❝don't Blame Me❞ - Joe Burrow X Reader

any chance you can write the same hotel room have to be quiet sex but with max? I feel in my gut he’s as loud as they come

this isn’t quite the same setting but it’s still “have to be quiet sex” so I hope it’s okay 🤭 thank you for requesting max, i love him a lot <3

blinding pleasure (1.9k words) max verstappen/fem!reader bathroom smut 18+

The music is loud in your ears, pulsing much like your heart as you stare at your phone screen. It’s opened on your text conversation with Max and you can’t help the little smirk that graces your lips when you glance up and look across the room; Catching the wide eyed stare he gives you as his eyes flicker from you to his phone. He fumbles with the drink in his hand, looking around for a place to set it down before typing on his phone.

You’re not standing too far, close enough to see the light flush on his cheeks that the alcohol in his system has provided him with, the colour deepening as his fingers tap on his screen. He’s drunk, buzzed off of the few drinks he’s had and it’s evident in his body language and the way he’s been carrying himself for the last hour.

You glance at your phone, where you’d been having a conversation that gradually went from a playful you look hot to your most recent one: I seem to have forgotten my panties when we left the house.

Max looks up, bottom lip caught between his teeth and your phone buzzes in your hands a second later, three consecutive messages. Like his brain is going faster than his fingers can type.

bathroom

3 minutes

need to fuck you

You grin, trying not to think too hard over how you’re about to possibly defile Lando’s poor bathroom when you set your can of seltzer down on the counter, not even sparing your boyfriend a glance when you pass him on your way to the upstairs bathroom.

The place is crowded, more people than these walls are probably used to so it takes a minute or two to navigate through the throng of people and up the stairs. The restroom is unoccupied, but so very close to the staircase and you know that’ll be a potential problem because Max isn’t a quiet person. He argues that he is, but two years down the line in your relationship and he hadn’t managed to prove you right even once. It wasn’t a secret that your boyfriend was unapologetically himself, loud and proud when needed be, but he became borderline obnoxious when he was drunk and while you found that mostly funny and endearing; it wasn’t always in your favour.

You stare at the bathroom door, waiting for the knocks to come. The skirt you’re wearing rides up when you haul yourself up on the counter, and you bite back a grin when you think back on how Max had been following you with his eyes all night. He hadn’t questioned your choice of clothes when you’d walked out the apartment, only grabbing at your thighs and being touchy until you had to swat his hands away. If he’d wandered up any further with his hands, he’d ruin the surprise you’d so nicely set up for him.

There were three knocks on the door and the sound of it startled you a little. You reached your arm out to unlock the door, smiling when it cracked open and your boyfriend’s face came into view. He looked a little concerned that maybe he’d gotten the wrong bathroom, full lips stretching into a pleased smile when he caught sight of you. Max stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, only locking it when you stretched a leg out to give his thigh a nudge with your foot as a wordless reminder.

His hand caught your leg, sliding up your knee and thigh the closer he got until he was crowded up against the counter and stood between the V of your legs. You watched his hand as he lifted your thigh up, hooking it over his hip with a searching gaze.

“Wanna know.” Was all he said, words a little hushed but you were still a bit lost on what he meant. He glanced up at you, biting his lower lip as if to keep his smile at bay. “Wanna know if you were winding me up or if you really have been walking around without any panties.”

You grinned at that, flushing warmth all over your body when you grabbed his hand and slowly guided it up under your skirt. The sharp inhale when he felt skin instead of the usual cotton was worth all the trouble and awkwardness of walking commando all night. His cheeks turned a little pink as he stared at you, eyes wide and glossy from the drinks he’d had.

“Almost managed to flash Daniel earlier.” You said, laughter in your voice and your amusement only grew when his eyebrows pulled together into a disapproving frown.

He didn’t say anything but his fingers did all the talking as they swiped through your folds, feeling the wetness there and rubbing gentle circles against your clit. You gasped at the sensation, scooting closer to the edge to hopefully get him to hurry up and fuck you but he was still looking annoyed; like the thought of anyone else seeing you bare was too much to bear.

