I'm Convinced Seb Cannot Sit Still So How About Forcing Him To Take A Bath With You And Relax With The

mark webber masterlist

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hello might i ask for sassy badass reckless reader who is the #1 leading cause of aaron's gray hairs pls 🤞🏻 he is SO exasperated with her like he is TIRED™ but also tweaking bcs he's horrendously down bad for her he's gna throw up

Good morning. I hope you slept well, honey. Can you come to work early, say 6.10AM? I’d like to see you and talk about something in person. 

You squint at the text that’s just come through. Another follows as you’re finishing, lighting the dark of your room.

I love you. Sorry, I know you don’t like when I forget to tell you in the mornings. 

Your own response is sent without propriety. I love you too handsome. 6.10 is not gonna work.

Can you make an effort for me? he asks. 

You do your very best. 

“It’s almost seven,” Hotch says when you finally get there that morning, his frown audible and plain to see. 

You hold up the bag of sugar donuts you’d purchased from the truck on the square just outside of Quantico’s endless parking lots. “Necessary delay.” 

“Unnecessary. I asked you nicely to come early and you’re barely on time,” he grumbles. 

How adorable. You put the bag of donuts on the desk and ignore the paperwork laid out waiting for you in favour of his side of the desk. He smells like cedar, his suit sleeve starched under your hand. You lean back against the lip of his desk and pretend you hadn’t been thinking about climbing into his lap —he’s formidable and lovely and that’s the best combination for lounging about atop someone, especially when that someone is very good at pressing you backwards, and better at kissing your neck. 

He knows what you’re thinking. “You’ve woken up in a mood,” he murmurs. 

“A good one,” you promise. 

You take his coffee and steal a sip. Hotch, resigned, lays a hand on your thigh. “I have important things to talk about, you know? I thought I made that clear this morning.” 

“You made a couple of things clear.” 

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I…” He tilts his head to the side. “Like I’ve been sending you dirty texts or photos.” 

“Is that an option? I don’t think I’ve subscribed to those emails.” 

“You make me out to be this salacious lark–”

“Aaron, I don’t do anything of the sort.” You can hardly hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry I implied you were sexting me, okay? I wish you had been.” He sighs a long-suffering sigh as you carry on. “But you were very formal. I’ll be sure to tell HR the same thing.” 

His hand slips between your thighs. Nowhere it shouldn’t be, just trapped between soft flesh. “Don’t tell HR anything.” 

His coffee is lukewarm and unsweetened on your tongue. Would it kill your uptight love to add just a dash of cream and sugar? Wrinkling your nose, you set aside the mug and press your mildly heated hand to his cheek. Just quickly, brushing a thumb up to the skin below his eye before you let it fall. “Tell me what you wanted me to come in early for. And, for the record, I’m sorry for not trying to get here before, just I didn’t sleep well, and my neck hurt too much to rush.” 

He looks like he wants to ignore your apology. He doesn’t ask you for much, and showing up when he’d wanted you to would’ve been the kinder thing to do —he can be annoyed as both boss or boyfriend. 

But he doesn’t have it in him. 

“Why didn’t you sleep?” he asks softly. 

“Thinking too much about my nice boyfriend.” 

“Really?” 

You slouch a little. Cover his hand where it rests between your legs. “I don’t know. It was really hot, and my mattress is getting old, probably.” 

He ushers you down for a sympathetic kiss. He’s always so sorry to hear about your minor ailments, he must like you too much. 

You attempt to crawl into his lap, curling an arm behind his head. He, disgruntled and yet far from reluctant, lets you take a seat. 

mind is stuck on challengers sauna scene ..... art's thighs are so fucking sexy, so thick and sweaty and the way he's bouncing his leg? oh lord give me five minutes with him. just imagine his hands on your waist and his sweet, encouraging words as you sit on his wet skin and grind your even wetter cunt onto it. and he bounces it, gently hitting your clit in the right angle and it feels so good. i am going to combust. and you're like crying because while it feels good, you're just so so needy and want to feel him inside you but he thinks you look so sexy like this, he tells you to keep going just for a little bit more then he'll reward you for being good and listening to him.

Okay so if it's okay I have a seb (rbr seb to be precise) request. We all know rbr seb was a menace, chaos lover and flirty (we all love him for that) so enemies to lovers (at least one sided because I have no doubt this man while loving by all grid also hated by some) with seb would be amazing... Imagine all the tension 🫣🫣 but happy ending of course because nowadays I need my healthy dosage of fluff with a bit of angst sprinkle 💗🙏🏻

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

Lissie note… I am SO happy someone finally requested Seb<3 An enemies to lovers too!!! This prompt is pure gold! Really love the one-sided touch too. Thank you!!!

Things to note

This is set to start in late 2010 and progress from there on (only until Seb’s last year at rbr)

Accuracy to real driver standings will be off due to the reader insert

Michael did not get in any accident here<3

Reader is 22 and Sebastian is 23

Reader is with Mercedes, driving alongside Michael (put him instead of Rosberg because Michael knows Seb better. You’ll get it when you read)

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Mercedes!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a little bit of cursing

Word Count: 6.4k+

Playlist Recommendations: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭💔, 𝐒𝐕𝟓

Taglist: @drugged-kitkat , @darleneslane

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

A master of your art. That’s what you liked to think of yourself as. You weren’t driven by fame or money. Rather the excitement of the rush. The feeling of hitting each apex just right— you relished in it. If there was one thing you really were driven by, however; it was winning a championship. You’d won a few races in your career and had your national anthem played for everyone to hear, but no more of that. Your sole goal was to receive the title above all other titles.

Your dreams of such were cut short by one Red Bull driver. Sebastian Vettel. You sat there at the prize-giving ceremony, waiting for Formula One racers to be called up. Michael sat next to you with Corinna. She gave you a sympathetic smile, knowing you missed out on the championship and landed 2nd overall.

Michael claimed Sebastian meant no ill will. He was just young and spirited. You begged to differ. The smirk he’d give you after winning a race begged to differ. His whole… shtick… begged to differ.

Alonso was called on stage to receive his award for landing 3rd, which meant that you had to be ready to receive yours too. You brushed down the sides of your dress, asking Corrina if you looked okay. She seemed surprised you’d even ask such a question but reassured you with a smile and a nod.

