect you? They’re laughing at you.”
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm.
“Must be humiliating,” he continued, almost conversationally. “Knowing you were just something to pass the time. A placeholder.”
Her fingers curled into fists.
Then he said it.
“Fucking whore.”
The door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.
Nathan barely had time to react before he was shoved backwards, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud. A forearm pressed hard against his throat, holding him in place.
Max.
His entire body was tense, his usually sharp, arrogant expression now twisted into something far more dangerous.
Nathan made a strangled noise, trying to push him off. “What the—”
“Say that again,” Max said, voice low, lethal.
Nathan swallowed, his eyes flicking to her.
Max pressed harder. “Go on. I fucking dare you.”
Silence.
Nathan was many things—arrogant, selfish, manipulative—but he wasn’t stupid.
Max held him there for a moment longer, just to make a point, then finally let go, stepping back like Nathan wasn’t even worth the energy.
Nathan straightened his shirt, swallowing whatever insult he’d been about to throw. His eyes flicked between them, then he scoffed. “You two deserve each other.”
Then he turned and walked out.
The second the door shut, the room was quiet again.
Max exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the tension. “Fucking hell.”
She blinked at him, still processing what just happened. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He turned to her, dark eyes unreadable. “Yeah, I did.”
And then, just like that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, pulse racing, wondering what the hell just happened.
part two...
taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore
More Posts from Abudhabby29-blog and Others
The first social media account I had since I was a kid I think. At first it was about the facebook games like Pet Society but it became a need for communication when I got older. There are announcements usually from school and events that I would like to go. Sometimes I share pictures mostly of my travels with family because they really want me to download it.
Do you know anyone else who writes for the older drivers? Wanting to find new reading material
i know a few :/ but here’s a list of some works for the older drivers that i’ve been reading by some very talented people! i’ll try to keep this list updated :)
@norrisleclercf1 has some mafia works withh older drivers that are amazing!!
death of a bachelor series by @astonmartingf
the kids are going to be alright by ^
fernando alonso
complicated by @unsolvedjarin
sebastian vettel
about you series by @drvscarlett
history series by @vettelsvee
grid kids series by @pucksandpower
mrsvettelsgarden by @vivwritesfics
padawan learner by ^
the race that mattered by @lorarri
glory days by @uluvjay
a shared history by @lucyrose191
jenson button
do i wanna know? by @formulafics
tis the dilf season by @beiasluv
tell it to my heart by @lovelytsunoda
mile high club by @bellewintersroe
only way by @starlost97
sweet sugar by @natailiatulls07
something devoured by @agendabymooner
you can’t disappoint a picture by @angsthology
i’ll always want you by @vinvantae
promiscuous boy by @libraryofloveletters
corny by @unsolvedjarin
womaniser by @sv5hive
mark webber
early mornings by @loonylupinblack3
light by @maxillness
vacay by @sweeterlovers
a new term by @whorekneecentral
the problem with following orders by @agendabymooner
brand new by @embrosegraves
nico rosberg
lost in the moment by @mynicosensesaretingling
lewis hamilton
do you remember it all too well by @leclercsainzz
bedtime stories by @alwayschoppedtaco
kimi räikkönen
thawed by @pucksandpower
don’t beat yourself up by @faithshouseofchaos
⟡ other drivers 2 ⟡
NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME
ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ
— ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳⁱᵈ ⟡
birthday wishes (smau) - @mclqren
drunk bf texts (text message format) - @csainzoperator
written in the stars (soulmate!au, different drivers) - @oofthwoods
points have been made (lestappen x reader) - @sinofwriting
— ᵒˢᶜᵃʳ ᵖⁱᵃˢᵗʳⁱ ⟡
call me your fool (s) - @userlando
he likes my american smile two three four five six seven eight nine - @f1byjessie
heaven won't be the same - @81folklore
formula one ✩ m.list
# ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ :: c¹⁶
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ :: Finally feeling familiar with the heartbreak and love songs she has composed, the world's golden girl discovers that love is trickier than it looks—even more so when it comes in the form of a green-eyed Monégasque.
ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴘᴀʀᴀɴᴏɪᴅ :: The fact that you have to work as a Formula One driver's assistant for your final college grade is not the worst of your problems; the true issue is that no one told you that you would become a emotional support human for him.
# ᴄᴀʀʟᴏꜱ ꜱᴀɪɴᴢ :: cs⁵⁵
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
# ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ :: mv¹
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴡʀᴀᴛʜ :: Who would have thought that a mistake on your application could cost you your dream job? And that in the end you would end up as an assistant to a one time world champion struggling to control his anger issues.
# ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ ʀɪᴄᴄɪᴀʀᴅᴏ :: dr³
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
# ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ :: ln⁴
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ :: After discovering that he is in love with his best friend, Lando is determined and will do everything he can to prove to her that he is the right man for her.
ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ʟᴜꜱᴛ :: After graduating from college, you land a job assisting a Formula One driver, but nobody told you that this particular driver would be an absolute nightmare and that your job would basically consist of babysitting him.
# ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀꜱᴛʀɪ :: op⁸¹
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ :: Being hired as his assistant to help him during his second year in Formula One, you discover that the reason he has trouble expressing what he wants is not that he lacks the ability to do so, but that he is too prideful to do so.
# ʟᴇᴡɪꜱ ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ :: lh⁴⁴
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
# ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ʀᴜꜱꜱᴇʟʟ :: gr⁶³
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
# ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ ɢᴀꜱʟʏ :: pg¹⁰
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
# ꜱᴇʙᴀꜱᴛɪᴀɴ ᴠᴇᴛᴛᴇʟ :: sv⁵
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
# ᴍɪᴄᴋ ꜱᴄʜᴜᴍᴀᴄʜᴇʀ :: ms⁴⁷
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
# ᴀʟᴇx ᴀʟʙᴏɴ :: aa²³
ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ
ᴛᴇᴀᴍ ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ :: the disease series! all drivers have one, and the reader is always an assistant!
© mrslestappen :: please do not copy my work!
FORMULA ONE FORMULA TWO . RECOMMENDED LIST
+ 최고 — other lists
☥ charles leclerc
sunkissed face : with female reader series!
secrets he’ll keep : with female reader part two
ode to the dogs of war : with female reader series!
birthday cake : with female bianchi reader series!
☥ max verstappen
last call : with female reader oneshot!
roses and feelings : with female reader oneshot!
seven : with female schumacher reader oneshot!
blonde hair, lemonade tea : with female reader oneshot!
the cat sitter : with female reader series!
two lines : with female reader oneshot!
too cold : with female reader oneshot!
☥ daniel ricciardo
peace : with female reader oneshot!
girl crush : with actress reader oneshot!
though i have to travel far, remember me : with gn driver reader oneshot!
baby ric : with female reader oneshot!
the 1 : with female horner reader part two
☥ lando norris
6 to 1 : with female leclerc reader series!
you are my sunshine : with female reader oneshot!
wedding bells : with female reader oneshot!
drunk girls do cry : with female reader oneshot!
all i want is my sweet lover : with female reader oneshot!
big dad vibes : with female reader oneshot!
a golf swing and a trampoline part two part three
it’s a match : with female reader series!
in a galaxy far, far away : with female reader series!
dont fuck it, you muppet : with female reader oneshot!
spider-man lando : with gender neutral reader oneshot!
☥ oscar piastri
lavender and vanilla : with female reader oneshot!
best i ever had : with female reader oneshot!
☥ lewis hamilton
the muse behind the camera : with female reader oneshot!
☥ mick schumacher
oh, baby : with female reader oneshot!
☥ lance stroll
sugar plum : with female reader oneshot!
keeping it professional : with female reader oneshot! part 2
☥ ollie bearman
enamorado : with female reader oneshot!
☥ other
little leclerc : with female leclerc reader series!
— features ollie bearman x reader
| EXPLICIT BASED
delicious : lando norris with female sainz reader
winner’s prize : charles leclerc with female reader
second time around : lando norris with female reader
naughty list : oscar piastri with female reader
⟡ ₒₜₕₑᵣ dᵣᵢᵥₑᵣₛ ⟡
NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME
ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ ᶠ¹ ʳᵉᶜˢ
— ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳⁱᵈ ⟡
thirsty thoughts (s) - @lorarri
missing piece (a) - @katebishopsbow
grid kids (series, sebastian vettel and grid) - @pucksandpower
birthday wishes (max is the bf but focused on everyone) (smau) - @mclqren
points have been made (lestappen x reader) - @sinofwriting
birthday wishes (charles is the bf but focused on everyone) (smau) - @astonmartinii
heartbreak syndrome (mostly the grid but ex!max and eventual lewis) - @h4m1lt0ns
the grid's delight (series) - @sebscore
— ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳⁱᵒˢ/ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ ⟡
makeup shopping with the boys (f) - @verstappen-cult
getting caught making out with the boys (sexual references) (^)
boys reacting to being called pretty (mostly f) - @ln444
dating f1 drivers (mostly f) - @hauntedrain
"where they would like to kiss you" (f) - @itsvelyria
f1 drivers and their favorite types of hugs (f) - @mirohlayo
ass or tits (s) - @youaresimplylovely
"what did you just call me" (f) - @23victoria
“i love you” (f) (^)
he takes care of you on your period (f) - @fastandcarlos
when f1 drivers dirty text you (and you pretend your dad answers) (s) - @maxtermind
fuckbuddy!f1 drivers getting jealous (f,a,s) (^)
