Kissing Him From Forehead To Waist On A Lazy Day Spent In Bed Just So That He Gets All Warm And Flustered

Please Look Back

Jannik Sinner x Reader An accompaniment piece to a previous break up blurb, the same, but in Jannik's POV.

---

He told himself it was the right decision.

It had to be. He needed to give everything to this—this version of his life where everything mattered, where every match had weight, where every margin could mean the difference between winning and fading. He had plans. Goals. A career on the rise, to maintain, and not a second to spare.

He loved you, he had for months. That wasn’t the problem.

It was that he loved you too much to do it halfway. And lately, everything outside of tennis felt like it had to come second tier. His schedule, his focus, the way his mind wandered in the middle of matches or practice to whether you’d landed your flight or gotten out that game or had a bad day that you'd tell him about later. He’d scroll through your texts before bed, smile at them before your hour-long calls. He’d wake up thinking about you, and he couldn’t afford to start his days already distracted. And you didn’t deserve to be deemed a distraction.

He decided before he even knew it, and he never truly wanted it to happen the way it did—to have the comfort of loving you feel like a leaden weight beginning to be too much to bear. But he couldn’t keep burying it. It wasn’t fair to you. 

He didn’t voice his uncertainties in the month that they had come up, didn’t discuss the dilemma with you. Selfishly, he knew you could convince him to stay without much effort at all, so, silently, he convinced himself he had to let you go.

Then he ended it—and you couldn't have seen it coming.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped, and forced the words out with a steadiness he didn’t feel.

"I can’t do both right now. You and tennis. I need to give everything to this." It was a wonder his voice didn’t crack. It felt like someone else entirely was speaking through him.

He almost wanted you to fight him on it—he held his breath for it. For you to yell, cry, anything. But you just nodded. Even smiled. Told him you understood.

That was the part that gutted him. The grace.

You left his room like something hadn’t just broken for good between the two of you, and so he thought maybe nothing had—maybe not for you. 

He just sat there, staring at the door long after it clicked shut.

For weeks afterward, he kept waiting for it to feel easier. But the pain never let up.

He trained harder than ever. Played with a new kind of desperation, letting the training of the off-season take up all of his conscious space in his mind. Slept longer because all his waking hours seemed to be filled with missing you. The quiet in his room felt wrong. Your absence echoed in the smallest details—two toothbrushes still by the sink, the way he reached for his phone before bed, forgetting there was no longer someone on the other side waiting to laugh and drift off with him.

His phone lit up with notifications that weren’t from you. His victories felt smaller without your hand to squeeze after the last point. He scrolled through pictures he hadn’t deleted yet and told himself it was for the best. That he’d done what needed to be done.

Still, the ache didn’t dull. It just settled deeper.

And it threatened to rip out of him at Melbourne.

He spotted you from across the walkway to the warm-up courts. Even before your face came to view, he could read it was you from the way you walked. The way you carried your bag. The way the air stilled inside his chest, and the way your name sat just inside his lips.

You were walking toward him, with no clean way to avoid it. Not that he wanted to—not really—but he hesitated when he thought maybe you did. But you continued towards him, ever so casual.

And, god, you looked good. Strong. Steady. Like you hadn’t missed a step.

But when your eyes met, he saw a flicker. Just a flash of something soft and sad, the same thing he felt blooming low and constant in his chest.

You stopped in front of him and he offered a smile, though it felt foreign on his face.

"Hey." He started, afraid to hear your voice in response—he wasn’t sure he could take it, he clenched his fists in the material of his pockets.

With a polite, practiced smile, you replied easily. "Hi." 

And he did feel himself give out a bit when you spoke, he had to hold in a sharp exhale at the familiar sound. But he didn’t manage to hold back the way he stepped towards you after you spoke, though he opened his arms to cover up the action—hoping the offer of a casual embrace wasn’t going too far.

You accepted, and the hug was brief. Just enough to feel the shape of you again, to remind him how little time had done to lessen the pull.

He wanted to ask something, anything. About everything, maybe. But he didn’t know how to start the words, or if he had the right to at all. 

You continued instead. "How’s training going?"

"Good. Busy." Always thinking of you when I’m not, he nodded the thought away. "You?"

​​"Yeah, same here." And it sounded forced to Jannik, but he figured he couldn’t claim to know that anymore.

You looked composed. Confident. Even sounded cheerful. Like you’d rebuilt something in the months since. He didn’t want to knock that down or assume otherwise just to soothe the ache still sitting in his own chest.

Another pause. You glanced through him and behind him, and he resisted turning to follow your gaze and see what it was that held your attention—hoping it wasn’t going to pull you away from him too soon, no matter how stunted and awkward the reunion was. 

Then you sort of took a step back. "I should probably get back to it. First match tomorrow.”

The run-in was wrapping up too quickly for Jannik, but it seemed you’d decided it was over. He wasn’t about to keep you when you so clearly wanted to walk away, so he decided to let you go a second time and, impossibly, it felt just as hard. His response was brief and concise. "Yeah. I saw. Good draw."

And he hoped it didn’t come off rude and choppy, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. The truth of it was, he’d checked your line-up in the tournament before his own. The way he always used to.

You nodded pleasantly, and stepped to the side of him. "Good to see you, Jannik. Take care."

He breathed in deep as you walked past him to continue on, trying to soothe himself and catch the scent of you at the same time. And when he saw you were smiling at him as you passed his shoulder, he hesitated. He wanted to say, Wait. To ask how you really were. To tell you he missed you. That nothing had felt the same since you left.