When your name was called, a thump in your heart reached the base of your throat. Podium celebrations were one thing, but the prize-giving was an entirely different thing altogether.

Although it was supposed to be a celebration, all you saw was a sea of pitiful glances. Most people knew of your unfortunate position, though many were too afraid to comment on it.

“Sebastian Vettel” Oh the great Sebastian Vettel! World’s youngest champion yet! That could’ve been you. Easily. You hated the thought of not being there on the highest step. The young German gave you a wink before he received his massive trophy. You were in front of hundreds of people and the ceremony was being taped, so you did nothing but smile and seem grateful.

Sure, you were actually grateful for receiving anything at all, but it all seemed like pity. All that was left was to throw your own pity party with a pint of Pinot and a sad romance movie.

The interviews were a nightmare. Every single one of them kept trying to sell you their act. All the while the questions surrounded your relationship with Sebastian. One of undoubted hate for one another. At least on your side.

You didn’t even bother going back to the hotel. The after-party was the one thing you actually looked forward to. The booze, mainly. Anything to drown out your sorrows, really. Oh, how you despised all the small gestures people did for you as an act of congratulating you. Your mixed feelings nearly slapped the vodka shot out of a waitress’ hand. You were a menace in this state.

“Easy on those shots, you came here alone. Wouldn’t want to go home too wasted.” A voice came up behind you.

“Well, that’s a little too late, Hamilton.” His look was that of genuine concern. He knew what you were doing. He knew exactly what that vodka was for.

“You’ll get him next time. At least you’re on the podium, right?” Great. Even one of your closest friends started to pity you.

“Fuck off, would you?” Luckily, he was very understanding and didn’t take any of your words to heart. He got out of your way and went to socialize. That’s when the coin fell. You were alone. He was right. You had no means of getting home. Taxis were rare in that part of town, and your hotel was far away. You were really in a pile of shit.

“Whatever,” you mumbled to yourself and one-shotted a sipping whiskey. It burned your throat with vigour and surged through your body like a pest.

Completely wasted, you felt extremely hot. It didn’t cross your mind to take a breather outside. No, instead, you slowly pulled the sleeve of your dress down. With your shoulder exposed, you could only chase that relief of cool air.

That attempt? Cut short. By none other than Sebastian Vettel. Perhaps a championship in interference would serve him well. He stopped you and pulled your sleeve back up. It felt like an insult. Another jab that he wanted to throw your way.

“Fuck off and let me do my thing,” you kept aimlessly pulling at your sleeve. The feat was just as great as your races against him.

“Stop it. You’re drunk.”

“Wow, I hadn’t noticed. You want another trophy for that discovery?” The friction against the soft satin of your dress eventually made it tear. Both of you froze before you got up and b-lined towards the exit. Anything to get away from him. You pushed through the masses of people in the club and eventually got outside.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rip your dress.” Much to your misfortune, the constant bother had followed you outside.

“You’ve already ruined more than just my dress. Must you ruin the rest of my night too?” You looked him deep in the eyes. You didn’t even have to act like you’d given up— because you most definitely had. No question.

“I’m about to make your night bearable if you’ll let me.” He took off his blazer and wrapped it around you, so you wouldn’t catch a cold in your skimpy dress. You hated the sentiment. You hated his whole “holier than thou” personality. Why? Because it was for show. He was nothing but a monster. He was behind many of your crashes and never gave you any space. You resented him for his quirky little stunts.

“Whatever, youngest world champion.” You couldn’t help but scoff at the title. He had played foul to win it. That title should’ve been yours, but no. Sebastian Vettel stole your glory.

“Come on, don’t be like that. At least value your own well-being. Let’s just get you a coffee to sober up with. You can curse me out as much as you want in the morning.” He tried to guide you forward, but you hunched over and up came all of your vodka shots. He held your hair back as you emptied out the contents of your stomach. It was revolting. You felt disgusting.

“I sure hope I won’t see you in the morning— let alone tomorrow.” Not exactly the toughest thing to say when you’re coughing for your life.

“You won’t even remember this, you know?”

“Makes it better. Then I don’t have to remember how I actually spent more than 10 minutes alone with you.” You were still hunched over, but the snarkiness in your voice triumphed that.

“You really dislike me, don’t you?” He chuckled.

“Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.”

The Red Bull champion ended up being right. You had completely forgotten about the exchange. Someone had hailed you a taxi and you’d drunkenly gotten yourself to your hotel room. That’s how you remembered it. You were still bitter about the ceremony and Sebastian’s selfish attitude. Sure, you’d expect nothing less from a racer, especially in Formula One, but he was a different kind of heartless. He mocked you. He didn’t care if he hurt you on track. That was your own fault.

Sebastian Vettel was your sworn enemy.

The media had become desensitized to your drama with him, as something always happened at every race. It was impossible to not argue with the guy. All he cared about was winning and he wasn’t in the sport to make friends. It was almost as if he wanted to be hated. You simply couldn’t understand how he and Lewis managed to get along. They somehow managed to separate their work from their friendship. You had that relationship with most of the grid, but Sebastian was too unsportsmanlike for your taste. Michael always tried to reason with you, often softening the blow of some of Vettel’s words, saying he “didn’t mean it” or was “just worked up”. You looked up to Michael, but you could never back that. It was bull. Sebastian had no redeeming qualities. He was overly flirtatious and aggressive. You hated that.

Every interview he had with a woman was met with his flirty remarks and his devious smile. You always had to sit there and soak in his gloating. He was insufferable.

“I really don’t see what the problem is. He’s just really obsessed with his career, no?” You had invited your friend out for brunch before your plane. The first race of the season was in Australia. Mark Webber’s home race. A challenge for Sebastian. Mark was tired of his teammate. Much like yourself. You could smell a possible truce. Although that’d be foul play. Unsportsmanlike of you. Were you going to be the bigger person? Of course. You were mature.

“He makes me want to crash my car into his. I should definitely do that in Australia.” You were not mature.

“You don’t mean that. Besides, it’s not even that deep. You don’t have to make something big out of the rush he gets from being in the moment. Don’t you also cuss at your engineer from time to time?” She had a valid point, but it went into one ear and straight out the other. You loved her to death, but she was spewing nonsense.