f1!boyfriends with jealous partner (s) (^)
f1 drivers reacting to the hickeys they left on you (s) (^)
putting f1!drivers on a sex ban (s) (^)
accidently telling your f1!boyfriend you think he likes someone else (a) (^)
blind girl (f, suggestive) - @hamilando
unbreakable (a) - @amberjazmyn
how the f1 drivers would kiss you (f, suggestive) - @uluvjay
bereals with your f1 bf - @lilasamaaa
f1 boys and their moments of quiet admiration for you (f) - @itaipava
tease (s) - @hugleclerc
new year with your f1 boyfriend (f) - @jungwnies
scaring your f1 boyfriend (f) (^)
nonsense christmas (f,s) - @pha55ed
you're jealous of a baby (f) - @verstappensrealwife
flowers (f) - @merchelsea
favorite days (f) - @moonlight-records
crush chaos - @f1amour
wedding shenanigans - @no-144444
when the media says something insane (^)
— ˡᵉʷⁱˢ ʰᵃᵐⁱˡᵗᵒⁿ ⟡
king of my heart (smau) - @cieloclercs
keys to the benz (smau, sexual innuendo) - @imnameimswrld
him being a simp for you (headcannon) - @itaipava
thick and thin (f,a)- @agendabymooner
lawyer up (smau) - @monzabee
war is over (tw: brocedes mention) (f) - @pucksandpower
you're my best friend and you knew what it was he is in love (smau) - @redwinelew
lucky charm (smau) - @maplesyrupsainz
chapter 25 (smau) - @edwardslvrr
— ᵈᵃⁿⁱᵉˡ ʳⁱᶜᶜᵃʳᵈᵒ ⟡
ultimate wing man (smau) - @astonmartinii
keep it private (smau) - @marlenesluv
forever kind of love (smau) - @chrisevansonly
my book worm (smau) - @lewisvinga
— ᵃʳᵗʰᵘʳ ˡᵉᶜˡᵉʳᶜ ⟡
kissing in the rain (f) - @thebearchives
forgiveness (f) - @starlost97
fan behavior (smau) - @lxclerc
it's you and me (smau) - @lecsainz
party girl two (smau) - @natailiatulls07
amour (smau) - @marlenesluv
happy tears (f) - @versairic
through the night (f,a) - @menteycorazoncito
matchmaking brothers - @5sospenguinqueen
— ˢᵉᵇᵃˢᵗⁱᵃⁿ ᵛᵉᵗᵗᵉˡ ⟡
just you wait sunshine (a) - @unsolvedjarin
helmet kisses (headcannons) - @forteafy
drink water, not alchol (f) - @sebscore
me and my husband (smau) - @starkwlkr
fever dream it's nothing new i wait for you (smau) (^)
cherry flavoured (rbr!seb my love) (f) (^)
miss honey (f) (^)
always an angel, never a god (!!!! EASTING DISORDER !!!) (a) (^)
come back to me (CRASH) (a)- @lucyrose191
about you (series, f)- @drvscarlett
merry christmas, please don't call (a) - @bestalbertcamuslover
— ᶠʳᵃⁿᶜᵒ ᶜᵒˡᵃᵖⁱⁿᵗᵒ ⟡
mi bonita (smau) - @harrysfolklore
nothing special (f,a) - @p1astr81
mi vida (smau) - @n0vazsq
getaway (f) - @mywritersmind
WAG in training (smau) - @5sospenguinqueen
el coqueto (f) - @theonottsbxtch
all of the boys you loved before (f,a) - @wcters
let's reconnect (smau) (^)
fan favorite (smau) - @menagerofmischief
gold rush (smau) - @afterglowsainz
f1 masterlist:
you’ll find all my work on some formula one drivers! enjoy <3
drivers i write about for now: carlos sainz jr, lando norris, charles leclerc, mich schumacher, daniel ricciardo.
lando norris:
moving on.
insecurity.
i'Il protect you.
viral.
noticed. / part 2.
dating scandal.
reunited.
carlos sainz jr.
ice.
she's everything, and he's just ken.
surprise.
dream job.
bro code. / part 2. / part 3.
life saver.
exposed.
icon.
annoyance.
stalker.
gentleman.
charles leclerc.
breaking my heart.
united in grief.
your loss.
happy face.
daniel ricciardo.
starstruck.
you're losing me. / part 2.
just friends, right?
mick schumacher.
soft launch.
+ more drivers to come!
⟡ charles leclerc 3 ⟡
NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME
ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ
— ᶠᴸᵁᶠᶠ ⟡
best moments - @valstranquility
tying you to me - @duhyork
c'est tourjours toi - @sv5hive
— ᴬᴺᴳˢᵀ⟡
— ˢᴹᵁᵀ⟡
— ˢᴼᶜᴵᴬᴸ ᴹᴱᴰᴵᴬ ⟡
le temps de l'amour - @nouvellevqgue
dream girl - @lunavrse
— ˢᴱᴿᴵᴱˢ ⟡
just friends two three - @milaeth
a house, a home where do we go? you think, you know love will always show green eyes - @vetteltea
the florence nightingale effect lay all your love on me - @champagneholland
splashes and ashes - @dnsbarbie
jealousy jealousy wish you were sober you are in love - @diorleclerc
always you — mick schumacher
pairing. mick schumacher x verstappen!merc racing engineer!fem!reader
summary. mick had always been inexplicably tied to you, no matter what distance grew between you. even if it took over two decades for you to figure it out, it had always been mick. it would always be mick. 5.4k, 18+
playlist. "invisble string" by taylor swift, "the perfect pair" by beabadoobee, "moves" by suki waterhouse, "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys, "let the light in feat. father john misty" by lana del ray
warnings. pining, mick is kind of very much pitiful in this alright, smut, l-bombs, sort of sub!mick, google translated german, almost choking, oral (fem and male receiving), penetrative sex
. . .
