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DadBstf!seb just teaching you how to fuck after your dad asked him to stay at the house with you whilst he’s away

this fucks. so much. you get it. you get me.

Just as you arrived home for summer break, your parents were leaving for the 25th wedding anniversary trip. Although you were 20 and had stayed home alone a million times over, your parents, well your dad, still didn't trust you to stay at home alone. 

As an extra precaution, he asked his best friend, Sebastian, to stay with you for the few days they'd be gone. 

You and Sebastian always co-existed, you got along just fine and there was no bad blood but it's not like you spent a lot of time having conversations with him. Truthfully, for most of your life, Sebastian popped in for a weekend here and there or your parents took a trip to see him race. Even when you did watch the races, he wasn't really there -  he was mostly focussed on his race. 

But now it was just the two of you, in the house for the next six days. 

Sebastian have left earlier that day, knocking on your door and telling you that he's got some errands to run and he would be back later that afternoon. You shouted okay and rolled over and went back to sleep. 

It was nearly 6, when you heard the front door unlocked. Sebastian coming in with a few bags before returning to the living room to check on you. 

“What’re you watching?” He asked, walking around to sit next to you on the couch. “Oh uh, fifty shades.” You shrugged, “they finally put the second part on and I fell asleep in the theatre when we went to go see it.” 

“Are you old enough to be watching this?” Seb looked over at you, deadpan but you laughed. “Very funny,” you reached for the remote, “I can change it, we can watch something else.” 

“No no,” Seb shook his head, settling in on the couch. “Don’t change it on account of me, watch your movie.” 

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, focussed on the movie, playing on screen. And, of course, as expected, a sex scene on. You hear Sebastian snicker and you look over at him, confused. 

“What?” You asked, “you’re not that childish, are you?” You joked and he shook his head. 

“It looks so.. forced. I know it’s not real but they didn’t even try to make it seem real.” 

“I wouldn’t know the difference,” you shrugged, turning your attention back to the scene. Sebastian was curious, everyone knew that but they also knew curiosity was what killed the cat. 

He shifts to face you, “what does that mean?” 

“I had sex once at this party but I was drunk and from what I can remember, it wasn’t that great.” 

“Well that’s no good,” he says and you shrug once again, “that’s life.” 

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” He looks at you and you look back to him, brows furrowed. “What does that mean?” 

Sebastian scoots a little closer. “I can show you.. if you’d like.” 

“We shouldn't,” you turn to face him. 

He shrugs, “what’s the harm?” He pulls your leg and now you're face to face with him. “You need a real man to show you how to fuck.” His hand comes up to rest on your cheek and you find yourself leaning into him. You close the gap, kissing the man.

It was heavy, heated. His hands on your body, pulling you over and onto him. You were perched on his lap, Seb’s hands on your ass when he kisses you.

Not a word is spoken between the two of you, what little clothes you had on was gathered in a pile on the floor when he rolls you two over again. You were flat on your back, Seb settled between your legs.

“Are we-” you cut him off with a kiss. “Please,” your hand rested on his jaw, “Seb please.”

He nods, there wasn't much else to say. Not that anything makes sense at the moment, it was all physical. His hand slips between the two of you, his fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit. Your hips lift, wanting more from him.

Seb’s hand wandered a little lower, a finger pushed in slowly. He can feel how wet you are, wrapped around his finger and he smiles.

“All of this for me?” He asks, cocky as ever.

“God, just fuck me.” You mumble, not wanting to wait. You waited long enough.

Seb nods, barely pushing into you. Your hands grip on his biceps, his lips finding yours when he pushes in all the way, muffling the moans that left your lips. 

He pulls one of your legs up to hitch on his hip. “Fuck,” you breath, his thrusts faster and harder. How you wished you could scream his name right now. Seb’s hand drops between the two of you, rubbing your clit; matching the pace of his hips.

Your head falls back into the pillows when he hits the spot he was looking for. His fingers that were previous on your clit now shoved into your mouth to muffle the sounds tumbling from your lips.

Seb leans down, his lips next to your ear; “you know those boys couldn't satisfy you the way I do.” 

TAKE ME

parings: mick schumacher x vettel!reader

request: hiya could u do a mick x vettel! reader (seb’s niece or smth) where they attend an autosport award show together w seb and he just couldn’t keep his eyes of her bc of the low back/high slit of the gorgeous dress he tries not to be touchy bc seb is there but succumbs to a quickie in the bathroom while seb is claiming his award really im in desperate need of some mick content 😫

authors note: oh my god my first smut with mick 🫣 idk what to put here 🤷‍♀️

warnings: (+18) smut, minors dni!

✩. . . masterlist !