“You’re mine.” He leaned forward, the words coming out of his mouth a statement rather than a question. It sounded possessive, jealous and it was like music to your ears. “No one can fuck you like I can.”

Your head shook in the negative because no, Max was the only one in tune with your body and needs. There was no one else who could measure up to him, and even if there was, you wouldn’t want them.

“No one.” You looked at him from beneath your lashes, trapping your lower lip between your teeth.

“Yeah?” He looked smug all of a sudden as he nudged a finger against your hole, pushing until your warmth enveloped the digit nicely. Max exhaled at the tightness, pushing his finger to the knuckle and watching you squirm. “No one can make you feel like I can.”

“Only you.” You nodded, breathless.

Your arms went up to his shoulders, hands stroking along the hardness of the muscles there before your fingers slid up the back of his head; knocking his cap to the tiled floor. His hair was standing on end, soft to the touch when you buried your fingers in his strands.

He added another finger, listening to your whines as he fucked you. There came a point where your begging started to get a little too loud, and he was quick to slot his mouth against yours to hopefully shush you.

Normally he’d encourage every sound and word that came from your pretty mouth, but he knew you’d be mortified if any of your friends caught you fucking in a bathroom when all was said and done.

The kiss was filthy, there was no other word to describe it. Your lips opened beautifully under his and he could taste the sweet tang of alcohol on your tongue, finding the taste of you so addicting that he hurried to pull his fingers out because you were stretched and wet enough for him.

He was about to reach down and unzip his pants but you were quicker than him, making small sounds in your throat as you worked on getting him out of his underwear. Max watched you, chest tight with all the emotions he felt for you and they only swelled when you grinned in triumph, having managed to fish him out and get your hands on him.

Max threw his head back, mouth falling open in a groan when you started to jack him off, arching his back into your hand and eyelids fluttering shut. You watched him with hooded eyes, leaning up to press feather soft kisses to his jawline.

Your thumb swiped over his head, collecting the wetness there to aid you as you stroked him to full hardness. Max was breathing heavy, moaning louder than he probably realised but you weren’t about to stop him; Not now. He sounded so pretty and you were hit with a wave of sudden need to have him in you, notching his head against your entrance and placing your other hand against his asscheek to bring his hips in. He slid in, inch by beautiful inch and your breath hitched in your throat when the widest part of him stretched you out.

Max tilted his head down, lips pink and wide open as he stared at your face; Noting the slight frown on your face that immediately had him pausing his hips, giving you a moment to adjust to him. It shouldn’t have made his ego swell as much as it did, how even after two years, you still needed to adjust to his size. It made him almost puff his chest but he refrained, placing one palm of his hand against the flat surface of the counter next to your thigh and the other one sliding up to your cheek.

The tender touch made you look up, and Max kissed your lips slowly before raising his brows in question. You gave him a nod, flexing your hand where it was still resting on his buttock and Max pushed his forehead against yours as he slid all the way inside; A deep guttural moan rumbling in his chest.

“Need to be quiet, baby.” You urged him, earning a sloppy kiss to the side of your mouth from him. “Don’t want them to hear, do you?”

Max gave a hard thrust, sending you up the counter with a high pitched moan that hit him in the stomach like a punch.

“I don’t give a fuck.” He replied honestly, words a little slurred and you believed him completely.

Max had no shame. He was only so careful and modest to protect you. And fuck, did you love him for it.

You placed both of your hands behind you on the counter as Max started picking up pace, thrusting into you with these punched out breaths that anyone walking by outside could no doubt hear. But you were too lost in the sensations of his cock, the burn of the stretch giving way to something that had your nerves singing. You threw your head back, baring your throat and it was all Max needed to hunch forward and attach his lips to the vulnerable skin there, biting and licking until your moans were rumbling beneath his lips.

“Sound so pretty.” His words only made you moan louder, and Max couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he grabbed a hold of your ass with one hand to bring you into him every time he fucked forward.