"I'm telling you what the data says, and it says you're wrong, so follow the damn line, George."
Mick fought a smile as you told George off over the radio. Toto cast you a look that you didn't even seem to see, let alone acknowledge. The team principal didn't look all that surprised when you didn't take your eyes off the screens of data you were getting input from.
In the next lap, George's lap time dropped nearly four seconds thanks to your suggestion. George didn't offer an apology for doubting you and you didn't expect one; you only expected him to be consistent in how he attacked turns seven and eight, to continue following your instructions.
Mick had observed your and George's relationship over the last few seasons you had been working with him. As George's racing engineer, you had quite a close working relationship with the Brit.
Off track, you were good if unlikely friends. Where George was all pretense and propriety and politeness, you were nothing but brutally honest, succinct, and to the point. But you were close in age and often seen together chatting and laughing.
On track, you were pretty much the same, if not even more blunt, if that was possible. George fed off your no-nonsense attitude, communicating clearly and without any of the fluff normally gracing his conversational skills.
Mick admired how well you worked with George. He admired just about everything you did. You could sit there doing absolutely nothing and F1TV would catch Mick staring at you like a lovesick fool again.
He still doesn't know how he hadn't seen the cameraman filming him as he watched you from across the garage two weekends ago. People kept referring to him as "Heart Eyes" Schumacher and he really could not blame them after seeing the clip of himself watching you.
You hadn't said anything to him about it. In fact, you hadn't said anything to him all season. Or during pre-season. Or in the two years prior when he was driving for Haas. Or in the thirteen years it had been since your dads had their falling out.
Mick would have liked to talk to you. He would have liked to talk about nothing or everything like you used to. He would have listened to you ramble about statistics and analytics and anything you wanted, even if he didn't understand a word of it.
But you had looked at him maybe three times since he signed on as Mercedes reserve driver. You either didn't remember or—more likely, knowing your keen mind—you didn't care about your shared history.
Even if it was in your childhood and so much had changed since then, Mick still remembered. He remembered playdates and shared family vacations and spending every second together that you could before your dad dragged you away.
He remembered noticing how different your dad treated you than his dad treated him. He remembered sleeping over once and hearing your dad screaming at you until you ran to your bedroom in tears. He remembered telling his dad about it all.
He remembered how he was the one to ruin everything.
You didn't seem to remember any of it—or, at least, you never seemed to reminisce on it. Never got caught up staring at him wondering how things could have been different. Never got distracted by unexplainable yet unavoidable and likely unrequited feelings for someone that was once your friend over a decade ago.
When he was with Haas, your lack of interaction could be excused; you were on different teams. Since he had signed with Mercedes, it felt like you had purposefully been ignoring him for months.
He could approach you. He could simply walk up to you at any point when you weren't fully absorbed by readout screens and analytic diagnoses and strike up a conversation.
He didn't want to push his luck. He didn’t fully understand why you wouldn’t talk to him but he also didn't want to make you uncomfortable.
If being near you meant never truly being close to you again, Mick could live with that. Ultimately, you owed him nothing, so he could watch from afar and adore you silently. He could be content with that.
After all, it was his fault that everything fell apart in the first place.
.
"Hey, heart eyes! Come here!"
Mick hesitated before making his way to where Lewis was in the VIP section of this Friday night's club of choice.
"Hi?"
"I can't help but notice that you're pathetically in love with your race engineer."
"She's George's engineer—"
"That’s beside the point. Anyway, I think your girl could use some saving."
"She's not my girl."
Lewis hadn't said your name. Mick didn't need him to.
Mick leaned on the balcony railing beside Lewis, looking down over the crowd on the main floor of the club. He found you embarrassingly fast. You were wearing a black shirt, pink shorts, and sandals.
He had seen you come in earlier with your brother and thought you were probably the prettiest girl there that night. If you were put in a room with the world's top models, Mick would still think the same.
On the floor below, your personal space was being invaded by a dark-haired man in glasses. You looked incredibly uncomfortable, glancing around for anyone you knew who you could latch onto and get away from the man who was talking at you incessantly.
It wasn’t even a conscious decision on Mick’s part. One second, he was watching you from the VIP balcony and the next, he was pushing his way through the dance floor to get to you.
The unnamed glasses man put a hand on your back, touching the sliver of exposed skin between your shirt and shorts. You visibly tensed up.
Before he could think better of it, Mick called your name and pretended to stumble into you and the man.
“Hey! I’ve been looking for you.” He played up being drunk as he stuck himself between you and Glasses. “Hey, mate, how’s it going? Who are you?”