“Sebastian is an asshole. That’s the bottom line. Whose side are you on anyway?!” You scolded. She twirled her fork in the pasta and let out a faint chuckle.

“Of course, I’m on your side… but you can’t lie. Sebastian is cute.” It was official. Your friend was possessed.

“In what world? I told you about his dirty tricks. How is he still cute?” He was the devil in disguise. Some drivers were able to see it, but most were gullible enough to even befriend him. Your hatred didn’t come from a place of jealousy. It came from a place of being cast aside because of him. Time and time again. It was tiring, and you couldn’t do anything about it. The Mercedes car wasn’t nearly as fast as Red Bull. You desperately wanted it to be.

“Whatever. What I’m saying is, maybe he’s not all that bad off-track.” Oh, but he was. His flirtatious behaviour off-track was nearly as bad as his insufferable one on track. You couldn’t stand it.

“He is. I don’t know what to tell you.”

Your friend drove you to the jet and the two of you exchanged a few hugs and whatnot. She wished you good luck before you got on.

Inside, you saw many familiar faces. Michael being one of them. He pointed to the seat across from his own and signalled for you to sit. When you did, he leaned forward and you could already tell he was going to talk about your least favourite driver again. For whatever reason, he was set on trying to change your mind. “Seb is not a bad person”, “He’s just young and hot-headed”, and “He doesn’t know any better”… all of those excuses meant nothing to you. Sebastian was just that; a dirty driver.

“So, let’s find a way to beat him this year, yes?” You were taken aback. He never said something like that. Sure, he’d console you and help you through your sorrows of finishing behind Vettel, but he was always neutral. Never on either “side”. Though he did tend to seem like he was on Sebastian’s.

“We’re in a Mercedes. I don’t see any way for us. It’s just straight down on the charts. I mean, will I even be able to land a podium this year? I heard McLaren have been pulling their weight for this year. Like… a lot.” Michael contemplated what to say for a moment, but tried to console you nonetheless. He was a father, so he’d gotten quite good at that.

“We can still put up a good fight, right?”

“I suppose.” You could only hope for a miracle. Christian Horner was unrelenting with his new golden boy, Sebastian. The Red Bulls were unstoppable. You had no other choice but to follow Michael’s spirit. Just put up a good fight.

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

It was practice day. You were getting ready, suiting up, and seating yourself in the car. Your heart was beating fast. It had been a while since you last sat in a real car. You’d done your fair share of sim racing whilst on break, but it was nothing compared to the real deal.

“Good luck,” your engineer clapped your helmet before you were released. The car felt surprisingly great. It was smooth and you felt like it synced well with your driving style.

Then came Sebastian. Again. He sped past you. Although you couldn’t see him, you just knew he was smirking behind that helmet of his. He relished in your mental torment. It was his source of amusement.

You finished P3. Lewis finished P2 and Sebastian, yet again, finished P1. It was only the first round of practice though. You promised yourself that you’d do everything in your power to finish P1 in the qualifying session.

You didn’t keep your promise. You fell short and landed a finishing spot at P2. Devastating, but your team was happy you got a front-row start anyway. Whenever the interviews finished, you tried to find Michael. Only to see him chatting with him. They were having a laugh— joking around. The sight made you furious. Again, not in jealousy, but the sheer thought that Michael fell for Sebastian’s shtick.

“Hey, Michael. Could we talk? There’s something about the car.” The interjection was abrupt and one might even call it rude, but did you care? Absolutely not. You had no reason to whatsoever. It was Vettel after all.

“Actually, I was just saying goodbye to Sebastian. Corinna is waiting for me outside. How about you tell me tomorrow? Maybe talk to the engineers too. Anyways, see you guys!” Just great. You sighed as you watched your teammate leave.

“That’s some rejection,” said the German standing next to you. Ugh. Wrong German.

“What do you want?”

“Let’s grab coffee sometime soon.” What? You were used to his flirty remarks being directed at the interviewers and whatnot… but this?

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Unbelievable. He was unbelievable. You scoffed and put your hand in front of his face before walking off. Giving him the satisfaction of an answer wasn’t exactly your style, and it wouldn’t ever be.

“You didn’t say no!” He yelled from behind you. Ignoring him, you made a turn so that you’d disappear from his sight. His presence was exhausting and downright draining.

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

“Box box,” said your engineer. You were on hards and chasing Sebastian who was on hards as well. It made no sense to pit after a mere 23 laps.

“Are you sure? I’ve got a good chance here. I don’t think it’s time. We didn’t discuss this.” The original plan was to pit when Sebastian would, and it seemed like he was going to do a one-stop.

“We’re sure. You need to get on mediums. We just switched Michael too. Get in.” You sighed and got ready to slow down in the pit lane. It was painful to see Sebastian take the win like that. P1 felt like a distant dream for you at that point.

“This better work. I swear, this better fucking work.” You were beyond frustrated about your current position in P8. The pit stop had taken longer than expected, making you lag a few places behind. Oh, how you couldn’t stand the idea of Sebastian rubbing his victory in your face. His first victory of the season.

You upped your game, completing smooth overtake after smooth overtake. All the way up until you regained your position right behind the Red Bull. There was a slight problem though. The car was starting to feel unusually hot. Sweat trickled down your face and the visor looked as if it was raining. You weren’t going to report rain though, as you knew your team would if there was any.

“Fuck, guys, it’s too hot!” You yelled over the radio. As expected, all your engineer replied with was a simple “copy”. It was swift communication, you knew that, but it sure as hell was frustrating. It felt like you weren’t getting any attention at all.

Your team performed pit stops rather quickly, which was a plus whereas everything else was a minus. It didn’t cancel out, but at least it helped combat some of the other problems your car had.

As most had predicted though, you were unable to overtake Sebastian or his new nickname “the finger”, and were stuck in P2. You couldn’t even enjoy the podium celebration. Sure, you sprayed some champagne and chugged a bit, but did you enjoy it? Not particularly. Michael had told you to not worry and just give it your all, but it was hard to forget when Vettel was in the way. His smug grin as he held his trophy and stuck his pointer in the air… you wanted to crush his ego. So bad. You were going to relish in the moment when Sebastian would lose out on a championship. It was going to be an unforgettable moment to be sure.