He watched your eyes roll, bringing his free hand up to stick two fingers into your mouth and he could see the moment it dawned on your face when you realised that he’d just pushed the very same fingers into your mouth that had just been inside of you.

“You taste so good, right baby?” He pushed his fingers further into your throat, hearing you gag and watching your throat muscles contract at the intrusion. “Yeah, you do. Look at you, you’re loving this. Such a pretty slut.”

Your pussy clenched around his cock at that, making Max grin wildly as he pulled his fingers out. Saliva was dripping down your lip and the Dutchman chased it with his own mouth, licking up your chin to your lips before claiming them in a kiss that had your toes curling.

Max didn’t care about how you were supposed to walk out of here like nothing had just happened. How you’d be able to pull yourself together, or how you were supposed to hide the bite marks on your throat. All he cared about was how he was gonna make you sing.

And you did.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

i am severely sleep deprived so i'm gonna drop off the face of the earth for the next few hours. i enjoyed writing this, so i hope you enjoyed reading it 😭 i feel like i keep posting these blurbs and putting of posting longer fics but blurbs are just SO fun to write <;/3

it is a glorious sunrise - f.alonso

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: Fernando Alonso x fem!reader

warnings: not intended for minors + oral ( m receiving) + established relationship

a/n: had an Alonso brainrot in June… it’s just now getting posted 😅 lol enjoy!!!!

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

There is happiness

In our history

Across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

the white linen sheets are crumpled up at the end of the bed. the warm breeze of beautiful Greece was unbearable, that not even night fall could’ve made the humidity drop.

your bodies, despite the warmth, are intertwined with one another. his large hand rests upon your ass, while his other arm has fallen completely numb underneath your naked body.

you can’t help but move closer to him, wanting to feel his chest slightly rise. you can feel the warmth and moisture against his skin, your finger nails trail over the glisten droplets against his abs causing him to stir awake.

he exhales a moan, hand moving up your back and snaking into your hair, fingers beginning to massage your scalp. the silence is filled with the birds chirping outside the open window, and the sounds of young boys and girls giggling in the distance of the sea. it’s blissful, a beautiful awakening next to him.

you flip onto your stomach, breasts pressed against his bare body, you move upward, hands on both sides of him as your lips connect with his. your eyes close, but his open as he was just beginning to drift back to sleep. your soft sweet lips begin to gently move down his neck, a silent moan escapes his lips, head tilting further back into the pillow.

“ay dios mío,” he whispers feeling your nails rake into his skin, lips and tongue licking the sweat off his body. he squirms underneath you, breath hitching when he feels the warm air against his growing hard cock. looking out the window he sees the sun is just barely rising. the orange and pink skies are just forming, the view is breathtaking. watching the sun come up from the clouds, he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful. that’s until his attention shifts to your wet tongue against his tip, mind switches back to reality.

his chest begins to rise and fall with much more emphasis, you can hear his breath increasing with each passing swipe and flick of your tongue against him. he says he can’t last much longer underneath your wet touch, he’s so close to folding. his fingers are bunching the sheets, knuckles white, he’s trying hard to keep it together.

“amor, please,” his pleas are increasing, you swear the people outside your room could hear him, but you don’t mind. you love having him wrapped around your finger, looking like a damsel in distress. it’s not very often he behaves like this.

your tongue flicks him just right, something he’s never felt before, the way it scrapes against his skin, tickles his own nerves the pleasure makes his legs twitch as his body exhales your reward; his cum.

“Buenos días princesa,” he sighs watching you crawl up from his legs to beside him in the bed. you press your lips against his once again, two of you settling into the mattress comfortably.

“what a beautiful morning, nando.” you say, moving yourself closer so you can rest your head against his chest, two of you watch the sunrise with heavy eyelids and once again fall back into slumber.