Y/N knew it was a bad idea to wear the dress her secret boyfriend had picked out for her. It was a stunning gown with a high slit and a low back, revealing almost her entire back. She thought it was perfect for the occasion, a Formula 1 gala dinner with her favorite uncle, Sebastian Vettel.

But she hadn't anticipated how her boyfriend would react to her in the dress. Mick Schumacher and Y/N Vettel had been secretly dating for six months, keeping their relationship hidden from almost everyone. Well, everyone except for Toto Wolff, who had caught them kissing at a race. Mick had decided to ditch his role as Toto's apprentice that day and sneak off with Y/N for a quick make-out session in the tire warehouse. The memory still made her blush with embarrassment.

It had been a few weeks since they had seen each other, and now, at the Autosport Award show, Y/N found herself watching Mick's every move from across the room. Was it her imagination, or had Mick gained a few more muscles since they last met?

"Vettel!" Toto greeted the older man standing beside him, and Y/N felt her cheeks flush with a rosy hue. She tried to focus on the conversation, but her attention kept drifting back to Mick.

Seb glanced at her and then followed her gaze to where Mick was standing. He raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile, causing Y/N to turn even redder. She had a feeling her uncle was onto something, and it made her want to sink into the floor.

As the evening went on, Mick's eyes seemed to be constantly drawn to her. He was talking to people, engaging in conversations, but his gaze kept finding its way back to her. She tried her best to act natural, chatting with the people around her, but her heart raced every time she caught Mick looking at her.

Eventually, Mick excused himself from his conversation and made his way over to her. His smile was both charming and mischievous as he approached her.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and intimate. "You look absolutely stunning tonight."

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up again as she replied, "Thank you. You clean up pretty well too."

He chuckled softly, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Couldn't take my eyes off you, honestly. That dress is... wow."

She bit her lip, trying to suppress her own grin. "You like it?"

Mick leaned in a little closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. "I more than like it. But you're making it really hard for me to behave."

She felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, her heart skipping a beat. Mick had always been a charmer, but tonight, he was particularly irresistible.

"Behave?" she teased, her voice barely a whisper.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto hers. "Yeah, you know... not get touchy when your uncle's around."

Y/N laughed softly, the sound tinged with nervous excitement. "Right, right. We wouldn't want to give Seb a heart attack."

Mick grinned and took her hand, his thumb caressing the back of her palm. "But seriously, after this event, how about we go somewhere a little more private?"

Her heart raced at the suggestion, and she nodded, unable to hide her own playful smile. "I'd like that."

Seb's voice cut through the conversation, and Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, but she instantly felt her cheeks heat up under his gaze.

"Hey, Mick, Y/N," Seb greeted, his grin playful as he looked between them. "Am I interrupting something here?"

Mick's grip on her hand tightened slightly, but he managed to keep his composure. "Nah, just having a chat."

Seb raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just a chat, huh? Well, don't let me stop you. Carry on."

Y/N felt her embarrassment intensify under Seb's teasing, and she bit her lip, unable to meet his gaze. "Hi, Uncle Seb."

"Hi, Y/N," he replied with a knowing smile. "Having a good time?"

She nodded, still feeling a little flustered. "Yeah, it's been great."

Seb chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "Well, don't let me keep you from enjoying the party. I'll catch up with you two later."

As he walked away, Y/N let out a nervous breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Mick squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Don't worry, he's just messing with us," he said with a wink.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, her nerves easing a bit. "I know, but it's still embarrassing."

Mick leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "I think you look even more adorable when you're embarrassed."

Her cheeks flushed again, and she playfully swatted his arm. "Stop it, Mick."

He grinned, his fingers intertwining with hers. "You know I can't resist."

Just as Y/N was about to respond, a waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses brushed past her, and before she knew it, she felt a cold splash against her dress. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh no," she murmured, her gaze dropping to the champagne stain on her dress.

Mick's eyes followed her gaze, and he quickly took in the situation. "Hey, it's alright. Accidents happen."

Y/N felt a mixture of frustration and embarrassment, and she glanced around, trying to figure out what to do. "I need to clean this up before it sets."

Mick nodded, his expression understanding. "I'll come with you."

She gave him a grateful smile as they made their way towards the restroom. Once inside, Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, feeling a little defeated.

"Great, just what I needed," she muttered, dabbing at the stain with a paper towel.

Mick stepped closer, his fingers gently brushing hers as he took the paper towel from her hand. "Let me help."

As he carefully worked to clean the stain, Y/N's heart raced. She couldn't help but be struck by how considerate and caring Mick was, even in such a simple moment.

"Thank you," she said softly, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

He smiled, his eyes warm. "Anytime."

As the stain faded, Y/N realized how close they were standing. The air seemed to buzz with a newfound tension, and she found herself holding her breath.