But the words caught in his throat. What could he even say? That he’d made a mistake? That he would think about you every time he passed by the quiet corner in the player dining where you'd always steal five minutes the last year, when you had just met? That seeing you now only confirmed what he'd tried to deny? None of that would do. For so many reasons.

So he swallowed hard and nodded once more instead. "You too." 

And he had to wrench his head away from you to let you go.

Every step you took away from him felt like something was falling apart all over again. He turned back to look at you, hoping that maybe you would too. So he could at least get another look at you. 

But he watched you walk away all the way until you disappeared from his sight, and you never once broke your stride. Never once turned back.

And how could he stop you—just because he was still hurting watching you leave?

He knew he was the one who asked you to go in the first place, that you’d gone in peace, and—though he’d been stuck in a hurting battle with himself ever since—he knew wanting more and being justified in asking for it were two very different things. And, really, he wasn’t entitled to either. Not anymore.

---

Okay fast turn over, but I was feeling inspired for it. Lowkey don't think I've even fully written from Jannik's POV and it was fun—especially when having something to reference. Actually proud of how it pairs side to side with the other, so if you want to flip back and forth between them to check it out, feel free... xx

Thinking about being at a family party with dad!mick and he holds your toddler on his hip and a bottle of water on the other.

dad!mick who insisted on not drinking so he could drive you and your baby home at a reasonable hour.

dad!mick whose toddler doesn’t want anyone but their daddy and sleeps on his shoulder while he looks over the hamburgers on the barbecue.

dad!mick who puts the baby to sleep in his sister's bedroom and sneaks into his with you because he just can’t help himself when you’re wearing his favorite sundress and you’re sharing yet another secret: you’re pregnant again.

dad!mick that will eventually tell everyone you’ll have a second child, but meanwhile he’s basking in the feeling of the first few days after discovering.

dad!mick who’s ready for a football-team-sized family and is keen on convicing you to go for it.

its literally like midnight and my brain has shut off

— — — — — —

hear me out!! being house’s controversially young gf ?? (aka my fucking dream)

• the first time people found out? TOTAL MASS panic.

• everyone assumed it was some weird fling, a dumb rumor.

. . . until you actually showed up in his office, sitting on his desk, swinging your legs, all casual while house is leaned back in his chair, grinning like a smug bastard.

• cuddy 100% nearly had a STROKE.

“you—you—house—you can’t just—??”

• “I can’t just what, lisa? Have a hot, young girlfriend who’s way too good for me? yeah, I know. tragic.”

• foreman thinks it’s insane and he would totally be the biggest hater. Cameron is lowkey jealous. chase is just fascinated. taub? oh, he’s taking NOTES

• Wilson, bless his soul, literally sits you down like a concerned dad and tries to have The Talk™.

• “you know he’s… house, right?” wilson spoke carefully, leaning his forearms on his desk looking you straight in the eye with a frown.

“I just mean, he’s difficult, he’s complicated, he’s older—”

“You forgot rude and insanely sexy.” we all know house. where did he just come from? who knows. but he’s ALWAYS going to be there to annoy wilson.

“Right. Those too.” and poor wilson is traumatised, exhausted, and fucking confused?? i mean- who wouldnt be??

• everyone assumes you’ll break up with him in a few months, but joke’s on them—you’re just as unhinged, just as stubborn, and you get him in a way no one else does.

okay I'll say it car sex with mark in one of those porsches of his :/

U ARE SO CONSISTENTLY BIG BRAINED!! stupid sexy man and his stupid sexy porsche...

afab fem reader (desc. as wearing a dress and panties, use of 'good girl'). do not use this as an example of safe driving!!

his hand grazing higher and higher up your thigh as you're in the passenger seat next to him, wearing that little black dress he loves

smug bastard, you see the smirk flicker across his face every time he inches closer to the heat between your thighs and your breath hitches in your chest

every time he gets closer, he pulls his hand away, going back to teasing, trailing touches up and down your thigh

and despite this teasing, i don't think he's fully expecting just how wet he's gotten you when his hand finally reaches your panties

his knuckles pressing against your clit through the damp patch of the fabric - his jaw clenching as you give a long, shaky exhale and nearly melt into the expensive car seat.

you don't notice the detour until the lights of the main road disappear, and you realise your surroundings have changed to a quiet, dark, country track

the very moment you realise that, mark's mouth is on you, large hand cupping the back of your head as the other undoes your seatbelt

(you vaguely realise that he's already undone his, the eager bastard)

your leg catches on the handbrake as he manoeuvres you into his lap, and you can't help but giggle, breaking the kiss as you do so, mark unable to stop his own chuckle as well

"you're such a tease," you tell him, leaning in to kiss him again, catching his bottom lip between your teeth and feeling warmth bloom in your abdomen at his answering groan

"is that a complaint?" he responds, tilting his head. "you seem to like it."