“You can’t be satisfied, can you?” Sebastian came up to you after the celebration. He was the last person you wanted to see at that moment, but his gloating was inevitable. Might as well get it over with.

“Not by you, I can’t.”

“You must know how that sounds.” Yeah, you were going to lose your mind. He successfully pulled off a tasteless and baseless trap. You walked straight into it like an insect stuck in a spiderweb.

“Whatever.” You took off your race suit, leaving on the fireproof suit to cover your body for the time being. It was already hot enough as is.

“Cute.” You’d gotten used to his little flirty remarks and comments. It was basically white noise.

“You’re not.”

“I was referring to you, you know.” He was quite literally impossible.

“Must you really make me suffer with your presence any longer? Isn’t winning and doing your little finger thing enough?!” When you started raising your voice, it grabbed people’s attention, so the young Red Bull driver pulled you with him to his motorhome.

“Did I not just enlighten you about my discomfort in your presence or did I daydream that?” You scoffed at him and pulled your arm from his grip.

“Look, I’m done trying to ignore your contempt for me. Do you seriously think that I will apologize for winning? This isn’t grade school. I was driving, I was faster, I won. Simple as that. If you can’t accept it and take the loss, then you really shouldn’t be racing.” Your heart sank to the bottom of your chest. Each sentence was like a dagger to the chest. You felt every little soul-crushing word in your gut.

“Wow… you really are more of an asshole than I thought. I don’t care that you won. I care that you gloat. I care that you don’t care about me. You don’t care about any of the others. We could die for all you care. Do you want me to die? Is that it?” All rationality had left your mind the moment he insulted you. Red was all you could see.

“You’re twisting my words. I merely said that I won’t apologize for winning. I never said I wanted anyone injured.” He was right, and you knew that. Deep down, you knew that he was just like you. Passionate about the sport. The only difference was that he was in a winning car… and you unfortunately weren’t. Was it his fault? You were too blindsided by rage to even consider any other possibilities.

“By the way you drive, I beg to differ.”

“You’d be lying to me and yourself if you were to tell me you’ve never gotten caught up in the moment. You know exactly how that feels.” He somehow had a counter for everything you threw at him.

“What about your constant flirting? Why do you keep rubbing your victory in my face like that?” The look on his face contorted into that of a confused one.

“What do you mean?” He asked, obviously at a complete loss.

“You asked me out for coffee.” You said whilst confidently crossing your arms over your chest.

“You seriously think that’s a front for something?” He almost found it amusing. The way you overanalyzed his motives.

“You don’t think a guy can be the least bit interested in you?” Before you had the chance to respond, Mark walked in with Christian behind him. That was your cue to leave, so you did without hesitation.

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

It had been a good while since you last had a real talk with Sebastian. A few years to be exact. The jabs and games were still happening. Neither of you had dared address any of it, but one thing remained stuck in your head like a broken record; “You don’t think a guy can be the least bit interested in you?” Every day and night, that thought passed through the thousands of others. It stood out. It was like the moon in a starry sky.

During those years, Michael had retired. It broke your heart, but seeing as Lewis replaced him; it wasn’t all that bad. Mercedes had gotten increasingly better as well— which meant that you had a better chance at beating Sebastian for every year that passed.

Lewis, being one of your closest friends on the grid, agreed to help you win your first championship. The Red Bulls had their run. It was time for Mercedes to shine. You needed to win.

“Lewis, I don’t think I can do it this race. There are too many low-speed corners. Red Bull will take this one home… Sebastian will take this one home.” You sat in your garage and moped as Lewis leaned against a pillar opposite you.

“It’s fine. They’re basically useless in high-speed corners this year. Besides, you already have 3 wins over him. Just one race won’t hurt. Well… it’ll sting, but see if you can land a podium, yeah?” Did you even want to try? You knew that Sebastian would mock you either way. It was almost as if your world didn’t revolve around the championship anymore. It was all about him. All about Sebastian.

“Yeah nah. I don’t think I can.” You stared at your feet. The race shoes were starting to feel clammy around them.

“Do you really believe that’s the mindset of a winner? No. Just think about doing whatever you can do. You don’t have to care about anyone else when you’re out there. Let yourself loose.” Lewis was right. You did care too much. You seldom crashed into anyone, all because you cared for their safety.

You ended up winning. You didn’t know how it happened or what you did to make it happen. Lewis’ words just kept swirling inside your brain; “Let yourself loose.”

You stood patiently and waited for the interviewer to finish up with P3 and P2, watching as Sebastian looked ever so disappointed. It was humorous. You felt amazing. The other wins you lorded over him didn’t feel that liberating. They felt good, but not great.

“—And here’s the deadly Mercedes! You were on fire today! We did not expect this aggressive approach from you. It was breathtaking. What did you do differently?” That was the question. What did you do differently? You stopped caring. You remembered you weren’t in the sport to make friends. You were there to win.

“I mean, I did what I had to do, really. I focused on winning and I listened to great advice. I simply just won.” The interviewer looked at you with a question mark etched onto her forehead but didn’t press further on that question.

“I know your first loss to Sebastian proved quite upsetting, would you say the tables have turned?” She smiled at you. It was clear from the beginning that she was on your side. After all, being the only female racer on the grid— you had a magnetic effect on fans of the sport.

“I can’t say for sure yet, but I can definitely hope!” Your voice was cheery and sweet, but that was just a front. You couldn’t wait for his downfall. Standing on that stage at the ceremony, watching all life drain from Sebastian’s eyes. That was your goal.

People had every right to tell you off, but at what cost if you didn’t care? Lewis had just helped you unlock the very thing that could potentially destroy the smug Red Bull driver.

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

The season was going smoothly. Fans roared in your favour and even threw gifts at you whenever you went on the scene. Yours and Sebastian’s roles had switched. You were the new fan favourite. Everyone could attest to that fact.

There was a slight thing bugging you, however. The many Instagram and Facebook fan pages that were dedicated to shipping you with Sebastian. They made edits, they came up with extreme theories… It was mortifying.