“I’m Nolan. And we were having a conversation.”
Mick had to hand it to ‘Nolan,’ he was persistent. “My bad, I guess. Y/N, your brother’s looking for you. Come on.”
He walked off and you followed after him. He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. He hadn’t been thinking at all. He was running by the seat of his pants and hoping he didn’t end up making things worse.
Last time he had thought he was helping you, he didn't speak to you for thirteen years.
“My brother left an hour ago.”
“I know.”
Mick kept walking towards the stairs up to VIP.
You kept following.
Maybe this time, things would be different.
.
When Mick was 11, he mentioned to his mom that your dad yelled at you and made you cry. That same day, his dad sat him down and asked him to tell him everything he knew about how Jos Verstappen treated his children.
He had told him everything he knew because he didn’t know why he shouldn’t. If his dad wanted to know, it had to be important. Maybe he would be helping you by telling his dad.
A week later, Mick was playing with you in the backyard when your dad started yelling. Except that time, he wasn’t yelling at you or his most frequent target of your older brother Max, he was yelling at Mick’s dad.
That day had ended with your father dragging you away from Mick. Mick remembers thinking he had grabbed you so roughly; didn’t it hurt to be seized by your arm and jerked around like that?
Jos didn’t care. He just yelled at Mick’s dad to stay away if he had such an issue with how he raised his children. So, the Schumachers stayed away. The last memory Mick had of you was with tears streaming down your face, begging your dad not to make Mick leave.
A little less than ten years later, Mick was a Formula One reserve driver. That same year, you had graduated early from university and earned a spot as a Williams performance engineer. Then, you went to Mercedes in 2021 and took over as George’s racing engineer at only twenty two years of age while Mick was racing with Haas.
"I thought you hated me."
You looked up at him, mouth full. "What? Why would I hate you?"
"For telling my dad about everything. For tearing us apart."
You swallowed your mouthful of sandwich, sat across from him in Mercedes hospitality on your lunch break.
After that night in the club, you and Mick rekindled your old friendship. You looked at him, now. You smiled at him and talked to him and sought him out just to sit and talk during your break.
Getting a second chance to be your friend was more than Mick ever thought he would have.
"Mick, that wasn't your fault. My dad... it's complicated. But our dads' falling out wasn't your fault. I never blamed you for it. You know that, right?"
No, he had not known that. He had spent the last thirteen years blaming himself for losing you. He had assumed you would blame him, too, for ending your friendship because he had spent so long as a self proclaimed scapegoat.
"Mick."
"I know that now."
"Mick!"
"I— Okay, I know it's stupid but I have always blamed myself for the whole situation. Then, when we both were getting into F1, you never reached out."
"You never reached out, either!"
"I know that but I figured you wanted nothing to do with me, so I never tried to talk to you."
"You're so daft sometimes, Schumacher."
Mick took your empty insult without argument.
After spending every free second he had with you over the last several weeks, he realized how dumb he had been. He never thought of himself as the melodramatic type but he had really been going through it when he thought you were avoiding him.
"I've never been the smartest when it comes to you."
You just scoffed at him and ate more of your sandwich.
The next day, it was a double podium for Mercedes with Lewis in P2 and George in third. With your brother on the top step of the podium, you were elated, grin broad and voice loud over the radio as you congratulated George for a race well done.
Then, you looked around the garage. Mick didn't know why until your eyes found him along the back wall. You were looking for him. You smiled (at him) and he was smiling back before he even had to think about it.
Being with you had always been easy. As kids, you never argued. You shared toys and always managed to find some weird, convoluted way to mash what you both wanted to do together.
Now that you had gotten over whatever misunderstandings that kept you apart for the last few years, it was easy again. There was never anything you two couldn't talk about. There was never awkward silence. There was never any want to not be near each other.
Mick spent all night celebrating Mercedes' 2-3 finish with you. It was easy to spend hours by your side, to stand too close, to look at you for too long. Once he had a few drinks, it was all too easy to speak his mind around you, lips loose and heart full.
"I missed you."
"I missed you, too, Micky."
"I mean I really missed you. All the time. I would think about you sometimes and miss what we used to have."
Your eyes were soft and focused only on him. He was barely tipsy from the alcohol but he was definitely drunk on you.
"Then, we were both in F1. But it was the pandemic and I was still worried you didn't want to see me. Then, when I was with Haas, I was so scared to approach you."
"Did I do something to make you think I hated you?"
"No, I was just in my head. And those months preparing for the season with Mercedes were the worst. You were so close but I was still too scared to talk to you."
"I wanted to talk to you, too," you admitted. "I thought about doing it sometimes but... I don't know. We hadn't spoken in so long and I was always so busy. I guess I was scared, too."
"I wish we had spoken sooner. We could have had this so much sooner."
"Had what sooner?"
"I don't know." That was a lie. "This. Us."
In all honesty, Mick didn't know what you two were. To anyone who asked, he would say old friends. But you were much more than that.