"Mick," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He met her gaze, his eyes searching for something. Without a word, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a gentle kiss. It was slow and sweet, a promise of things to come.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N's heart was racing, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Mick grinned, his fingers tangling with hers.

"I think champagne stains might be my new favorite thing," he teased.

N laughed softly, the tension that had been building between them now palpable in the air. "Well, it's certainly one way to make an event memorable."

Mick's gaze was intense as he looked at her, and she felt her breath catch. "Do you trust me?"

Her heart skipped a beat, and she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes."

Mick's lips found hers once again, but this time the kiss was anything but gentle. It was fiery and urgent, a hunger that had been building between them finally unleashed. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor, their bodies pressed close.

As their kisses deepened, Mick's hands roamed over her body, igniting sparks of desire with every touch. He backed her towards the bathroom counter, his lips never leaving hers. With a swift movement, he lifted her up onto the counter, his hands gripping her waist possessively.

Y/N's head was spinning, her senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her skin. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even closer. Mick's kisses trailed down her jawline, his breath hot against her skin, before he found the sensitive spot on her neck that made her gasp.

"Mick," she moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He responded by pressing his body against hers, the friction between them igniting a fire deep within her. Mick's lips found hers once more, a demanding kiss that left them both breathless.

Desire pulsed between them, the urgency of their need pushing them to the edge. He pulled away just long enough to catch his breath, his eyes dark with want as he looked at her.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice husky.

Y/N nodded, her own desire mirroring his. "More than sure."

Their kisses reignited with a renewed intensity, their bodies pressed together in a dance of passion. Mick's hands roamed over her, his touch setting her skin on fire.

As their desire escalated, Y/N's fingers worked to undo the buttons of his shirt, her touch eager and hungry. Mick's own urgency mirrored hers as he kissed her fiercely, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with an intoxicating mix of tenderness and hunger.

Their mouths met in a series of heated kisses, each one leaving them both craving more. Mick's lips trailed down her neck, his breath hot against her skin, igniting a trail of fire wherever he touched. Y/N's fingers found their way to his hair, pulling him closer as a soft moan escaped her lips.

"Mick," she whispered, her voice a mixture of need and desire.

He looked at her with eyes darkened by the intensity of their passion, his own longing reflected in his gaze. Without a word, he lifted her off the counter, his lips claiming hers once more as he carried her towards the bathroom door.

As they stumbled out of the bathroom, caught up in the heat of the moment, they didn't notice the figure standing by the entrance. Toto Wolff's surprised expression quickly turned into an amused grin as he cleared his throat, effectively interrupting their heated embrace.

Mick froze mid-step, his eyes widening as he realized they had an audience. Y/N's face turned a shade of red that matched her dress as she buried her face in Mick's chest, her embarrassment palpable.

Toto chuckled, his tone teasing. "Well, I guess I won't be needing that bathroom anytime soon."

Mick cleared his throat, his cheeks tinged with a blush as he awkwardly shifted his weight. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that, Toto."

Y/N peeked up at Toto from behind Mick, her voice muffled. "Hi, Toto."

Toto raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Having a good time, are we?"

Mick let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, you could say that."

Toto grinned, patting Mick on the shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you two to it. Don't let me interrupt."

As Toto walked away, Y/N let out a sigh of relief, her face still flushed. Mick chuckled, his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her closer.

"Well, that was... unexpected," Mick said, his lips brushing against her hair.

Y/N groaned, hiding her face in his chest. "I can't believe he caught us again."

Mick laughed, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "Hey, at least it's a memorable way to be caught."

She rolled her eyes playfully, her embarrassment fading as she looked at him. "You're impossible."

Mick grinned, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "And you're irresistible."

Their lips met in a sweet, tender kiss, the world around them fading as they focused on each other. In that moment, the outside world ceased to matter, and all that existed was the connection between them – a connection that had ignited in a bathroom and had grown into something much deeper and more meaningful.

And as they kissed, all thoughts of being caught or interrupted were replaced by the overwhelming feeling that they had found something truly special in each other's arms.

☏ LATE NIGHT TALKING, op81 voicemail blurb (18+)

☏ MOONY’S VOICEMAIL — a series in which formula one drivers send a voicemail to the reader. what about? prompts may vary. (maybe fluff or smut, idk)

voicemail summary: late at night, oscar sends a voicemail to his partner about missing them. it was a welcome voicemail, to say the least.

content warning: explicit language, smut (minors dni!), mentions of sexual acts, masturbation (m), dialogue heavy, blurb, dirty talking!oscar, my guy oscar is down bad

note: MY HANDS SLIPPED IM SORRY (i think about his voice a lot). did i just make this? yes. is it because i’m thinking about him? yes. this is probably going to be a one-off unless i feel like i should do more or if people like it lol

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

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

“hey baby. i- uh, it’s 11 pm here in qatar right now. i’m not sure if you saw the race but it was exhausting.” his breath shuddered. fabrics were torn off his body.