to prove his point, he settles his hands on your hips, pulling you down against the bulge in his pants as he rocks his own hips upwards into you

your head lolls backwards as you whine out someone suspiciously similar to "mark--", and he takes the opportunity to lean forward and attack your neck with bites and sucking kisses, soothing the red marks with his tongue afterwards

when you fumble with the fly of his trousers, he replaces your hands with his own to get them open, groaning again when you rock your hips against his his exposed underwear before you pull his cock out

it'll be a stretch - it is even when you've had preparation, when mark's taken you apart with three of his fingers spreading you out and a firm hand on your abdomen holding you down - but you need him, and you think you might go insane if you wait any longer

so you pull your panties to the side, dragging the swollen head of mark's cocks through your wet folds before you begin to sink onto him

he's rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs on your hipbones, pressing softer kisses to your neck and mumbling a gentle commentary of praise against the skin there

"always take me so well, what a good girl, so fucking tight, such a perfect cunt"

and when he bottoms out, your hips knocking against his one more, he pulls you in for another kiss before rolling his hips up into you to hear the way you moan

(and if one hand of his moves to press on your abdomen, hoping to feel the telltale bulge of his cock inside you, that's between him and G-d, he decides)

it's not so much you riding him as mark fucking up into you, holding you down on his cock to hit as deep as possible and hear you squeal his name against his lips

and when he cums inside you, he pulls your panties back into place, and smirks as you squirm the rest of the drive home, feeling him leaking out of you

Push of a Button

Day 16 → Remote-Controlled Vibrator 💋 Jenson Button

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Jenson leans back against the pit wall, arms crossed, his eyes locked on you. You’re standing just a few feet away, microphone in hand, talking animatedly to Lando Norris. Your smile is bright, your laughter effortless.

He’s seen it a thousand times, the way you light up around drivers, the way they light up around you. But today, there’s a twist in his chest, a quiet, insistent pressure that he can’t ignore.

Lando is leaning in closer than usual, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at something you say. Jenson’s jaw tightens. He knows that smile, knows it’s not just friendly. Lando’s flirting, and you’re — what? Oblivious? Playing along? Jenson isn’t sure which is worse.

“Having fun?” Martin Brundle’s voice cuts through his thoughts, casual but probing. He’s always been good at that, at picking up on things left unsaid.

Jenson forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just watching the show,” he replies, his tone light, but there’s an edge to it. His gaze doesn’t leave you.

Martin follows his line of sight, then chuckles softly. “Ah, I see. Lando’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?”

“Too charming,” Jenson mutters, almost to himself. He’s trying to keep his cool, but it’s getting harder by the second.

There’s something about the way Lando looks at you, like he’s seeing something more than just a journalist, more than just a colleague. And you — God, you’re smiling back at him like you don’t notice a damn thing.

Martin raises an eyebrow. “Jealous, are we?”

“Not jealous,” Jenson says, a bit too quickly. Then, quieter, “Just … protective.”

Martin claps him on the shoulder. “Well, she’s yours, isn’t she?”

Jenson nods, but the tension in his chest doesn’t ease. His. The word feels heavy, like a responsibility, like a promise. He watches as you and Lando exchange a few more words, then you laugh again, this time reaching out to lightly touch Lando’s arm. It’s a brief moment, but it feels like a punch to the gut.

“Excuse me,” Jenson says abruptly, pushing off the wall and striding towards you.

You don’t notice him at first, too caught up in whatever Lando’s saying. But then he’s there, a solid presence at your side, and your eyes flicker up to meet his. There’s a brief flash of surprise, then warmth, and you smile up at him, a smile just for him, but Jenson’s too wound up to fully appreciate it.

“Jenson!” You say, your voice a mix of surprise and happiness. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Obviously,” he says, but there’s no humor in his tone. He turns to Lando, his expression carefully neutral. “Norris.”

“Button,” Lando replies, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eye, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “We were just talking about the upcoming race. It’s going to be a tough one.”

“Yeah, well,” Jenson says, his voice steady but firm, “she’s done her job for now. You’ve got a race to focus on, haven’t you?”

You blink up at him, a little taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor. “Jenson, we were just-”

“I know,” he interrupts, his eyes still on Lando. “But I’m sure Lando here has better things to do than chat all day, don’t you, Norris?”

There’s a challenge in his voice now, a quiet but unmistakable one. Lando’s smile doesn’t falter, but his gaze sharpens, meeting Jenson’s head-on.

“Of course,” Lando says easily, but there’s a tension in the air now, something almost electric. “Good to see you, Y/N. Catch you later?”

You nod, still trying to make sense of what’s happening, and Lando gives you one last smile before turning and walking away, leaving you alone with Jenson.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. You shift slightly, turning to face him fully. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Jenson says, but it’s too quick, too clipped.

You give him a look, one eyebrow arched, calling him out without saying a word. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

“Lando was flirting with you,” he says finally, his voice low but intense.

You blink, then laugh softly, shaking your head. “He was just being friendly, Jense. We were talking about the race, that’s all.”

“That’s not all,” he insists, his eyes locking onto yours. “He was flirting, and you-” He stops himself, taking a breath. “You didn’t stop him.”

The accusation hangs in the air, and you feel a flash of irritation. “So what, you’re accusing me of flirting back?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he snaps, then immediately softens, his hand reaching out to gently cup your elbow. “I’m just … look, it bothers me, okay? Watching him look at you like that, knowing how much attention you get from the other drivers. It’s-” He pauses, searching for the right words. “It’s not easy.”

You stare at him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the concern in his eyes. “Jenson, you know I only have eyes for you, right? I talk to these guys because it’s my job, not because I’m interested in them.”

“I know that,” he says, but there’s still something unresolved in his tone, a lingering insecurity that he can’t quite shake. “But it’s not just about that. It’s about how they see you. How they think they have a chance with you.”