There is happiness

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.

w/ john f. kennedy 18+ sexually explicit content

jack waking you up in the early hours of the morning, four maybe five am; you can feel him before you hear him, tossing in the sheets beside you, turning from that troublesome back of his to his side and then back again, seemingly adjusting and readjusting, more than few times over. you’re not nearly awake enough to care, your body simply takes notice of the divot changes in the bed - with distant awareness, your eyes remain peacefully shut.

eventually he lets out a huff, succumbing to his ache and turning over to your side, his bare body heat entering your space and radiating onto you; as he leans in, heavy and intensely warm is his breath on the hair which curtains your ear. his voice is gritty and sleep ridden, above a whisper and dripping his brahmin accent, “roll on your stomach for me.”

it takes a few fleeting seconds for the words to even register, barely conscious enough to give a hum of acknowledgement even as you oblige; messily moving and twisting in the linens to be on your frontside, stomach and chest meet the plush mattress below. with his eyes holding only a squint in the low - almost no - light room, his large hand surfs easily through all your maneuvering, finding the small of your silk nightgown covered back and following its soft seams to your equally as satiny thighs, guiding your leg to a 90 degree angle, far enough away from your other for him to fit right inbetween them.

the chill from the duvet falling away and off your body sparks your mind to awaken the tiniest bit more, as it now only comforts from your calves and below, a result of jack settling himself on his knees in the middle of your spread; keeping one hand roaming and kneading at your skin as the other sleepily fumbles to pull himself out of his boxers.

his hard-on pulses and springs out of its cotton cage immediately, its sensitivity already on high, causing him to groan in a low octave as he palms and massages the leaking pre-cum around his tip a few times as a lubricant. steadily gaining consciousness, you peer over your shoulder at him, through hooded lids; the sight of him looming large, with tousled hair and no shirt, his hand to his cock and his sleepy contorting-in-need face cause your anticipation to present in an ever so slight arching back to give him better access, and the rush of arousal liquidating in your center.

he slides your negligée up in a smooth motion, exposing all of your glory for his taking. the soft heat of his hand cupping your hip bone is a small, polite comfort, an action he does it with intent - to hold you still, to hold you close, to feel you.

your head has fallen back to the pillow and eyes have closed once again as he aligns himself with your opening; he can’t even bring himself to tease you and your rim, as he usually does, he’s much too tired, with too much of a craving to even consider playing a game. he enters slowly, his cockhead savoring your all encompassing, sleep-hot tightness. it fills your slick center fully, in deliberation, one long drawn out stroke inside that causes an involuntary soft toned-yet complete sighing moan to fall from your lips.

upon entrance, he gives another rumbling base-of-the-throat groan, with a mumble through gritted teeth, “god, that’s it…”

he’s now put both hands on each of your naked and open hips, gripping with pressure that would typically cause you to squirm, but in this moment, is the second most pleasurable sensation being inflicted upon you. he guides your hips, instead of thrusting his own - a testament to his laziness, regardless of how good he makes you feel - extending and conducting them upward, until he’s just a new centimeters from falling completely out of you.

there’s a second of pause; just a beat too long of him holding out, and as you’ve got the taste for him now, there’s a flash idea of simply pushing yourself back on him, but before you can even think it all the way through, he drags you back down, with more vigor than that first, sweet stroke.

you yelp, the squelch of his intense re-entering and hitting of your spot just perfectly fills the silent night with a pornographic mist; his breath is shaky and heavy, and though your eyes remain closed and shielded by a mix of hair and cotton from the pillow your face is buried in, you already know he has the most salacious, magnificent, strung out look on his face; knitted scrunched brows, squinting eyes, jaw slack in bliss. jack kennedy is a beautiful man, but never is he more beautiful than when he’s seven and a half inches deep inside you.

his hunger seems to overtake any exhaustion he may be experiencing, as he suddenly, almost rudely, quickens the speed at which he moves you; his fingertips burn into your skin, delightfully possessive, grasping the velvety flesh of your ass. the sensation of his relentless in and out is scorching and so filling you can’t possibly contain the noise that escapes through your mouth and nose; it’s exactly how he likes it, and if you didn’t already know it, his gnashing “c’mon, let me hear you,” is confirmation enough.