“it was a good sprint— i’m sure you saw that. you congratulated me.” he chuckled deeply. “but right now— it’s just extremely exhausting. qatar’s humid. the warmth is disgusting— i took shower more than i should’ve. but i did.”

“now i’m just here in bed and… yeah. i hope you’ve had a good day. i’m certain you did— it’s just uh… ah… i can’t go to sleep.”

“‘ve just been thinking about you,” oscar mumbled, “haven’t seen you for weeks— and not even our videos did any justice.”

“‘s like i need to talk to you in order to get off,” he chuckled, precum leaking out of his cock as he stroked his length with his right hand. “if this day wasn’t as languid you probably would’ve gotten up already— you’re always eager to see me fuck myself with my own hands. you know nobody can stroke me like you do.”

“i- ah,” he moaned quietly, “i’m just thinkin’ about your mouth and the way your tongue would lick at the tip— ‘m rubbing it like how you’d tease me. but i can’t help it.”

“i’d stroke it fast and hard now but all i seem to think about is you and how you’d tease me,” he grunted quietly. “wish it’s your mouth, baby. god~ i wish it’s you sucking my cock right now.”

“but i suppose i have to be patient huh,” he chuckled breathlessly. “good things come to those who wait~ or whatever the fuck they say.”

“but right now i’m just gonna think about you,” he uttered quietly. “i’m gonna think about how you whine and cry about your hole not getting fucked— then i’ll cum to the thought of you getting stuffed full by me.”

“for now, enjoy your day, hm? i’ll talk to you soon. i love you.”

— beep —

Holding hands - KR7

[ 645 words ]

[ master list ]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ Warnings; smut, slight size kink, hand kink, choking, fingering, praise kink, and poorly google translated Finnish (lol)

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ Pairing; soft domKimi x innocent subreader (female)

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ Summary; Kimi had noticed the reader sneaking glances of his hands while bored, so he decides to surprise her.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ Authors note; first post, also first time writing smut so I’m sorry if it sucks 😭.

You bounce you’re leg, letting out a sigh. Your bored, you’ve been since about an hour ago. You and Kimi were watching some show he had picked out in the living room, which you had no interest in. Glancing at Kimi, your gaze immediately falling to his hands.

They were already so attractive, so big and vainy. You loved how big he was compared to your short frame, especially his hands, he could throw you around if he wanted, which truthfully you wish for nothing more in that moment. You snap back to reality when you realize he had just caught you staring, you turn your face away quickly, a heavy blush covering your cheeks. You can hear him let out a soft laugh.

“Rakkuas, what is bothering you” love he ask’s in a low voice. Resting his hand on your thigh gently, waiting for your response. You let out a small sigh as he placed his hand on your thigh.

“Nothing” gently squeezing your thighs together, trying to play it off. Keeping your gaze locked on the tv straight ahead. He leans closer to your ear, you feel his soft breath against your neck.

“Vauva don’t lie, I can see you squeezing your thighs together” baby he softly yet slowly drags his hand up your thigh. You watch his hand trail higher, towards the heat between your legs. You suck in a quiet breath. He smirks playfully, kissing from your jaw down your neck softly. His hand finally reaching your core, he rubs gentle, slow circles on your clothed clit.

“Kimi” you mumble closing your eyes quickly, wrapping your hand around his wrist.

“Want me to stop” he whispers against your neck, applying more pressure, rubbing your clit a bit harsher. You nod your head no vigorously, eyes shut tightly in pleasure, moans spilling from your lips.

“Words, Vauva” baby he mumbles into your neck, he picks up his pace as he waits for your response. His free hand sliding down to your hip, gently moving you to sit in his lap.

“Don’t stop” your head falls back in pleasure. Gripping his bicep tightly, bucking your hips into his hand. He pushes your underwear to the side, slowly slipping a finger into your cunt. You let out a loud moan, as he works your clit with his thumb. He pumps his finger in and out at a slow pace, curving his fingers to hit your sweet spot.

“teet niin hyvää minulle” your doing so good for me he slowly slips in a second finger. Picking up his pace, pumping his fingers faster. Still working your clit harshly with his thumb.

“Kimi I-I’m gonna-“ he speeds his fingers up. Moving his hand to your throat, squeezing it gently so you can still breathe. At this point your so close you can’t even put together a coherent sentence. The only thing slipping past your lips was moans and his name.