People in the Mercedes garage weren’t quiet either. If anything, they were even worse. Constantly bugging you about your “obvious” chemistry with Sebastian and whatnot. Which, in your opinion, didn’t exist.

You only harboured hate for the man. He was foul. Through and through… right?

Lies. Although you didn’t dare tell anyone, you didn’t quite hate him anymore. After letting go and caring less, you felt like you could finally see things from his perspective. It made you realize that he just wanted to win. Well, on top of mocking you. That was what had your mind in knots. He claimed he only teased you because of your reactions, but he refused to acknowledge your obvious distaste for it.

He had, however, begun to limit his snarky comments and cruel smirks. He actually started distancing himself. He rarely spoke to you and only ever interacted with you when the two of you landed a podium together.

You felt like something was missing.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Lewis asked. The two of you were sitting in your respective chairs in the cooldown room. He had somehow scored a P2 finish, with you upfront and Vettel in P3.

“Oh, nothing. Sorry. Zoned out, I guess?” You stretched your arms and wiped a bead of sweat off your forehead. Sebastian watched you throw the towel onto Lewis’ lap. Your teammate threw it back and the two of you shared a silly moment.

Something brewed inside the young Red Bull racer. He had been slacking off. He knew that all too well. His teammate, Daniel Ricciardo, was going to outscore him. There was nothing he could do about it. Not when Mercedes had gotten the upper hand. Not when you were in the way. The only pain he felt was from watching you with Lewis. He despised seeing you all happy-go-lucky. That was it. No, it wasn’t. He hated seeing you joke around with the other drivers. The sight of you laughing at a mechanic’s joke? His blood boiled.

The courage he once had was slipping. Much like his performance. He couldn’t focus on winning when losing was his only way to reach his ultimate goal.

“We should probably get going. Time to listen to your national anthem… yet again,” Lewis jokingly sighed and ruffled your hair, whilst you rolled your eyes with a chuckle.

You saw a cheerful sea of Mercedes employees. A 1-2 finish. Any team would be ecstatic if their drivers pulled that off.

Sebastian stood next to you. He couldn’t bring himself to muster even the smallest smile. Putting it mildly, his plan was starting to look like it had gone to shit. Not only was he losing the races, he was losing…

“Lew, look at this,” you grinned. Lewis obliged and was met with a burst of champagne. He let out a small yelp before picking up his bottle and spraying you.

Although he probably had a reason, you were beginning to hate how Sebastian never even spoke to you. The only solution; spray him. You poured a cold shot down his neck, to which he jerked his shoulders forward in an uncomfortable motion. It made him smile. Your heart swelled with some form of comfort in knowing you could make him feel some sort of joy.

Was that Lewis’ design all along? Making you see things from Vettel’s perspective? Perhaps. Whatever it was, you knew that your hatred for him had faded. This was replaced with stealing small glances and a spike in your heart rate when he was near.

You often felt your heart pump thickly in your throat. Your insides were littered with butterflies. You felt all jittery around him. Well, until he stopped with his flirting. He completely stopped interacting with you. It had your stomach in a twist. Were you too late? Did you not do enough?

“You don’t think a guy can be the least bit interested in you?”

You knew exactly who you had to see.

It was perfect, given that the next race wasn’t that coming weekend. You decided to give Michael a call, asking if you could see him at his house in Switzerland. Him being something of a father figure— said yes.

It was time to dig into the past. Not through the eyes of who you once were, but who you became. You were able to see things from every angle. Sebastian had clearly flirted out of sheer fun and mischief, but something underlined that cause. You. It was foolish of you to be so blinded with rage and hatred, that you couldn’t see him for what he was. A man who was struggling to keep your undivided attention. You weren’t yet convinced, but surely Michael would be able to set you straight.

You first greeted Corinna and the kids, who were not so much kids anymore. Michael came down to give you a hug and invite you to his cosy home office. He brewed some tea and placed it on the table.

“It’s so nice to see you again. I haven’t quite gotten used to retirement, but I did it once before, so I can definitely do it again!” He chuckled.

“I’m glad you’re still holding up well. I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to know that Mercedes is leading at the moment.” You smiled at him and took a sip of the tea he’d made for you.

“I have been following up. I watch almost every race, actually. Whenever my kids have time, we throw on the sports channel and watch you and Sebastian. That’s to say they always have time for that. In fact, my son, Mick— his dream is to race for Mercedes.” Mick was growing steadily and did karting regularly. You didn’t see why he wouldn’t be able to earn a seat at Mercedes eventually.

“About that… I came here for advice… regarding Sebastian.” As embarrassing as it was to beat around the bush, saying things like that outright was not exactly your forté.

“What, did he finally confess?” You were dumbstruck by his sudden question.

“Excuse me? What?”

“Well, you see, he was always coming to me and asking me how to get you to talk to him. I always said that he could figure things out for himself. By your reaction, however, I’m guessing that didn’t exactly work?” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index fingers.

“He was crazy about you, I remember. The more riled up you got, the more he’d come to me for advice. It became routine for us to sit and talk, actually.” You had your suspicions, but never did you know that he was actually into you. Those fan pages and edits could’ve only fueled it. Your heart was beating faster and faster. It felt like it was nearly about to burst. Definitely, because you didn’t like him like that. You were just starting to sympathize. Nothing romantic. At all. No. Nothing.

“You know what I think?” Michael added when he saw your tomato-red face.

“I think he’s losing those races on purpose. Just to satisfy your needs. For a long time, he wanted to earn as many world championships as myself, but recently… something else seems to be stuck in his mind. I think his priorities lie elsewhere now.” You ran your fingers through your hair in frustration. Your heart couldn’t stop going faster than your car on race day.

“I also think you may feel something for him too.”

“Thank you, Michael. Truly… but I have to go.” You booked the earliest flight out. Needing some time alone with your thoughts.

Michael was almost always right. In this situation? There was no way he wasn’t.

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

You were back on the top again. The podium was the exact same as the last race. The celebration was grand. It was all pretty much the same. Your focus was more on getting time alone with Sebastian.

After everything had died down, you decided to visit the Red Bull motorhome and knocked on Vettel’s door.

“What are you doing here?” He asked with a surprised look on his face, upon opening the door.