“jack,” you sigh out, your forehead digging into the memory foam as your writhe in his hedonism; as he brings you down for a particularly hard and godlike blow, striking your walls to make you see stars, your hand flies from clenching the fitted sheet below you to his hand, which remains firmly planted on your hip. your palm smacks his knuckles and in the same motion, your thumb hooks under his pointer finger, which only just gives way for you; it’s such a small, seemingly insignificant, act of intimacy, but somehow bridges a gap between you both.

“i know,” he answers, panting and moaning - but he doesn’t actually, because truthfully, you don’t know either. saying his name just feels right.

as you tighten the hold of his hand, and he never once falters, you for some reason have the inappropriately timed thought of all the hands that have shook this one - from the greatest political figures of the time to the average american citizen, they’ve all touched it, cradled it, savored it - and yet, none know of it’s perversion and dirtiness, that you are the one to ultimately own it. it’s this hand that shall mark your body time and time again, completely yours.

your hips begin to move on their own, circling as he heaves them up and down, making sure his tip to shaft reaches every bit of you. his head falls back, now in true heaven, and just as you feel yourself reaching a head, he pants out, “baby…”

baby, a name you only ever hear right as he’s about to cum, indicates to keep going as you’ve been - the pace he’s chosen works in perfect harmony with your grinding, “please, jack.”

everything within yourself suddenly pulls to your center and pushes downward as you reach your climax, unapologetic about the obscene sound pouring from you; the knot in at the bottom of your stomach unravels as a rush of pleasure runs up your back and throughout the whole of your body. jack follows immediately after, bucking up into you with fervor, pulsing and twitching inside you while releasing angelic whimpers only you get to hear.

you both remain still for a passing moment, catching your breaths and reveling in the practical porn you just partook in. jack removes himself from you after less than a minute, nothing short of typical for him; you hiss at the feeling, going from full to barren allows the cold to take jack’s place within you. he takes another second-long pause before reaching down and tenderly kissing where his hands have no doubt bruised you - each side of your body gets a drawn out pressing of his lips, nothing short of atypical for him.

he mumbles something that sounds distantly like an i love you, before climbing off the bed entirely, and shuffling to the en-suite bathroom of your shared bedroom. not long after the light has flickered on and the bathroom door has been pushed but not closed entirely, you hear the shower head spurt on and the curtain draw; jack begins his day, leaving you to the tranquility of bed, as he continues to spill out from you in a stream while returning to sleep.

lacy says. hiiiii

If Daddy Knew || T.W x Horner!Reader

Warnings: 18+, hair pulling, oral (M&F reviving), handjob, fingering, degrading kink, praise kink

Wordcount: 2.1k

If she knew how this would end up in the long term, she would had agreed to go with her father a lot sooner

She would always say no if she was invited to a Grand Prix and to come to the paddock

She hadn’t always been the most social person, and she was scared she would mess up her words or don’t talk at all

This time was different

She felt confident that day. She has been invited again, and she said yes. It surprised her father. He couldn’t understand why she said yes

She couldn’t either, but she’s glad she did

As she stood in the Red Bull garage, she kept feeling like she was stared down by people outside of the garage

And she was right. When she got to the paddock afterwards, people still kept staring her down as she walked with her father. He wanted to introduce her to all the drivers and team principals

It all went good, until they reached Mercedes

Don’t take it the wrong way, they were all very nice, but after she had greeted the drivers, she had to meet the team principal

Toto Wolff

She had heard about him through her father, now, of course she didn’t take his word for it. They were rivals after all, they’re bound to say bad stuff about each other that weren’t true

“Darling, this is Toto Wolff” He said his name through gritted teeth

“Hi. I’ve heard so much about you” He didn’t answer her, he just looked her up and down and went back to what he was doing

She would have said something about his rudeness, only if he hadn’t been so handsome

Maybe he was all those things her dad said

The rest of the day, she thought about Toto and if it was something she did or said to make him rude, or if it was just how he was

It finally became Sunday and she stood in the garage. She knew it was bad, but she kept starting at Toto from the distance

“You okay, dear?” Christian asked her as he walked over to her “You’ve been kinda starting out in the abyss” He chuckled

“Yeah, I’m fine, dad. Thank you” She nodded up at him

The race went well. Max won, no surprise there. We all knew he was gonna win. Even the opposite teams knew he was gonna win

That night, they all went out celebrating the win, even though it was routine that he won by now

She drank to keep the thoughts away. She really wanted to be on his good side, but how could she do that?