When he was ten, Mick kissed you for the first time. He had been in love with you since before he even understood what it meant. There was more heartbreak in the severing of your friendship than your families knew, more than either of you had known at that point.
And now, you were together again. Friends again. Except, friends don't sit knee to knee for hours at a time, wholly absorbed in nothing but each other in a raucous club with post-race celebrations going on all around them.
Friends don't let friends ghost their fingertips over the exposed skin of their shoulders, rest their hands on each other's thighs, play with the ends of their hair or the hem of their clothes.
"I missed us." Mick wondered if you knew what he meant by that.
You smiled (at him, again). "Me, too."
You were so close to him. Any sort of respectable distance was out the window. Your thighs were pressed together. You were sat sideways, head resting in your hand as you leaned an arm on the back of the couch.
He could sit up a little straighter and that was all it would take to reach your lips. He was seriously debating doing it.
Then, your brother smacked the back of your head as he was walking past, said something to you in Dutch that had you cursing at him in the same language.
"Hey, Mick," Max tossed at him with an uncomfortably knowing grin.
"Hey, Max."
Suddenly faced with the older brother of the woman he was just been fantasizing about kissing in the middle of a public space, Mick felt his face grow hot. He couldn't quite make eye contact with the eldest Verstappen child.
"Go away, Max," you told your brother with a glare.
Kelly took pity on you, dragging her boyfriend away.
"What did he say?" Mick asked you.
"'Get a room.'"
Mick laughed nervously, shifted away from you slightly. "Sorry, I—"
"Do you want to get out of here?"
Being with you had always been easy. It was maybe the easiest thing Mick had ever done to nod his head yes and let you drag him out of that club.
You sat too close in the cab ride back to the hotel. He stood too close in the elevator up to his hotel room. You held his arm as he fumbled with the keycard to get the door open.
You pushed at his chest to get him to sit on the edge of the bed. He went down willingly, kept his eyes on you the entire time. You stood between his legs, pushed his hair back, let him lean into your touch.
"Is this okay?" you asked.
Were you seriously asking that? He had turned into putty in your hands from just a few touches. You hadn't even kissed him yet.
"Mick," you insisted at his silence.
"Yes. It's okay. It is so okay. Don't stop. Please."
He couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed by just how easily you had reduced him to begging.
Above him, you smiled before leaning down to press your lips to his. His neck was craned back; you had a hand on the back of his head and one on his shoulder to keep him in place. He let you dictate the pace, let you kiss him however you wanted.
It was slow at first, just your lips on his. You set the tempo low, moved your mouth at a torturous pace. You sucked his bottom lips between both of yours. When your tongue finally poked out, he let his jaw slacken, let you lick into his mouth without a need to fight against it.
You slid your tongue against his. The exchange of saliva was erotic and messy and left Mick panting against you. He gripped the backs of your thighs, adjusted his hips, tangled his fingers in the hem of your dress.
Mick slipped into German as he got lost in want. "Liebe, bitte. Bitte, ich brauche dich." [Baby, please. Please, I need you.]
And you—brilliant, keen, genius you—knew what he was saying. When did you learn German? Did you remember enough of it from all the time you had spent with his family as a child? He had no clue.
"Sei geduldig. We will get there." [Be patient.]
"I have been patient for years. Please, Y/N."
You kissed him again to shut him up, faster, harder, sloppier this time. Your hand slid over the column of his throat, just resting there as nothing but a reminder. He keened into your mouth, the vibration getting caught by your hand.
"I love you," he gasped, out of breath.
You drew back.
Mick's heart stopped.
"You love me?"
He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing against your hand. "Yes. I have since we were kids. I don't— I don't want this if this is all it will be. I want everything with you. I want you to love me, too."
Somehow, it was still easy for him to lay all his cards on the table, to let you see everything and wait for your verdict. He was terrified, yes, but he trusted you implicitly.
He loved you and only you—he had only ever loved you this desperately and wholly, thirteen years apart be damned.
"I'm in love with you," he said.
You seemed breathless and speechless all at once.
He knows he said too much. It was definitely overwhelming to have all of that said to you with no warning but once he started, he couldn't stop. He had kept it all to himself for so long, watching from afar, never able to get close to you.
Now, here you were. He only hoped he had not read into things that were not there. He looked up at you, ice blue eyes wide and hopeful, patiently awaiting your response.
"I love you, too," you said on an exhale. "I'm in love with you, too. I thought I was crazy for it but I think I've always loved you."
Mick was not entirely convinced that this all wasn't some sick wet dream he would wake up from in the morning. He didn't care. He couldn't care, not when you slid your hand up to his jaw, held his face so gently, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
"It's always been you, Mick."
He couldn't stop himself anymore. He pulled you close, guided your legs to either side of his hips, held your head and kissed you.
Dominance was shared this time as you kissed each other. You sighed into his mouth, a contented and wanting sound. You rested your arms on his shoulders as your tongues danced. His hands pushed up higher under the skirt of your dress, squeezing the soft skin of your upper thighs.