“We need to talk. Invite me in?” He let you walk past him.

“What is it? Are you here to blackmail me?”

“What? No. Why would I ever do that?” Your face grimaced at his idea.

“I don’t know, I’m just not feeling that great right now.” He was all mopey and looked as if someone had sucked all the life force out of him.

“I actually came to talk to you about… um… well, us.” You were fiddling with your fingers in your lap, too scared to look him in the eyes.

“Us?”

“I spoke to Michael.” You weren’t sure how to lead the conversation from start to finish.

“You did?”

“He told me about everything.” Your eyes met his in a flash of awkwardness.

“Look, that was a long time ago and—”

“I don’t hate you anymore,” you cut off. His eyes lit up at your words.

“What do you mean by that?” Was he really that desperate to hear you say it, or were you too scared to say it?

“I don’t know… I guess it means you can start flirting with me again or whatever…” you mumbled sheepishly. It felt so embarrassing to tell him face to face. Your heart was thumping louder than the pit stops Mercedes did. Your face was redder than the Ferraris.

“Could we see where this takes us? I mean, if you’d like.” He seemed to be just as embarrassed about it as you. It was kind of cute, actually.

“Yes… I’d like that.” Although the conversation was surprisingly short, it left a huge impact on Sebastian. He was more or less depressed on the podium but the interviews that followed? He was a firecracker. He acted as if he’d won the lottery, smiling like an idiot and stealing glances from you here and there. It was an odd but welcome, warm feeling that spread throughout your body.

Who would’ve thought? Both Lewis and Michael were able to set you straight. You used to care too much. You used to think about yourself only, when it came to Sebastian. It was impossible to put yourself in his shoes until Lewis taught you otherwise. Your feelings? You would’ve let yourself crush them over time, had it not been for your talk with your mentor.

Much time passed, and you had won races upon races. You were still getting much-needed advice on everything from races to simple daily routines, by Michael. Sometimes you went to Lewis. He was easier to reach and you were always able to have quick conversations with him before the races. Everything had accumulated to the current momentum. The glory that you were about to relish in. The people you were about to make proud.

You sat in your seat with Sebastian on your side. He had only recently asked you to be his. It took some dates and deep, meaningful talks before you got there, but the wait was worth it. Life had never felt better. You were completely enamoured with Sebastian. The feeling was more than mutual. He was helplessly and irrevocably in love with you.

He was called to the stage as 3rd overall. The crowd cheered, but you cheered the loudest. If you had told your past self that you would be cheering him on at the ceremony, you would’ve never believed yourself.

Lewis was called next and you were called last. Sebastian couldn’t stop smiling at you. People were cheering and you were in a state of euphoria.

Your trophy was the biggest, brightest, and most grand in the room. However, it could never compare to the adoration on your boyfriend’s face, as he saw you hoisting it up into the air.

After all the interviews and the longest ride back to your hotel, you crashed onto your shared bed with your lover. The two of you stared at the blank ceiling, feeling a state of absolute tranquillity. The two of you had come so far.

“I’m so proud of you.” Sebastian turned his head to face you.

“Thank you, Seb.” You followed suit.

“Do you think we wasted too much time?” You asked. In all honesty, a tinge of guilt hit you every now and then. If only you had come to terms with yourself and your feelings earlier…

“All that time was worth hearing you tell me that you love me. I don’t think we wasted even a single moment. Everything that has happened so far… you know, it all built up to this.” You smiled at him and pulled him into a loving kiss.

Sebastian Vettel, I love you.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.)

NAUGHTY LIST— DBF!Jenson button x reader

Day one

Tagged— @moss-on-tmblr @natailiatulls07 @lucyrose191 @omgsuperstarg @otako5811 @sarahedwards16 @badassturtle13 @reidsworld @astraeaworld @yours-sophia-1988 @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @charlesf1leclerc @harmonity-vibes @alwayzbeenale @softtdaisy

Your parents were going out on vacation without you which you were fine with because it gave you an excuse to stay with your older boyfriend who just coincidentally happened to be your father's best friend.

“OK, so what’s your idea?” I asked Jenson, leaning forward over the kitchen counter.

“Well, you see I was thinking that we should spend Christmas together this year,

Just you and I”

“I like that idea,” I say biting my bottom lip suggestively

He smiles seductively back

“Maybe I could give you a gift that you could remember me by”

“Uh huh, what kind of gift?” You asked teasingly

He begins to inch closer to you “Maybe a gift that I won’t have to leave your side, to remember our time together” Jenson says walking around the counter to stand behind you. You stood there as Jenson grabbed you by the waist pushing himself against you pressing his crotch against your ass.

“I think that sounds lovely,” you said, turning your head to look at Jenson from over your shoulder.

He smirks seductively back

He continues to inch closer and closer

He wraps his hand around you

Brushes the hair off of your face

And in a swift motion, he turns you towards him

And then slowly moves his face forward

And he kisses you on the lips.

He leans into the kiss

His body against yours

His face still pressed against you

One arm still wrapped around your waist

And he whispers into your ear

“Merry Christmas darling”

“Merry Christmas Jenson”

“I have the perfect gift for our special Christmas together darling” Jenson smiles seductively again

He then begins to unbutton his shirt

And removes it from his body to reveal his torso underneath

“Do you like what you see darling”

He grins seductively.

“Yes I do actually”

His smile fades as he pulls away

He looks into your eyes

And he caresses your face

He slowly traces his finger along your cheek,

Across your lips,

Down you to the chin, and your neck

His fingers travel down to your chest,

He traces your collarbone,

He takes his fingers under your shirt and runs his fingers along your skin,

Then his hand travels back up again,

You feel a gentle touch along your leg, He leans into you again and his mouth meets yours

He slowly wraps his other arm around you

He pulls you against him

He pulls you in close

One hand still runs along your cheek

And the other holds you under the chin

He softly moves his hand around to your back

And he caresses your back up to your shoulders

You close your eyes and take in his warmth

And you can feel his heart pounding

He leans his head forward

And he slowly moves his lips along your neck

He runs his lips over your neck down to your collarbone again and he begins to kiss it lightly

His hand still caresses your back

And he leans into you

He looks into your eyes

And you notice the passion in his eyes

He moves his hands down to your hips

And he gently pulls you closer

He moves his hands down your hips

And down your thighs

He moves one hand to the inside of your thigh

And he softly kisses your neck again

“Maybe we should go to the bedroom,” you said, tugging on the strands of hair at the base of Jenson's neck, arching into him.