The next morning she woke up with a slight headache, but nothing a few painkillers couldn’t take away

Just as she was about to brush her teeth, her phone started ringing. It was an unknown number

“Y/N Horner” She answered the phone

“Hi, Y/N, it’s Toto Wolff” His accent was thick through the phone “I just wanted to apologise my behaviour when we met. I’m sure you’re aware that me and your father don’t have the bestest of friendship, that was the only reason why I didn’t say anything, and that’s no reason, I know, but I just wanted to apologise. Can I buy you some coffee to make up for it?”

She stood and thought about her answer a while “Yeah, that sounds nice. When?” She finally answered and she heard him sigh on the other end

“Great. Shall we say 12 o’clock at the Café across the street?” God, his accent was to swoon over

“Yeah. That’s perfect” A smirk drew on her lips. They hung up and she looked at the time. It was currently 10. She had two hours

Two hours would have been fine if she had anything to wear. She tried to look through her clothes. She tried all the combinations of clothing that was clean

She finally settled for an outfit after 45 minutes and some going back and forth trough clothes

Before she put on her clothes, she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She stood there for what felt like hours, but was actually only 10 minutes

She looked back at the clock after she got dressed and put on her shoes. 11:30. She debated if she should go now and be early, or if she should wait and be on time

She has only now realised she had forgotten her perfume. She founded and sprayed it lightly on the skin on her neck

She now decided to go out, but she should probably had waited. She bumped into her father in the hallway

“Where you going in such a hurry?” He chuckled as he looked her up and down

“I was just going out, checking the city out” She smiled innocently

“Okay. Have fun, don’t be out too late” He said to her before he continued to walk away

She continued to walk over to the elevator. The ride down to the lobby seemed like it took ages. She got to the lobby and walked out and across the street

She walked into the Café. She looked around to see if she could see Toto. She found him sitting at a booth up against the far wall. She sat down across him

“Hello, can I get you anything?” The waiter asked as she walked over to them

“I would like a coffee, black and a chocolate scone” Toto said as he looked from her to the waiter

“Can I get a hot chocolate and a croissant?” She asked as she looked up at her

“Of course. I’ll bring it down for you” She smiled and walked over to the counter

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, Y/N, I really am” He rambled and she just stared at him

“Toto, it’s fine. It’s no problem. I know how your relationship is with my dad, I totally understand” She smiled at him, trying to reassure him

“Yeah, I’m not friends with your dad, but I shouldn’t take that out on you” He sighed as he placed his hand on top of hers

“Toto, don’t worry about it, okay?” She smiled at him, looking him in his eyes through his glasses

All he did was nod before the waitress came over with their order. As they sat and drank their coffee and ate their food, they made small talk

The only annoying thing about this whole conversation was his smile. He would smile every so often, and it made her legs week

Everything that happened between that time and when they were in the elevator was a blur for her. All she knew was that she was pressed up against the elevators wall, her hands intertwined in his hair while his lips was on hers as his hands roamed her hips and waist

The ding of the elevator startled them. They hurried out into the hall and over to her room. She struggled a bit when she opened the door, but managed fine

As they got into the room, he pushed her up against the door. Her hands went to his waist, and in one swift motion, she had them turned around

Her hands went up his torso to unbutton his shirt. When she got the last button unbuttoned, she discarded the shirt on the ground

Her hand went to his hair to pull his head back so she could start attacking his necks with kisses and bites. He groaned at the sudden dominance from her. Her other hand went to unbuckle his belt