“Go ahead cum, cum all over my fingers Rakkuas” love he pulls you closer by the throat, kissing you passionately. It was sloppy but that and his words sent you right over the edge. You let out a loud porngraphic moan, your orgasm washes over you hard. You fall onto his chest as your body shakes.

“Still bored” he chuckles while looking down at you. He slowly slips his fingers out of your cunt, you let out soft moan. He moves his fingers up to your lips.

“imeä” suck he mumbles softly, you take his fingers in your mouth and suck gently. You moan at the taste of yourself on his fingers. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a small pop.

“Tired” Kimi asks quietly, wrapping his arms around you. You nod your head gently against his chest.

“Round two after my nap” you mumble into his chest. He looks down at you grinning.

“Sounds Perfect”

Wanna Join? - Callum Ilott & Mick Schumacher

A/N: All right, let’s quickly talk about this threesome, I hope this is what you had in mind when requesting this, anon.

Prompt B107– “wanna join?”

Warnings: Hint of fluff, smut, touching, kissing, mention of voyeurism, nudeness, threesome, explicit language, blowjob(s), unprotected sex(reader is on the pill), hair pulling/gripping, pet name(princess), light choking, dirty talking, cum swallowing, pussy slapping, overstimulation?, mention of several orgasms, creampie.

W/C: 2.3K

Age Warning: I will not take responsibility because you wanted to read this, but if you’re under the  age of 18+, DO NOT INTERACT OR READ. Do not take this as educational, this is fiction!

You and Mick had the cabin to yourself, or so you had hoped, you went to a resort with everyone and shared a cabin with a few drivers, and unfortunately, you also shared a room with one of the drivers, but luckily for the night, Callum had decided to go out with everyone, leaving you and Mick alone in the cabin, you were laying on the bed, kissing and touching each other, his hands were on your covered breasts while your hand was rubbing him through his shorts, you had both already showered and were in your nightwear, ready for a couples evening, but somehow the evening had slowly turned heated.

Keep reading

loml

Greg House x Reader

A/N: So, I haven’t written anything in months. Whoopsies! (I have no excuse, I just didn’t want to.)

TW: It’s House. There’s your trigger warning. (Drugs.)

“Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames, if we know the steps anyway?”

This is a mistake.

That’s the only thought that runs through your head as you sit in the sterile examination room, the chair under you hard and entirely uncomfortable. It’s fitting, nothing about this will be pleasant, you knew it going in.

And yet you still did. You walked into this damn hospital, snuck around like some criminal, praying that you wouldn’t run into him before the time was right. If it ever is, it never really has been with you two. Maybe it never will be, maybe the world is trying to tell you something you’re just too stubborn to hear. How many times can you keep going back to the same broken thing?

Apparently you haven’t hit your limit yet, considering where you are.

It’s like every nerve in your body spurs to life as the door slides open and he walks in. Him, House. His eyes are glued to the chart in his hand, not really bothering to look at you. He’d treat his patients through the door if he could.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks in a way that’s so typically him you almost roll your eyes. Abrasive, cold, these should be red flags. They are, you just don’t care.

Maybe he had a point with all the masochist jokes.

You quickly refocus, clearing your throat and waiting. For what, you’re not sure. Obviously he’ll look up, recognize you as, well, you. His ex, but that’s not even close to covering whatever twisted role it is you serve in his life. On and off for…how long? Years, you know that. Two, at least, maybe more. There’s always something wrong, something ruining your chances. The drugs, the painfully obvious emotional unavailability. The same one you ignored the existence of when you decided to come here.

Then there’s you. The constant desire you have for more. More devotion, more love, more than he’s willing to give.

Or more than he can, you refuse to explore that option.

You’re fucked, simply. There’s no possible way that you two work. It’s too much conflict, more than a mouthful of pills or some hate sex can solve.

His eyes flick up and widen as he freezes. Speechless. In another circumstance you’d be proud of this. It’s an achievement after all, he never does know when to shut his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting you, not for a second. Maybe he should’ve. You’ve always been stubborn, a trait you both share. It made for some agonizingly long arguments, and some wildly good make up.

That’s the issue with you two. You are eachother. It’s why you’re so chaotic together. It’s also why you can’t be with anybody else.

“Hey.” You say weakly, and the word feels stupid as it comes out of your mouth. You’re long past pleasantries, which is exactly why you receive silence in return.

You knew he’d be like this.

You feel your face heating in humiliation anyway. At the very least, you won’t cry, you won’t let yourself.

The stinging sensation in your nose is persistent as ever.