“But they don’t,” you say firmly, stepping closer, your voice softening. “They never have, and they never will. You’re the one I’m with. No one else.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, absorbing your words, then opens them again, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I just … seeing you with Lando, it got to me. I don’t like the idea of anyone thinking they can come between us.”

“They can’t,” you assure him, leaning into his touch. “And they won’t. But you have to trust me. Trust that I know where my heart is.”

He nods slowly, his grip on your elbow tightening slightly as if grounding himself in your presence. “I do trust you. It’s just — sometimes I get this feeling, this … fear, I guess. That maybe one day you’ll wake up and realize you could have anyone, and you’ll wonder why you’re with me.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and you reach up, cupping his face in your hands. “Jenson, I’m with you because I love you. Not because of what anyone else thinks or how many people flirt with me. You’re the one I choose, every day.”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like everything else fades away — the noise of the paddock, the pressure of the job, the endless demands on both of your time. It’s just the two of you, standing together in this moment, connected by something deeper than words.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “More than anything.”

You smile, a soft, tender smile that makes his heart ache in the best way possible. “Then stop worrying about Lando or anyone else. You have me, okay? All of me.”

He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. For a long moment, you just stand there, holding each other, the rest of the world forgotten. Finally, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ll try,” he promises, his voice low and sincere. “But if Lando makes another move, I can’t guarantee I’ll be as calm next time.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “There won’t be a next time. Trust me.”

He smiles, but there’s still a hint of something unresolved in his eyes. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he admits quietly.

“You won’t,” you say firmly, your hands still resting on his chest. “You never will.”

He nods, his tension finally easing, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Okay,” he whispers, and it’s like a promise, like he’s sealing this moment between the two of you. “Okay.”

***

Jenson zips up his travel bag, his eyes flickering towards the clock on the nightstand. You’re running late, as usual, busy with the final touches of your makeup in the bathroom. He can hear you humming softly, a familiar tune that brings a smile to his face.

“Five more minutes?” You call out from the bathroom, your voice slightly muffled by the closed door.

“We’ve got to leave in two,” Jenson replies, but there’s no real urgency in his tone. He’s used to this routine, knows you’ll make it out the door just in time. Still, something in him shifts as he glances at the bed, an idea forming in the back of his mind.

You emerge a moment later, your hair perfectly styled, lips a soft shade of pink that matches the blush on your cheeks. You’re stunning, as always, and Jenson feels that familiar stir of pride — and possessiveness. You’re his, but today, he wants to make sure you feel that, too.

“We should get going,” you say, grabbing your bag from the chair.

But Jenson moves faster, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. Before you can react, his hand is around your wrist, gently but firmly pulling you back towards the bed.

“Jenson, what are you-” You start to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you short.

“Sit down,” he says, his voice calm but authoritative.

You hesitate for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. But there’s something in his gaze, a mixture of intent and desire, that makes your pulse quicken. You let him guide you to the edge of the bed, your heart thumping in your chest as you sit down.

Jenson kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees, eyes searching yours. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins, his voice low, “about what we talked about yesterday. About how much I want you, how much I need you to know you’re mine.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he presses a finger to your lips, silencing you. “Let me finish,” he says softly.

You nod, the air between you charged with anticipation.

“There’s something I want to give you,” he continues, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. “A reminder, something special, just between us.”

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, but you don’t break eye contact, trying to read the intent behind his words.

Jenson reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, elegant box. Your breath catches as he opens it, revealing a sleek, discreet toy nestled inside. Your eyes widen slightly, and you glance up at him, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty. But there’s none — only a steady resolve and a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Jenson …” you start, your voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

He takes the toy out of the box, his touch deliberate and gentle. “Trust me,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you softly, his lips brushing yours in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. “I want to take care of you, make sure you feel me, even when we’re apart.”

You swallow hard, the implications of his words sinking in. “How …”

“I’ve got it all figured out,” he says, his voice soothing, but there’s a fire in his eyes that sends a thrill down your spine. “I control it from my phone. So no matter where you are, no matter what you’re doing, you’ll know I’m there with you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the idea both thrilling and nerve-wracking. “But the race-”

“We have time,” he interrupts, his voice firm but tender. He slides his hands up your thighs, his touch slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

His hands reach the hem of your skirt, and he pauses, giving you one last chance to change your mind. But you don’t. You nod, a silent affirmation, and he gently pushes you back onto the bed, his movements careful and deliberate.

“Relax,” he whispers, his hands deftly parting your legs. You do as he says, your body responding to his touch, the anticipation building with every passing second. Jenson is focused, his hands steady as he places the toy exactly where he wants it, his touch both tender and possessive.

You bite your lip, the sensation already making your heart race. Jenson watches you closely, his expression one of quiet intensity. He’s enjoying this, you realize — the control, the closeness, the way your body responds to him.

“Comfortable?” He asks, his voice a low murmur, laced with something darker, more intense.

You nod, unable to find your voice, your senses heightened by the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

He reaches into his pocket again, this time pulling out his phone. He unlocks it with a swipe, his eyes never leaving yours as he opens the app. “You’ll feel me with you all day,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “And when the moment’s right, I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a delicious mix of anticipation and trepidation. “Jenson,” you murmur, a mix of nerves and excitement in your voice.

He smiles, a slow, confident smile that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “Trust me,” he repeats, his thumb hovering over the screen.