Toto covered his mouth with his hand to minimise the sounds that came out of him. She took her hand away from his belt and up to his hand to remove it from his mouth

“I want to hear your sounds, Toto” She said as she drew away from his neck, which drew out a groan from him “Fuck, you sounds so pretty” He could feel her smirk on his neck

She turned them around again, but this time, she guided him towards the bed, their shoes getting kicked off in the process

When the back off Toto’s legs hit the bed, she pushed him down to sit. She got on her knees and zipped down his pants

He bucked his up from the bed so she could pull down his pants and boxers. When she had gotten them off, she threw them beside her

She licked a stripe up his shaft before spitting into her hand, and started stroking him slowly. He started moaning low, almost silently

“Keep up those sounds, I wanna hear you, baby” She told him as she looked up at him from between his knees

Her words could make him undone right then and there “Fuck, I want your mouth around me, please” His voice was getting desperate and his accent was getting heavier

She removed her hand, but quickly replaced it with her mouth. His moans got louder as she started moving her head up and down

He started bucking his hips up, trying to fuck her mouth, but her hands came up to push him back down to stop his movements, which makes him groan in annoyance

“Fucking shit, Ah…” He wasn’t making any effort to swallow his moans “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Fuck, please. I’m so-Ah. I’m so close” His head leaned back and his eyes rolled to the back of his head

His hand was shaking when he drew it up to his face to take off his glasses as they started fogging up. He got them off and threw them on the ground, not caring if they broke or not

“I can’t- Ah. Fuck, please, I can’t take it anymore” His words didn’t stop her actions, if it did anything, it made her faster

A few seconds later and he came down her throat. She held her head down as he finished. She got off of him and swallowed his loath

He was panting hard when she stood up. She took his chin between her fingers making him look at her. She kissed him deeply, making him taste himself on her tongue

“Think you can return the favour?” She asked seductively. With closed eyes, he nodded “Good. Get on your knees” He quickly got on his knees where she once sat as she herself sat on the bed

She leaned back, her weight resting on her hands. She watched as his trembling hands tried opening the button on her jeans

She chuckled seeing him struggling “God you’re pathetic” She pushed his hands away to do it herself. She lifted her hips so he could pull down her pants and panties throwing them away with the rest of the clothes on the floor

He pulled her close to the edge of the bed, and therefore closer to his mouth. He drew his tongue through her soaking folds

“What wouldn’t my father say, hm?” She drew one of her hands through his soft, brown locks when he started attacking her clit

“His biggest rival eating out his daughter” He groaned into her cunt from her degrading, making her moan “What don’t you think he will do? Most likely kill you, or maybe, he would never invite me again to keep me as far away from you as possible so this could never happen again”

He groaned again, making her grip his hair tight and moan louder than before “Fuck, you’re so beautiful from here” She chuckled mixed with a moan

He drew one of his hands towards her cunt. One of his fingers drew through her folds, stopping at her entrance. She moaned as he entered her slowly

He started going in and out of her, drawing loud moans from her. He added another finger as he started curling his fingers up and hitting the spot inside her that made her see stars

Her moans got louder and heavier as she was pulled closer to the edge of her orgasm “Fuck, you’re doing so good for me, Toto” She moaned pulling his hair so his face got showed into her cunt

“Fuck, I’m so close. Fucking keep going. Ah” Her head rolled back while she bucked her hips up and into his mouth “You’re doing so fucking good” He groaned which send her over the edge. Her legs shakes as she came down from her high

“Fuck, you did so good for me” She smiled down at him as she drew his face up to look at her “So fucking good” She leaned down to kiss him

☏ 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 —

I’d like to ride mick’s thigh. As a treat.

treat, punishment, sunday afternoon activity.

yes please.

(anyone have pics of his thighs? for uh… research?)

NSFW Alphabet (Kimi Raikkonen)

Am I sick for this? Yeah, probably. Mind your business. 

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idk man, that vid of seb doing pushups in the am plank video makes my mouth water and pussy clench