He smiles seductively

“I think that’s a fantastic idea darling” he whispers

He pulls away from you and then gently takes your hand

And he walks you to the bedroom

He gently closes the door behind you

And he turns you so you’re facing him

He wraps his hands around your waist

And he pulls you close once again

He gently pushes you against the bed frame

And he leans into your ear

“I want you to know just how much I need you”

He whispers in your ear

“Just how much I want you”

“Just how much I desire you”

“Just how much you make me feel so wanted”

He looks into your eyes

His eyes filled with passion and lust

He slowly leans into you

And his mouth meets yours

His tongue gently explores your lips

He wraps his arms around your body, one hand holding the back of your head, and the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

He kisses you passionately, his hands stroking your hair as he explores your mouth with his tongue

He pushes you to the bed

And he climbs on top of you

His hands still caressing your hair

His one hand still wrapped around your waist

He learns more of his weight on you by taking off your shirt And he whispers in your ear

“Just how much I crave you, just how much I want this” He begins to kiss your neck again

Slowly kissing his way down to your collarbone

He pulls down your shirt and begins to kiss and nibble at your chest. Jenson grabs one of your hands and binds them to the bedpost with a string of colorful Christmas lights repeating the same thing with your other hand.

“What the hell? Christmas lights, that's a new one” you said.

“Just trying to get into the holiday spirit” Jenson says, kissing down your chest.

“Trust me I’m definitely feeling the holiday spirit”

“Well then I hope you’ve been a good girl all year because after I’m done with you we’ll both be on the naughty list” Jenson says pulling down your pants and underwear looking back up at you.

“Bring it on old man” you say smiling.

Jensen's eyes darkened with lust “oh trust me princess I will” he says pulling your thighs apart.

You knew one thing and this had to be the Best Christmas ever….

❃ FLUFFCEMBER 2024 ❃

day 04: christmas sweater — sebastian vettel x reader

song rec: no one noticed - the marias

“hold me, console me.”

note: sorry if i skipped 3 days i had an exam. this one has a little bit of smut by the end

fluffcember masterlist | main masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Sebastian rubbed his gloved hands together., shivering inside his jacket, as the two of you closed the door of his house.

“Damn, it was cold! But we had fun, right?” You smiled at him. Sebastian was your best friend. He got out of a toxic relationship just before Christmas and you really wanted to make him feel better.

“Right.” He returned the smile, but you could sense still a bit of sorrow behind his joyful tone. He took off his outside clothes and hanged them on the coat hook. He was wearing a white sweater, embroidered with little deers, trees and bells. It was the cutest sweater you’ve ever seen. “I’ll make some tea. Do you want some?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

You two sat on the bed, put some tv on and drank your tea. As you were silently watching a movie, you couldn’t help but cast looks on his afflicted expression. You really couldn’t see him like that, it was breaking your heart. “Seb, tell me what’s going on.”

He shifted his ocean blue eyes on you. “What do you mean?”

“You know you don’t need to fake with me.”

He sighed, lowering his gaze. You put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry for your break-up. It must be hard.”

He shook his head. “It’s not only that. She really was the worst and I don’t regret leaving her. I just…” He fidgeted with his empty cup of tea, a bit embarrassed for what he was about to say. “I just feel lonely sometimes. My friends are all back in Germany and my family too. You know I don’t see them that often.”

You nodded, and put a hand above his to stop his fidgeting. It was cold, as you’ve been playing outside in the snow. You stroked it slowly. “I understand. You don’t have to feel ashamed of that. You know I’ll always be here for you.”

Seb finally showed his genuine gummy smile that always made you melt. “Thank you, Y/N, it means a lot. The same goes for me.” He put his cup on the bedside table. “I wanted to ask you something, if you don’t mind.”

You did the same with your cup. “At all.”

He hid his hands in the sleeves of the sweater. “Would you mind if I asked you to cuddle with me?”

The look in your eyes after the question must have been very shocked, because he started panicking, getting up suddenly. “You can say no, don’t feel forced, of course. I meant as friends, of course.”

“No, wait–“ You really didn’t know what to answer. Of course you wanted to cuddle with him, but what if he thought you were into him? Because you weren’t. You weren’t, right? Besides, friends cuddle all the time. You two used to do that when you were kids, why would it be any different now? “Yeah, sure, no problem.”

Seb’s worried expression relaxed again. He lay back on the bed, his head on the pillow, as you scooped closer. You let him wrap his arms around you. His hold was strong and gentle at the same time. You nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping the soft wool of his sweater. He smelled like wood and fresh snow.

Sebastian hummed. “You’re so warm. It was freezing outside.”

“I think I can help with that.” You slid your hands under his sweater, feeling his long back twitch slightly under your touch.

A little moan of satisfaction escaped him, a sound that would be engraved in your mind forever. “Thank you, Y/N. I wish I could stay like this forever.” He placed a kiss on your bare neck. It was tender, but you felt the wetness of it, as if he had licked his lips before. You had to hold back not to quiver.

“Me too.”

You stayed in that position for what felt like hours, exchanging caresses and little kisses. Well, obviously it wouldn’t be the last time.