"Okay?" was the simple question he asked before taking things any further.
"Please."
Supporting your weight, Mick lifted you out of his lap and laid you out on your back. Hovering over you, he slid a hand up your dress to your hip. He caught the waistband of your underwear, glanced up at you to make sure.
You nodded.
He got both hands under your dress to pull your underwear off. He pushed your legs apart and you let them fall open, exposing yourself to him and he nearly moaned at the sight alone.
You were laid open and not quite bare with your dress still on but your pretty pink folds were in clear view. He had never expected to have you in any way, let alone spread open and ready to be ravished, but to say he hadn't imagine it two hundred times over would be a lie.
He moved down your body to kiss your left thigh, first closer to your knee then moving up so the soft, supple skin of your inner thigh. He let his breath fan over your pussy, felt the way you twitched at the sensation. Then, he kissed back down your right leg, trailing kisses down to your knee.
"Mick," you urged.
He bit back the repetition of your words about patience from earlier, instead deciding to be nice and lift your knees up over his shoulders, slide his arms under your legs to warp around and hold them in place, then settle in between your thighs like he had nowhere to be for quite some time.
Your folds were glistening in anticipation by the time his lips met them. He kissed over your aching core one, two, three painfully slow times before finally letting his tongue slot against your clit. His lips moved in tandem with his tongue, sucking and licking at the little bundle of nerves until you threw your head back and choked out a throaty moan.
"Mick—please."
That was all the encouragement he needed.
Mick dropped his head to slide his tongue down between your folds, to press at your entrance over and over, lapping at your pussy in a way that could not care about saliva and slick dripping off his chin.
His nose nudged at your clit. Every breath in was nothing but the scent of you ingraining itself in his brain in a way he will never forget. He would never want to forget a single thing about you in that moment.
Not your scent or the taste of your cunt on his tongue. Not the feeling of your fingers tangling in his hair, not pushing or guiding just holding onto him like you just wanted to have your hands on him in any way you could. Not the way you breathed his name halfway between a moan and a cry, or how you arched your back as you were overwhelmed with bliss.
You were coming apart on his tongue and lips and nothing else. If he could save the taste of you and get high on it every night he would. If he could bottle the feeling of you trying not to squirm under the pleasure that he was bringing you, he would drink himself dumb a thousand times over.
"Mick—!"
He hummed in perfect contentment as you cried his name in warning. Your muscles tensed, legs tried to close around his head as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. He just dug in more, ate you out more fervently, slipped his tongue inside of you until you were gasping from the feeling of it.
When he made you come the first time, it was with a cry of his name and panting moans as you bucked your hips up against his face. He worked you through it, kissing and licking at your clit until you were pushing at his head to pull him off.
When he lifted his face from between your thighs, his face was wet, covered in you and he loved it. You laughed breathlessly as you saw him, still shaking slightly from your orgasm.
"Jeez, Mick. When did you learn to go down on a girl like that?"
He was a little lightheaded and a lot pussy drunk, but he still knew better than to mention any girl he'd been with before. "I want you to be the only girl I ever go down on again."
"Good answer," you said, and pulled him up to kiss you as a reward.
You could probably taste yourself on his lips but didn't seem to care as you kissed him hungrily. You tugged at his shirt, so he pulled it over his head. You ran your hands over his torso unabashedly, feeling his stomach and shoulders, bringing goosebumps to his skin as you ran your fingernails down his chest.
Despite having you crumbling apart under his mouth not three minutes ago, when you climbed into his lap and started kissing his neck, Mick felt like he was short circuiting.
Your dress had fallen back over your hips to hide it but he knew you were uncovered underneath the silky fabric. If his pants were off, he could be inside of you right now.
He slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders as you gripped his jaw and tilted his head to the side to kiss at his neck some more. He went pliantly, moaned softly at the feel of your teeth tugging at the sensitive skin where his neck met his clavicle.
He reached around to your back to unzip your dress. When you slid your arms out of the straps and he pulled the top of the dress down, he was finally able to get his hands on your boobs, taking big handfuls of each.
You were still kissing and licking his neck, teasing your teeth against his skin every so often. When he ran his thumbs over your nipples until they were hard under his fingers, your breaths grew shaky. He carefully let his nails drag over the firm peaks, pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers and tugged until you were arching into him.
"So handsy," you commented breathlessly.
"I want to touch every inch of you until you can recognize me by feel alone."
Mick dropped his head between your breasts, kissed the skin there and the side of your boob before you pushed him back. He whined as you deprived him of becoming acquainted with another part of yourself he already knew he would never get enough of.
Then, you stood and stepped out of your dress to leave yourself bare. He couldn't find a reason to complain.
He was prepared to slide to the floor at your feet. Then, you beckoned him toward you.
You had him sit at the edge of the bed again. You dropped to your knees. You popped the button of his pants. You pulled his boxers down just enough, and then his cock was stood at full attention just in front of your face.