And then, without another word, he presses down.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as the toy hums to life, a gentle vibration that sends waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You grip the bedspread, your eyes widening as the sensation builds, filling you with warmth and desire.

Jenson watches your reaction closely, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. “You like that?” He asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice shaky but honest.

He shifts on the bed, leaning over you, his lips brushing your ear. “Good,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Because this is just the beginning.”

He adjusts the setting, increasing the intensity, and you arch your back, a moan slipping from your lips before you can stop it. The pleasure is overwhelming, consuming, and you can’t help but cling to him, your fingers digging into his arms as he holds you steady.

“Jenson,” you gasp, your voice tinged with desperation. But he’s relentless, his control unwavering as he watches you writhe beneath him, his expression a mix of tenderness and possession.

“Just breathe,” he soothes, his hand caressing your thigh. “You’re doing so well, love.”

You try to focus, try to ground yourself in his touch, but the sensations are too much, too intense. Every nerve in your body is alight, every inch of your skin hypersensitive to his touch, to the vibrations that are driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Jenson shifts, his lips brushing against your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, grounding you in the moment, reminding you of his presence. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice a low, possessive growl that sends shivers down your spine. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, the words tumbling out of you in a rush, as much a plea as a declaration.

His eyes flare with satisfaction, and he lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath away. You kiss him back with everything you have, pouring all your love, your desire, your trust into that kiss.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with pride. “You’re doing so well. Just a little longer.”

He adjusts the setting again, and this time, the intensity makes you cry out, your body trembling with the effort to hold on, to ride the waves of pleasure crashing over you. But Jenson is there, his presence a steady anchor in the storm, guiding you, supporting you.

“Jenson,” you whimper, your voice trembling with need. “Please …”

But he only smiles, a slow, knowing smile that tells you he’s not done with you yet. “You can take it,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “I know you can.”

And you do, because he’s right — he knows you better than anyone, knows exactly how far he can push you, how much you can take. And right now, he’s pushing you to your limits, testing your resolve, your trust, your love for him.

The toy buzzes relentlessly against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You can barely think, barely breathe, your world reduced to the sensations overwhelming you, to the man who’s controlling them.

“Jenson,” you cry out, your voice breaking with the intensity of it all. But he’s there, his touch grounding you, his voice guiding you, his presence a steady, reassuring force in the midst of the storm.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again, his voice rough with emotion, with need. “All mine.”

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper. “Yours.”

And then, just when you think you can’t take any more, he finally relents, his thumb sliding over the screen, lowering the intensity until the vibrations stop altogether, leaving you trembling and breathless in his arms.

Jenson pulls you close, his hand gently sliding down to fix your underwear, carefully smoothing it back into place. He takes a moment to pat over it, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he feels the warmth radiating from you.

“This is just the beginning,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with promise. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his touch lingering as if he’s imprinting this moment into both of your memories. “There’s a whole day ahead, love. And I’m not done with you yet.”

You shiver under his touch, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, and the anticipation of what’s to come makes your heart race all over again. As he stands, offering you a hand to help you up, you know this day is going to be one you’ll never forget.

***

Jenson leans casually against the pit wall, his eyes fixed on the big screen broadcasting the live feed from the paddock. You’re on camera, poised and professional as always, a radiant smile on your face as you prepare for the post-FP2 interviews. The soft buzz of the paddock fades into the background as he watches you, the world narrowing down to just you and the screen.

He knows your routine by heart — the way you stand, the confident tilt of your head, the way you hold the microphone with ease. But today, there’s something different, a lingering anticipation that’s been building ever since this morning in the hotel room.

You catch sight of Charles Leclerc approaching, and your smile widens, eyes brightening with recognition. “Charles! A strong session today. How are you feeling going into qualifying?”

Charles grins back, his boyish charm in full force as he stops in front of you. “Feeling good. The car’s in a good place, and we’ve got a solid shot at pole.”

Jenson watches the interaction closely, the subtle way Charles leans in just a fraction closer than necessary, the playful glint in his eye as he responds to your questions. It’s nothing out of the ordinary — Charles is known for his easy charm — but to Jenson, it’s a reminder of how easily others are drawn to you, how effortlessly you command attention.

You laugh at something Charles says, a soft, genuine sound that Jenson feels in his chest. He sees the way Charles’ eyes flicker over you, lingering for just a second too long. It’s innocent enough on the surface, but Jenson knows better. He knows the effect you have on people, the way you light up a room just by being in it.

“Glad to hear it,” you say, your voice smooth and warm, the consummate professional. “There’s been a lot of talk about strategy — how much of a role do you think tire management will play tomorrow?”

Charles’ gaze doesn’t waver from yours, his smile widening as he leans in slightly, just enough that it feels intimate. “It’s always a factor, but I think we’ve got it under control. Of course, anything can happen on race day.”

Jenson’s jaw tightens imperceptibly, a flicker of something dark and possessive flaring up inside him. His hand slips into his pocket, fingers brushing against his phone. The control, the power, is right there, just a tap away. He can’t resist the temptation — especially not when Charles is looking at you like that.

You’re in the middle of another question when Jenson’s thumb hovers over the app. He watches you closely, the slight flush in your cheeks, the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other, the way Charles’ attention seems to linger a bit too long on the curve of your lips.

Without a second thought, Jenson taps the screen, the motion almost casual. He increases the intensity just enough to remind you of his presence, of the promise he made that morning. The toy buzzes to life against you, sending a jolt of sensation through your body that’s as unexpected as it is intense.