He slowly crosses the room, sitting down in the chair next to you, a small creaking noise filling the otherwise empty silence. A thick swallow from you, the awkward drumming of fingers from him. This is painful, and for a second you hope his pager will go off. He’d bolt with an excuse, you know he would. And because you’re the same, you would too. And then you’d be back, in a week, maybe a month, and it’d be even worse.

You’ve always had a knack for self-destruction.

You both know how it ended last time. All over a stupid bet. Cuddy thought he couldn’t make it a week without Vicodin, he thought he could. Back when he was still adamant about denying his addiction. Halfway through it might as well have been torture. Deep into detoxing, and still, he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen as you begged him to stop being so childish, so stubborn. He wouldn’t even let you come near him, let alone help. He said it’s cause he didn’t need your pity.

In reality, he just didn’t want you to see him like that. Nobody would. Every inch of his pale, shaking frame was covered in sweat, bags under his eyes and a bloodshot gaze had him looking damn near dead.

He was sick, and he hated having to face it more than anything. The Greg House being forced to admit he was wrong. Sometimes you wondered if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

Neither of you handled it well, you never do. He was too stupid to see the obvious, see that he needed help. Needed you. And you, you were too sensitive to let it go. Let him go. Give up on any hope that this could go anywhere.

You still are, and you feel it keenly as the two of you sit in silence. His eyes are trained on you, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think the look in his eyes was judgement. But no, it’s a myriad. Confusion, anger, guilt, longing. All things he’d never admit. That’d be far too human.

“Say something.” Your voice comes out pleading, a tone you loathe on yourself.

He turns to you, his eyes tracing over your every feature like he can’t decide which one to settle on. How many times has he seen you like this? Desperate, vulnerable, because of him. He loses count. He wants to forget it, but you have to go through the motions. Pretend you’ve worked through your issues so you can live in a momentary state of bliss. Maybe it’ll last a few months this time. Could be less, if he really screws it up.

He’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want me to say?” The words come out harsh, cold, and for a moment he expects you to turn away. You don’t. Of course you don’t.

You sigh heavily, you expected it, the ice you’d be met with. You know him intrinsically, predicting his moves like the plot twists of a movie you’ve watched one too many times.

“Something, anything.” This is sad, pathetic, even. You always do this. Go back to each other, pulling out a past that’s probably better off left in the dark closet it belongs to. Still, how can you just forget? The idea feels foreign after all this time weaving in and out of one another’s lives.

Still, this is familiar, comfortable, in a way. The feigned indifference, the cold tone, the need to pretend neither of you care nearly as much as you do. It would be easier, less painless, to just move on. Have lives separate from each other.

But he’s starting to think he lives off pain. Physical and mental. It’s all he’s known for years. Why change a routine that’s become so commonplace? And even with the pain, he’s never been happier than he was with you. You understand him, and the part of him that hates that kneels to the part that needs it.

The break ups, the separation, it’s all just a low between highs. Ones he finds far more addicting than the pills sitting in his pocket.

He begins tapping his cane on the floor, a restless rhythm. “I miss you.” His voice is deadpan as the words come out, and you know why. He’s being honest, his tone can’t betray how hard that really is for him. He leans his head back, letting it thud against the wall behind you in a way that makes you flinch.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s just saying what you want to hear.

You quickly remember who you’re talking to.

He lets his knee fall sideways, brushing against yours. It’s tiny, imperceivable, almost. If you weren’t so clued into everything he was doing, maybe you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did, your eyes flicking down to the point of contact. It feels dangerous.

“I missed you too.” Your voice is shaky, quiet, pathetic. To you, at least. Most might see this as normal. A healthy display of vulnerability. You, though. This is hell. It is for him too. It’s also necessary. Maybe this is your twisted way of proving yourselves to each other, giving evidence to your devotion.

“This won’t end well.” He says, pragmatic as always. Cold, sensible. Too smart for hoping, waiting on change that’ll never come.

“I know.” And I’m here anyway. Words go unspoken, you’ve had enough honesty for today.

He sighs, and the noise is too tired. For a second fear settles in that you’re the one doing this to him. That trying to be decent. Trying to be suitable for a relationship is just too much for him to handle.

“Then why are you here?” He knows the answer, he’s not stupid. Maybe he just needs to hear it, and then he’ll get the common sense to tell you to leave. To give up on this, spare both of you the inevitable pain.

You sigh, the idea of having the explain worse than just letting the truth linger unspoken. “What if it works this time?” You know it’s stupid, and you know he’ll tell you just that. For a second you remember something your therapist told you. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. You’d rolled your eyes, told her this wasn’t anything like that. That people can change, you can change.

You stopped going to your appointments after that.

You just look at him, watch as he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face before looking to you. “For how long?” For a second, you think there’s hope in his voice, like he’s waiting for you to lie to him, say this can last forever. It probably will, you think. On and off for the rest of your lives, never stable.