SOMETHING WAGERED !!! JENSON B. X DRIVER!FEM!READER X SEBASTIAN V. (18+)

summary: she really shouldn't have undermined their abilities to win a bet she off-handedly made.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, dom!rbr!seb and dom!mclaren!jenson, threesome, oral sex (m receiving), p in v, spitroast 🥸/trip to paris or sumn, size kink-esque (someone choking reader to feel themselves in reader's- you'll see), praise kink + dumbification, bratty turned cockdrunk!reader

note: what if you have two papers to write but then god said "write a smut?" enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

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if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

she shouldn’t have undermined these bastards. 

that bet that she made with them was an off-handed comment, anyways. so why did they take it too seriously?

she had a podium streak in comparison to jenson button and sebastian vettel, always finding herself a rank or so above the two. because of her constant p2, her ego got the best of her — telling them that she would let them celebrate with her the next time they landed a place above her. 

she seemed to be hesitant at the thought of it at first— but she was more bewildered when her race engineer announced that jenson got p1 and red bull’s sebastian followed after him. she was in p3.

she had known that she had sebastian on her tail before the last lap, but she wondered where she went wrong as they sat in the cooldown room. the two men smirked and gave each other a knowing look, watching the woman as she sat there silently— unable to look at them. 

and now, a quick teasing and grinding of hips against the others later, she found herself whining on all fours between the two drivers. jenson’s cock pounding inside her cunt while her cheeks hollowed around sebastian’s length.

her eyes were teary as she took a deep breath, feeling sebastian’s hand wrapped around her neck as he groaned and swore in german.

“scheiße, schatz,” sebastian muttered beneath his breath, feeling her tongue lapping on the underside of his cock. “you suck my cock so well— and i thought driving's the only thing you’re good at.” 

sebastian squeezed her throat lightly, groaning deeply when he felt the bulge in her throat as she took his length in. “such a good girl, schatz— i can feel my throat in your cock, baby.” 

jenson chuckled breathlessly, driving his hips against her backside as he spoke, “wait ‘til you feel her cunt, mate. she’s so fuckin’ good— you’re such a good fuckin’ girl, no, baby?” 

her eyes found sebastian’s as she tried nodding. only to end up choking for a brief moment as she continued to moan around the german’s cock. 

her walls were too oversensitive from getting tossed back and forth between the two after each one of them fucked her with their thick fingers. yet jenson was kneeling behind her as if she had more in her system.

because truthfully, she did have more in her system— she just couldn’t explain it anymore. she was too drunk on their cocks that she couldn’t say anything.

sebastian took his hand away from her throat and tapped her face, “he’s asking you a question, liebe.”

she almost cried when sebastian pulled his cock out of her mouth, unable to utter a word besides from, “seb— please- wan’ your cock—“

“but jenson is asking you a question— do you even know what he’s asked, liebe?” sebastian crooned mockingly, making her shake her head in embarrassment and immense pleasure as he laughed, “oh my goodness, are you getting stupid for our cocks?”

“my goodness, gorgeous,” jenson laughed from behind, his thrusts making her moan aloud as he continued to mock her, “us winning must’ve made you dumb, huh? can’t you believe that we get to fuck you like this because you were so bratty before this week?” 

“jens— seb— ah,” she babbled, her arms shaking before she held onto sebastian’s hips. she looked up at him once more, eyes glazed with tears as she pleaded, “please… wan’ your cock so bad, seb.” 

“i know you do, liebe,” sebastian dipped his head down to peck her lips. “you knew we’d win after that bet of yours that’s why you made it, hm?” 

“such an eager girl,” jenson tsked, “you could’ve just begged us to fuck you like a good girl. you didn’t have to come bragging to us about your winning streak.” 

the next thing she knew was that her mouth was back to sucking sebastian’s cock, making lewd noises as she devoured his length. 

jenson’s cock was sending her to an overdrive, making her moan around sebastian as she whimpered. to make her body shake harder, jenson’s hand snaked around her hips and found its way towards her clit. 

“mmh- ah hah,” she tried to let out, but sebastian’s length kept her voice muffled and vibrating as sebastian moaned. 

“oh gooood~” sebastian groaned, “fucking hell, jenson keep fucking her like that.”

jenson hissed sharply, “god, she’s so fuckin’ tight around me, seb. she’s about to cum. good girl, baby— you are such a good fuckin’ girl for us.” 

she nearly screamed, too turned on by jenson and sebastian’s filthy yet praising words as she felt her legs shaking and cunt throbbing. 

“mh- ngh~ f…” jenson’s fingers continued to toy with her clit as she murmured around seb, “f- uck—!” 

her eyes began to roll back, her vision blurring and turning white as she came around jenson. jenson and sebastian groaned loudly as they both came, with sebastian’s cock twitching inside her mouth and jenson’s coating her walls white. 

her body limped for a brief moment, her ears listening to the men’s heavy breathing as they shuffled around the room. she hadn’t even bothered looking up until she saw jenson and sebastian standing in front of her. 

“mmm…” she hummed. 

“you look so pretty when you’re fucked out like this, doll,” jenson grinned at her, making her smile lazily. 

“maybe we should win more often,” sebastian snickered quietly. 

“and here i thought the prize money matters more,” she murmured quietly, making the two laugh at her quips. 

“not if we get to see you like this every win, darling,” jenson replied with a smirk, “now c’mon. drink up. you’ve promised to ride seb. up you get, sweets.” 

she never really should’ve undermined these bastards. especially when she saw how much energy they’ve had left after fucking her for hours.

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances. 

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done?  he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals. 

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you. 

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not. 

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone. 

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.”

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls. 

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down. 

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body. 

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

© httpsserene 2023

idk why im sending this to you specifically but i cant stop thinking about james being on top during sex and his glasses just falling off every two seconds. and like he refuses to take them off bc he "wants to see you" but also sir, im getting hit in the face by your glasses.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Metal hits the bridge of your nose for the fourth time since James hooked one leg on either side of your waist, and you reach up to snatch the spectacles off of your face.

"That's it. You're done."

"No!" James grabs for the glasses, gentle but insistent as he tries not to crush them, "No, darling please, I want to see you!"

"You want to see me, James?" You huff, an insistent ache between your thighs at the perpetual friction against your clothed crotch as James lazily grinds down onto you, "I'm sure there's a big bruise on my face now, you want to see it?"

"They haven't bruised your face," James has managed to snatch his glasses back and he balances them precariously on his nose once more, the nosepads already sliding down his sweat-beaded face, "You look lovely darling. You look pissed, but lovely."

"If those things fall onto my face one more time, I'll snap 'em-" The rest of your sentence is lost to a moan that you can't fight back as James rolls his hips hard against yours.

"Yes, yes, you'll snap them and then I won't be able to find my way to the front door," James gripes, latching his lips onto your jaw in a suctioned kiss, "Let's settle down darling, hm? Your threats are really killing the mood."