You falter, just for a split second, the question dying on your lips as your body reacts to the sudden stimulation. Your eyes widen slightly, the microphone trembling in your grip as you try to maintain your composure.

Charles doesn’t seem to notice the brief pause, still caught up in his answer, but Jenson sees everything. The way your breathing hitches, the way your posture stiffens as you fight to keep your cool. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it sends a thrill through him.

“Are you okay?” Charles asks, noticing the brief flicker of something in your expression.

You force a smile, nodding quickly as you scramble to regain control. “Yes, just — just a little tired from all the running around today. But I’m fine, really.”

Jenson smirks to himself, satisfied with the small victory. But he’s not done yet. He adjusts the setting again, this time dialing up the intensity just a notch, enough to keep you on edge but not enough to make it impossible to continue.

You feel the change immediately, the vibrations intensifying against you, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to react visibly. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to stay focused on Charles, to keep the interview on track.

But it’s hard — so, so hard — when every nerve in your body is alight with sensation, when every word feels like a battle to keep your composure.

“So, Charles,” you continue, your voice slightly strained but still steady, “do you think Ferrari has what it takes to challenge for the win this weekend?”

Charles tilts his head, considering the question, his gaze still fixed on you with that easy, confident charm. “I think we’re in a good place. The team has been working hard, and we’re going to give it everything we’ve got. But we’ll have to see how things play out on track.”

Jenson’s eyes narrow slightly as he watches Charles, the way the younger driver’s attention never wavers from you, the way he seems so comfortable, so at ease. There’s no mistaking the attraction there, the subtle undercurrent of flirtation in every word, every glance.

And Jenson can’t help himself. He taps the screen again, the movement almost automatic, dialing up the intensity just a bit more.

This time, the reaction is immediate. You gasp softly, your eyes widening as the sensation overwhelms you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. The microphone slips in your hand, your grip faltering as you struggle to keep control.

Charles notices the change, his brows knitting together in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, his voice softer, more intimate now.

You nod quickly, trying to brush it off, but the effort it takes to speak, to form coherent sentences, is almost too much. “I’m — yes, just a bit … distracted. But I’m fine.”

Jenson’s smirk deepens, satisfaction blooming in his chest as he watches you fight to maintain your composure. He knows how hard it is for you right now, knows exactly what you’re feeling, and it drives him wild with a mix of possessiveness and desire.

But he’s not cruel — not really. He gives you a reprieve, lowering the intensity just enough to let you catch your breath, to finish the interview without completely unraveling on live television.

You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of control as you wrap up the interview. “Thank you, Charles, and good luck tomorrow,” you manage, your voice only slightly breathless.

Charles smiles, still concerned but letting it go as he nods. “Thank you. And take care of yourself, okay?”

You nod, offering a strained smile in return as you turn away, your heart pounding in your chest, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of sensation. You can barely focus, barely think, as you make your way off camera, the weight of Jenson’s control heavy on your mind.

Jenson watches you go, his heart pounding with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. He knows what’s coming next, knows that you’ll find him the moment you’re out of sight, knows the confrontation that’s brewing just beneath the surface.

But for now, he’s content to watch, to wait, to let the anticipation build as you navigate the pit lane, trying to keep your cool while knowing that he’s the one pulling the strings.

You make it to a quiet corner of the paddock, out of sight of the cameras, and lean heavily against the wall, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. You know he’s watching, know he’s aware of every reaction, every tremor in your body.

And then, as if on cue, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out with trembling fingers, already knowing who it’s from. The message is simple, just one word: Mine.

You swallow hard, a mixture of emotions swirling in your chest — desire, frustration, love, and something darker, more intense. You know you’re his, there’s no question about that, but the way he reminds you, the way he exerts his control over you, leaves you breathless, craving more.

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps approaching, and you look up to see Jenson walking towards you, his expression calm and collected, but with that same spark of intensity in his eyes that you saw this morning.

“Jenson,” you start, your voice shaky but filled with emotion.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just steps closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips. “You did well,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with pride. “But you know this isn’t over yet.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the promise of what’s to come making your pulse quicken. You nod, unable to find the words, but he sees the understanding in your eyes, the acceptance of what he’s done, and what he’s going to do.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You’re mine, and I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

With that, he pulls back, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t need to say anything else — you know what’s coming, and the anticipation is enough to make your knees weak.

“Let’s go,” he says finally, his voice firm but gentle as he takes your hand, leading you away from the paddock. The noise of the crowd fades, replaced by the quiet hum of the facility around you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to, and the silence between you is thick with anticipation. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, each step forward amplifying the tension that’s been building all day.

He stops in front of a bathroom door, glancing around to ensure you’re alone before pushing it open and guiding you inside. The door closes behind you with a soft click, the lock sliding into place with a finality that makes your pulse quicken.

The room is small, sterile, with white tiles and a large mirror above the sink. The only light comes from the overhead fluorescent bulb, casting sharp shadows on the walls. Jenson doesn’t waste any time — he turns you around, hands gripping your hips as he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter.

You gasp as the cool surface meets your skin, the contrast with the heat radiating from your body almost too much to bear. He stands between your legs, his presence overwhelming as he leans in close, his breath hot against your neck.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. “So eager, so ready for me.”

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips, your body trembling with anticipation. His hands trail down your thighs, fingers brushing against the edge of your skirt before pushing it up, exposing the thin fabric of your underwear.