“We can find out.” The words are an invitation, a reckless one. You’ll let him back in, and it’ll end poorly, and you won’t be able to be mad. You knew how this would go from the start, how can you blame him for the inevitable?

He looks to you, and you can tell he’s given up. It was always gonna happen, you wouldn’t stay away forever. No use in wasting time waiting.

“I hate you.” The words are empty. It’s his last ditch effort to push you away. He has to do it, he has to know he didn’t just let you in. Something in him has to hold onto the false belief that he doesn’t need this, that he’s indifferent. That he’s the same cold man he’s always been.

As he mutters the words he reaches out, his hand sliding over your jaw, pulling you in closer.

You smile weakly, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the statement. You know him, you know when he’s lying, and he’s never done a worse job at it than he just did.

You’re hardly inches apart now, your lips nearly ghosting his own. Your voice is shaky as you speak, “Love you too.” As his lips brush yours, he just melts, leaning into you with a fervor he used to call lust. There’s no use pretending that’s all this is now.

The kiss ends all too soon as he pulls away, shallow breaths leaving both of you, filling the silence. You almost wonder if you should leave when his voice sounds, quiet, tentative, all things he’s normally not.

“I’m going to screw this up.” The look in his eyes is guilt for something he hasn’t even done. He will, but you ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head that says to run before he has the chance. Yes, he’s hurt you. It’s not as if you haven’t done the same to him. You know where to aim when you’re mad, and you’ve turned him to a dartboard more times than you can count.

“I’m okay with that.” For a second, as the words fall off your tongue so easily, almost instinctually, you wonder if your mother would be disappointed in you. This isn’t how she raised you. Offering some man a hundred second chances all because what, you love him? Because when it’s good, it really is so good?

Because at the end of the day, you don’t think you could do it. Leave him, live the rest of your life without him in it. You’d wonder, you’d always wonder what would’ve happened if you just gave him one more chance. And so you will, again, and again, and again.

Sometimes you wonder what your life would look like if you’d never met him. Maybe you’d be married, happy with some man who gave you far less trouble than House ever did. You curse the way you find the thought boring. He’s awful, but he’s thrilling. You might even have kids, or at least be ready for one.

You know deep down you could have a future like that, and still, all thoughts of it dissipate when he opens his mouth.

“I’m off at eight.” Self loathing drips from each word. He’s a selfish bastard, he’ll let you forgive him, and time and time again, he’ll know he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he can’t turn you down. He can’t leave. He can’t not have you. The one good thing that’s ever come out of his life. He just can’t. Not when you’re offering.

“I’ll be here.” The words are so horribly fitting. Won’t you always? Will there ever be a time he takes it too far? Or will you always go back to him? Will you always turn away from the better life, the happier life you could have without him?

Yes. It’s always yes, because deep down, you stopped wanting a life without him the second you experienced life with him. Everything else became boring, commonplace, once you’d had him. There’s nothing like House. Not a person, or drug, or liquor strong enough to come close to how he makes you feel. Nothing can make the memory fade, and nothing can replace it either.

There’s no good outcome, it’s either life alone or life with him. And so you let his fingers interlace with your own, let the sensation numb the thought that never left your head this whole time, the one that’ll haunt you on sleepless nights you spend in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms wrapped around you.

This is a mistake.

A/N: thank u to the taco bell fire sauce packet i quoted.

main thot of the day: seb the type to fuck her in front of a mirror

his hands would be touching you everywhere, watching every miniscule reaction of yours in the reflection. your body was bent over, barely righted if not for his strong arms keeping you in place. your eyes were glazed over, breath coming out in short puffs— trying to breath through the lacy red material sebastian had gone feral with moments before.

"what a pretty girl," he whispers lips grazing the side of your ear, mirth dancing at his expression, eyes drinking in the sight of you like he couldn't get enough; barely sated and darkened with filthy promises. "look at you. look what i do to you." he grunts, snapping his hips with enough force that sent your body into overdrive.

he fucks you with wild abandon. he fucks you like he hates your guts, cooing so condescendingly at the tears that's running down your cheeks. "what's wrong, baby? tell me what you want." he whispers amid your muffled whines and unrestrained moans. "am i being mean? am i hurting you? poor girl." sebastian tuts, gripping your hips just a touch away from being hurtful.

"so fucking tight though," he groans, "tight fuckin snatch," you yelped at the feel of his cock just kissing the tip of your cervix, clawing at his hand, digging your fingers at his strong arm as your eyes basically rolled back from the combined feeling of his ministrations and his.. oh his fucking mouth. what a bitch. if you had known sebastian vettel fucks like he's running out of pussy, you'd have stayed away from the german.

he's going to ruin you for everybody else.

youngest intern in the history of ppth's oncology. thats you.