He cursed under his breath. You heard it and smirked before licking up the underside of his cock. You wrapped a warm hand around him, stroked him a few times while kitten licking at his tip.
"Y/N. Liebe, please. Y/N, please."
You were not as easily convinced to dive in and give Mick what he wanted as he was with you. You didn't change what you were doing, just continued to let the tip of your tongue dance along the top of his cock while your hand moved on him slowly.
You finally closed your lips over the head of his dick and Mick could have come from that and nothing more. You popped him out of your mouth with an audible noise. Mick groaned; you would be the death of him and he wouldn't even fight against it.
You shot him a Cheshire grin. The sight was lewd and unbelievably hot: you, with a hand around his cock and a big smile on your face like you enjoyed nothing more than sucking him off. Mick was going to combust if he wasn't inside of you in the next two minutes.
"Y/N—"
He tried to tell you as much but your mouth was on him again and he couldn't get the words out. You swirled your tongue around his head, then your jaw opened and and you took as much of him in your mouth as you could. It was warm and wet.
Your tongue flexed against the underside of his dick when it hit the back of your throat. He could feel himself press into your soft pallet until you had to come up for air with a slight gag.
He couldn't bring himself to make you stop when you went back in for more. His breaths were short and labored, legs tense under your free hand as he mentally and physically had to hold himself back from coming down your throat.
He could imagine how you would gag around him when he did, pulling up to take his load just behind your lips instead. You might open your mouth after he had finished, show him your handiwork as it was pooled on your tongue before swallowing it all.
"Y/N, you have to stop. I'm going to come."
You took him out of your mouth to press a sloppy kiss to his cock. You pouted up at him as you let his length rest against your face. He could feel your eyelashes against it when you blinked.
"You don't want me to make you come?"
"I don't want to be spent yet. Come lay down for me?"
You let him pull you off the floor, kissed him as you crawled up the bed and laid yourself out on your back. He managed to kick his pants and boxers off while searching his suitcase for a condom then get back over to you without tripping over his own feet.
You giggled at his eagerness. Your hands ran over his chest as he ripped the packet open and slid the condom on. Your legs were already parted for him as he positioned himself.
He glanced up at you, not nervous but checking in. Your gaze was set on where your two bodies were about to fit together, hungry and expectant. Who was Mick to deprive you of what you wanted?
Entering you was as easy as anything with you was. You were still soaked from Mick's saliva and your own fluids. Your mouth fell open and your walls fluttered around him. A moan croaked past your lips as you gripped his arms.
"Holy shit, Mick."
He had to be sure, so he asked, "Are you alright?"
"I'm in fucking ecstasy. Oh my god, baby."
Mick started moving his hips, long, slow strokes in and out as you keened beneath him, panting from almost nothing at all. He could live off the noises you made for him. He snapped his hips against yours, was rewarded with a gasp and startled little mewl and your fingernails digging into his biceps.
"Mick, please."
He continued the same slow pace. In and out, almost languid, near torture but so worth the desperate way you pulled at his shoulders and hips, physically trying to get him to speed up, to give you more.
"Mick. Go faster."
"I love you." Anything for you.
He made a smooth transition from rolling his hips against yours to making them a piston, pace and weight faster and harder. He bore down on you heavier. You cried out, dragging your nails down his back to only spur him on.
He sat back, pressed down on you with his hands on the backs of your knees to fold you in half. You couldn't easily get away from him when he had you pinned down like this, thighs spread wide and pussy bared to be split open on his cock. You tipped your head back and moaned loudly.
"You've got to try and be quiet, baby," he told you; you were still in a hotel.
"You're making it really difficult."
Mick grinned but eased off just a bit. "Sorry—"
"Don't you fucking dare. Fuck me, Schumacher. Fuck me hard."
So, he did.
.
You were sticky, shaking, and more than satisfied when Mick was through with you. Three more orgasms, four different positions, and five I love you's later, you had passed out against Mick's chest after he had carefully wiped you clean.
The next morning, you and Mick came down for breakfast together. Max was already there; you usually ate breakfast with your brother if you were staying in the same hotel because there wasn't much time to see him elsewhere on race weekends.
When he clocked the way you and Mick were so casually close together, the little looks you kept sneaking, he smacked a hand on the table and pointed an accusatory finger in your face.
"I knew it!"
Mick went red.
You just rolled your eyes. "Shut up, Max."
. . .
a/n. this was partially inspired by this one max fic i read a while ago that i couldn't find again. it's schumacher!reader x max and reader is the one to tell michael about how jos treats max then reader and max reconnect years later. i think it was inspired by "seven" by taylor swift.
if anyone can find it/the author lmk and i'll give credit! hope you enjoyed <3
edit: credit is due to @mastermind123 (who i cannot tag for some reason) and their story, seven. go read it; it’s so cute!!
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A 22 year old girl, fan of stackiemight write some fanfictions (marvel, chicago pd, chicago fire, chicago med), short angsty essays about life, update on my journey towards a better mental and physical heatlh. drop questions! fandom related or just you want to talk to somebody.
299 posts