He pulls out his phone, the app already open, and you can see the glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he turns up the intensity again. The toy inside you comes to life with a sudden, powerful vibration that has you gasping, your hands gripping the edge of the counter for support.

“Jenson-” you manage to breathe out, but the words are lost as the sensations overwhelm you. Your legs tremble, your body straining against the relentless stimulation, but he doesn’t relent. Instead, he steps back slightly, his hands on your knees, gently but firmly pushing your legs apart.

He watches you, his gaze dark and intense, as you struggle to keep yourself together. The toy pulses inside you, every nerve ending on fire as you fight to stay on the edge, to hold on just a little longer. But it’s too much — everything is too much — and you can feel yourself starting to unravel, the pleasure building until it’s all-consuming.

“Don’t hold back,” Jenson murmurs, his voice calm but commanding. “I want to see you fall apart for me.”

Your head tilts back, your mouth falling open as a moan escapes you, loud and desperate. You’re so close, teetering on the brink, and when he presses just a bit harder on your legs, holding you open and exposed, you finally lose control.

The orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure that leaves you breathless, your entire body trembling as you cry out, unable to stop yourself. You fall off the edge, utterly consumed by the sensations coursing through you, and Jenson watches every second of it, his gaze locked on you, unblinking, taking in every reaction, every shudder, every gasp.

When you finally come down, your body weak and spent, he steps closer again. His hand trails up your thigh, fingers hooking around the edge of your underwear before gently pulling it aside. The toy slips out easily, still buzzing faintly, coated in the evidence of your pleasure.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he brings it to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness that lingers on it. The sight alone is enough to make your heart skip a beat, the intimacy of the act making your breath catch in your throat.

“Delicious,” he whispers, the word sending another shiver down your spine as he licks the toy clean, his eyes never leaving yours. When he’s satisfied, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before sliding the toy back inside you.

The sensation is different now, your body still sensitive, and you gasp softly as he adjusts it, making sure it’s nestled perfectly against you. He steps back, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he looks at you with a mixture of pride and desire.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. “You’re ready for the rest of the day now, aren’t you?”

You nod, your breath still coming in short gasps as you try to regain some semblance of composure. But it’s hard, especially when he’s looking at you like that, his eyes filled with the promise of more to come.

He helps you off the counter, your legs still shaky, but his hold is steady, grounding you as you smooth down your skirt and try to collect yourself. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle now, almost tender.

“This is just the beginning,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re mine.”

And as he leads you out of the bathroom, back into the world, you know that no matter what happens, you’ll always be his, and he’ll always be yours.

throat training thoughts tonight. ♡︎ fictional man forcing his fat cock down your throat until your little nose is in his pubes and he’s taking up every single one of your senses.

rules for my page

only for viewers over the age of 18

requests are always open

minors dni

I smile like an idiot when I see my man, who’s not my man, on my television screen.

Jacques Villeneuve being hot

Charles jealous and possessive please! Smut 🔥

no mercy.

CL x fem!reader - 4k celebration ✨

in which lunch with friends turns into charles reminding you that you’re all his

first 4k request up! thank you so much for this, wrote this whole thing in like half an hour bc damn this took me back to my charlie roots. i hope u love this anon, and all my lovely readers - lemme know what you think

warnings: 18+!! minors GO AWAY! smut, swearing, slight breeding kink, use of “slut” (in the sexy way tho!), lando causing his usual chaos (feat. shit stirrer alex), dom!charles/sub!reader, minor hints of corruption kink, slapping like once, fluffy ending

1.4k words

interesting.

the word you’d choose to describe this lunch is interesting.

charles’ hand seems to grow tighter on your thigh with every passing minute, or, to be more precise, every time lando speaks.

“so am i, ahem, are we gonna be seeing you at any races soon?” lando teases, raising an eyebrow, gesturing to alex sat beside him to cover up his slip of the tongue.

“i’ll be there whenever charles wants me there. maybe i’ll even get to see you win a race.” you laugh. you’re enjoying the company, but the impromptu lunch with the other two drivers seems to be riling your boyfriend up to new heights.

you know the brit is teasing him, and alex is lapping up the drama, stirring the pot. you certainly don’t mind if it keeps charles’ hand wandering higher up your leg. you’re just being polite, lando knows that, charles definitely knows that, but his tight smile and clenched jaw paints a different picture.

“i think we need to get going.” charles pipes up suddenly, after what feels like an eternity of silence from the monegasque man, and he throws a few hundred euros down of the table. “see you in bahrain.” he glares at lando pointedly, and extends his hand to you.

you take it, grinning apologetically at lando and alex, who both wear the same shit-eating grins. they know exactly what they’ve done and they’re lapping up the visible irritation they’ve concocted in their friend.

charles opens your door when you reach his ferrari, silently closing it and walking around to the drivers side.


“not a word.” he grunts.

his hand slips into your panties as he starts the car, and your head tips back against the headrest.

-

he throws you onto the bed, no mercy, nothing forgiving behind his rage filled eyes. you wriggle up onto your elbows, watching the way his shirt sleeves are haphazardly rolled up, the way his hands rub together. your thighs clench. his jaw is ticking, and you can see the cogs turning in his mind, ideas brewing.

there’s no warning before pounces, shoving your floral dress up your thighs. he’s met with white lace, intricately textured, gone sheer with your arousal from the way he’d toyed with you in the car, and he sighs deeply, pained.