"you're still here?" wilson calls out to the void seemingly. your head peaks out from the crowded shelves of the lab to give him a nod.

oh this is bad.

this is not what you need. you dont need you're hot boss to distract you when you're trying to conduct some tests he asked you to. especially not when you haven't slept in 2 days and have had copious amounts of coffee in your system making you jittery. you dont need him to increase your heart rate to the point where your capillaries explode. oh you're gonna fuck up somehow. you're tell him you like him. because lord knows you do. your boss. you have a silly schoolgirl crush on your pathetically gorgeous boss. the kind that makes you nauseous and unwell because he's just so, so pretty. and you'd end up telling him that you'd risk it all if he just gave you the chance.

but you like this job. you need this job. you can't let it go just because you've got a thing for older men with kind eyes whose soft lips spill praises like...

"you there?"

"mhm" you gulp. somehow your mouth is really fucking dry. good god, james wilson. good fucking god. you just want to rub your face on his chest like a cat. you need him to touch you. to pet you. to run his deft fingers refined from years of surgery and paperwork and everything else through your hair or something... what's wrong with you? there's a pit in your abdomen that needs him. you need him to praise you, like he always does. you need him to look at you, take you in, take advantage of you. just dear lord do something. not just stand there and express concern as your employer. just come closer, please, your mind whimpers to him.

"i really think you should rest. we've made considerable progress thanks to your good work and extra hours. you've really proved yourself."

but you don't want this to stop. he thinks you're good. useful. your boss, the intellectual, witty and beautiful man you work for, the best doctor you've met. the one who puts in the hours and effort to better himself in what he does... thinks you did a good job.

wilson does find you admirable. he likes your work ethic, your thirst to prove yourself. he likes your obsession, he compares it to house's sometimes. he like the way you talk, not much to him for some reason (maybe it's the "boss" thing or...) but everyone else in the oncology department. he likes that you're young and you hold him in high regard. you're always so attentive when he talks, so perceptive, so willing. among those things he commends, the ones he can tell his colleagues about, he also likes the tint in your skin when you stand under the dim lighting in the lab. some of it reflecting off your hair, slightly unkempt but beautiful. he likes you without the lab coat. he likes your keen eyes, your smile, your hands, your face, your tits, your...

he lets out a deep sigh. wilson likes you. admires you. maybe overstepping his place as your boss, as your mentor, as whatever that is you're making him in your head, the reflection of which he sees in your eyes sometimes. something desperate. aching. calling out his name, as if to say "come heal me".

and he knows what it is. it's the same look of admiration he gives you. the murky one. the slightly lustful one. he knows what you are. pretty young thing, final year med student, who'd rather flirt with house than chase or foreman. but he'd rather pretend he didnt. rather kid himself into thinking he doesn't care when chase of all people calls you young. that he doesn't feel guilty for wanting you to want him.

but maybe if he played into it long enough, played dumb long enough, made you feel like this is just how he is. just this sweet. if he made you believe that he had a reason to fold his cuffs to reveal his rather slutty forearms, loosen his tie on a late night, take off his coat complaining about the new jersey weather, gaze into your eyes at every occasion he got, all in pure innocence. this isnt flirting. this isn't an old man's desperation and desire permeating his professionalism.

no. this is okay. all he hopes for is that one day you'll give in. confess your love to him like cameron did to house. fight for him. shed a few tears. maybe then he could wipe then off your pretty cheeks and sigh. he could then reject you. just speak those words of "i'm sorry, it's inappropriate and your much younger than me" into existence. make them real, if only he could use all the rationality in the world to convince himself that he doesn't want you as despicably and carnally as he does.

he shuts his eyes and takes in a sharp breath. no. this isn't right. he'd be taking advantage of you. even if its what you want. even if it could be his little present to you.

"go home, doctor."

he leaves the door of the lab open on his way out.

Seb and jenson would totally dom her but so softly, soft doms and worship her

yeah this definitely sky rocketed on the smut priority 😩😩💖

so much eye contact and assurance; you're the priority, so they're constantly asking if you feel good? if you're sure? just, so much comfort and putting you above anything.

and so much kisses; their mouth is literally touching upon every part of your skin, as if writing poetry on every inch of your body.

they hold you tenderly, marvel at you with so much awe and hold you in that blissed out haze. they're coaching moans and whines out from you, praising you for doing "so well, pretty girl. the most beautiful sight i've ever laid my eyes upon..." while jenson literally made your back arch from his expert ministrations.

(i had a really filthy thought after this... like just sebastian gripping your jaw and holding you captive in a hungry gaze... telling you to open 😩😩😩 if ykyk )