“this is what you wear out under this slutty fucking dress?” charles glares down at you, yanking at the fabric. the band snaps back against your belly and you gulp, hard. “nothing to say?” he tuts. “you didn’t seem to have a problem talking to my friends.”

“wore it for you, promise.” you whisper, eyes wide, pupils blown. charles scoffs.

“did you really? because it seems like you’ve forgotten who you fucking belong to.”

you don’t get a chance to reply because you’re stunned into silence when a tear sounds from between your thighs. you see a flash of white when he discards your underwear, throwing them to the floor. charles forces your legs apart, settling onto his belly as if he wants to examine you.

“still soaked.” he hums, impressed. “question is, cherie, for who?” he tilts his head condescendingly and your squirm.

as if to torture you, his nimble fingers trace your folds, spreading the wetness he’s created. you buck your hips at the pressure, it’s not nearly enough, and a low whine sounds from the back of your throat.

“all for you, baby.” you promise. “please, charlie.” you beg.

“is my precious girl getting desperate? hm?” he finds your clit, circling it with the pad of his calloused thumb. you nod profusely, and he’s obsessed with your compliance. “now you know how i felt watching him want you.” he spits.

charles plunges two fingers inside of you suddenly, and you cry out, grinding your hips to his rhythm. the stretch is so delicious that you barely register the burn, not that it matters with the way he’s slicked you up already.

“baby, ‘m all yours.” you’re getting desperate now, pleading with your eyes as much as you can between squeezing them shut every time your tummy tightens.

“i’m not so sure, think you need reminding still.” charles smirks, and his pace increases tenfold.

all you can hear is the wet slap of his fingers slamming into your pussy, his other hand teasing at your clit, just barely touching it. it riles you up endlessly, and your belly aches from how tight you’re clamping down around his hand.

“wanna cum.” you slur, dizzy from the shockwaves washing over you.

“ask nicely.” charles quips sternly, slapping your thigh. it sends a jolt through you and you can’t help it, spilling around his long digits.

you expect him to stop, to punish you for disobeying him, but he fucks you through your orgasm until you’re spent. he’s grinning when you manage to open your eyes.

“so that’s how you’re gonna be, hm? you wanna act like a slut, cherie? because believe me, i’ll treat you like one.” he speaks concisely, slowly, his voice low and threatening.

he points to your dress. “off. now.”

you scramble to peel it off, throwing it off of the bed, and your bra follows suit. you lay there bare, studying him. if you didn’t know him, love him, you’d think he’s his normal self, but you can see the way he’s digging his nails into his palm, can see the way his neck is flushed red. he unclenches his hands to undo his jeans, just enough so that his cock is on display, red and aggressively hard. you wonder how long he’s been like that.

charles kneels at the end of the bed, shifting until he’s hovering over you. the head of his cock nudges your clit, spreading the remnants of your orgasm over himself and your cunt, watching the way it flutters at the pressure. and then he’s sinking in, slow, deep. he’s heavy on top of you and you revel in the weight of him, his scent.

he grins when he bottoms out, letting out a low groan. he stills for a moment, looks at you, brushes a few strands of hair away from your pink flushed face.

“apologise.” charles coos, mockingly. your eyes well with tears, so much pressure swelling in your belly.

“charles.” you whimper, attempting to thread your fingers through his hair, but he catches your hand, sweeping up the other, and pins both of your wrists above your head.

“apologise.”

and you can’t help but ramble pathetically.

“i’m sorry, charlie, love you so much, ‘m so sorry.”

the feeling of his hips hitting yours is like water in the desert: luxurious, essential. the pace he sets is brutal, utterly fantastic, a stark contrast to anything he’s ever given to you before.

this entire experience is surreal, he usually dotes, whispers lovingly into your ear as he gently coaxes orgasms out of you. this could not be anymore different.

the power he exudes, fully clothed, rocking into your quivering, naked body turns you on endlessly, unlocking a part of yourself that you’d never let anyone else see before.

“you like it better like this, don’t you, cherie? when i fuck you hard like this?” you nod frantically. “pretending to be the sweetest little angel when really, you’re nothing but a dirty fucking girl, letting him gawk at you. bet you loved it, all that attention.” charles grunts.

you arch into him, the elastic band in your core growing that bit too tight.

“maybe i need to fuck a baby into you, make sure everyone knows you’re all mine.” he whispers.

that’s all it takes. you reach your high instantly, spurred on by the filth he spouts. the tight, hot hold you have on him makes him see stars, and then he’s cumming, too, spilling warm and white into you.

it’s quiet for a moment, the air still, the smell of sex settling over the space. you relax into the bed, and gently, he pulls out of you. he smiles softly, fingers grazing your sweat dampened face. he unbuttons his shirt as he walks to the en-suite, returning to you shirtless and with a warm, damp cloth.

you smile sleepily as he cleans you up, wiping away the mess he’s made between your legs - as best as he can, anyways - and then he strips off his jeans, and clambers into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms so that your back is flush to his chest.

“was that okay?” he asks quietly. you roll over in his arms, raising your head to peck his jaw.

“more than okay.”

“i didn’t take it too far?”

“baby, it was perfect.” you giggle.

“you know i’m not mad at you, right? but i swear, if lando ever looks at you like that again, he won’t be having kids.”

-

first 4k request happy dance 🕺🏻✨

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