Anon Asked: Jenson At Honda In 2004 Or Brawn In 2009

Hi can I get (for one muse to drive and finger the other who is in the passenger seat.) with either Sebastian Vettel or Jenson button please 🙏

Dbf!Sebastian Vettel x fem! Reader ft. Jenson Button

Yk i couldn’t decide who i wanted to write this with so i chose both, i hope you don’t mind:)

Warnings?; SMUT, fingering, reader is the daughter of a retired driver! But no names are specified, age gap!(reader is in her twenties), cursing, kissing, dirty talk, teasing, kinda public? Everything happens in a car.

You weren’t expecting to see Jenson in the passenger seat of Sebastian’s two seater Ferrari when it pulled up to the curb of the restaurant.

You had been on a date gone wrong when you called your father’s best friend for a ride, none of your friends had answered and with your parents being out of town he was the last person you could think of.

“Um, seb where am I supposed to sit?” You questioned and your confusion only grew when Jenson opened the passenger door but never got out.

You were met with a smirk from the German as he kept quiet, but Jenson gave you the answer you were looking for as he patted his lap and spoke up.

“Got a perfect seat right here love” the Brit smiled at you.

Butterflies filled your stomach as you thought about it, it wouldn’t be the first time you sat on his lap however last time you were in Sebastian’s living room while the man was between your thighs and Jenson held you open for him.

“Come on honey, we haven’t got all night” Sebastian’s spoke, bringing you out of your thoughts.

You blushed as you took your spot on top of Jenson, your little dress doing nothing to put a barrier between you and his denim covered thighs.

You were tense and Jenson didn’t like it, he could feel you holding back your weight and not relaxing completely into him.

“Calm down love, it’s just us” Jenson whispered into your ear as one of his large hands began to run along your bare thigh.

A smile took over the Blondes face as he felt your body sink into his, releasing a sigh of contentment as he felt your warm body against his.

“So what happened on your date?” Sebastian questioned, one of his hands coming to rest on the thigh closest to him; Jenson’s still on the other.

“Uh, nothing he just wasn’t my type” you breathed shakily as you watched Jenson’s hand slowly move under the skirt of your dress.

“Hm, why’d you go out with him then?”

“W-what do you mean?” You stuttered as Sebastian’s hand joined his friends.

“You said he wasn’t your type, if you knew that why’d you go in the first place darling?” Jenson questioned in your ear, voice deep and accent thick.

“Bec-oh, because he was, shi-He was cute” you whined as Jenson’s hand began to rub you through the lace of your panties.

“Yeah? Why’d you end it early?” Sebastian quipped as his own hand came into contact with your folds, thanks to Jenson removing your panties.

You couldn’t reply, the feeling of his thick fingers teasing your entrance taking all of your concentration.

But Jenson wasn’t having it, “I think he asked you a question bunny” he spoke with a sharp swat to your thigh.

Swallowing thickly you did your best to reply to the Man beside you.

“H-he recognized my last n-name, ah!” you whimpered, hand gripping onto Sebastian’s wrist as two of his fingers entered your core.

“Let me guess he turned out to be an f1 fan and only asked about your dad?.” Jenson spoke.

“Mhm” you sobbed as both their fingers began to work you open, Sebastian’s scissoring inside you while Jenson shamelessly rubbed your clit.

You attempted to buck your hips but they were quickly pushed down by Jenson’s free hand, yearning him a whimper of annoyance.

“Don’t be a brat now Liebling, after all we did cut our dinner short to come and get you” Sebastian tutted, taking his eyes off the hardly filled road for a moment to look over at your breathtaking frame.

The skirt of your dress was pushed up and the panties you once wore were now resting on the floor of his overly expensive car, your pretty sounds getting louder as their fingers didn’t let up.

“Can feel her clenching my fingers so tight, our girls getting close” Sebastian spoke aloud, talking about you like you weren’t even there.

“Please, I-need it, please I’ll be good” you begged them, the pleasure from both of them so overwhelming.

“Oh you poor thing” Jenson said with a faux pout, his free hand coming up to hold you jaw, turning you head to connect your lips in a dirty kiss.

It was filthy, teeth clashing and tongues fighting against each other, and by the time you had pulled away you realized Sebastian was pulling into his private driveway.

And while you had expected them to let up they didn’t, in fact Sebastian sped up his movements as he felt you clenching hard around his fingers.

The sound of squelching from your cunt filled the small car. Sebastian’s fingers coming into contact with the sensitive spot inside you as his fingers continued to fuck you rigorously.

“Seb!-ngh, feels so good” you babbled, head thrown back against Jason’s shoulder as his fingers that had been abusing your clit applied more pressure to the small bud.

“Look so beautiful like this bunny, all spread open for us.” Sebastian cooed.

“Don’t stop please! I need it” you begged both men, your pathetic pleads going right into Jensons ear.

“Oh you need it huh? I’m not sure honey. Already had to leave our dinner because you got bored with some jerk, why should we give you anything else?” Jenson tutted behind you.

“No, no, please-Jenson please let me come, I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner” You sobbed as the heat in your lower stomach got stronger and stronger.

“Hmm, I guess we’ll accept your apology. Go on and come for us pretty girl.” Sebastian encouraged.

Their fingers worked together to get you over the edge, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as your body shook.

Your thighs quivered as you soaked Sebastian’s fingers in your release, both men’s eyes gleaming with pride as they watched you come down from your high.

Jenson had slightly repositioned you so you could now face Sebastian, just in time to watch him slip his covered fingers into his mouth; moaning at the taste of you.

A gasp came from you as Jenson ran his fingers through your folds so he could get his own taste of your release.

“Taste so good darling” he smiled down at you.

“Wanna taste?” Sebastian asked.

With a small nod you leaned forward expecting him to slip his fingers into your mouth, however one of his large hands wrapped around your throat and pulled your lips to his.

You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself, his tongue running along yours as your lips moved together.

“I think it’s time we take you inside and fuck you properly, what’d you think?”

-

Favorite fics part. 3

13. Kimi Raikkonen:

Him using ice (smut)

Only the best for you (smut)

Reader gets injured (fluff)

Spoken admiration (fluff)

14. Marcus Armstrong:

Careful daughter (fluff)

Sidewalk rule (fluff)

15. Lewis Hamilton:

Please (smut)

Don't give me that look (smut)

16. Jenson Button:

No such thing as I can't (+SV) (smut)

Reader reading spicy books (smut)

Jenson is your boss (smut)

Something devoured (smut)

Innocent mind (smut)

Morning rush (suggestive)

Sugar daddy (fluff)

Be your wingman (fluff)

Ugly Christmas sweater (fluff)

17. Toto Wolff:

Something desired (smut)

Sleeping on his back (fluff)

18. Mark Webber:

Swimming (smut)

Christmas music (fluff)

19. Fernando Alonso

Something spoiled (smut)

Your pick (smut)

Reader getting jealous (suggestive)

20. Yuki Tsunoda:

God knows I'm tired (fluff)

21. Logan Sargeant:

954. (smut)

Summer in the 305 (fluff)

My one and only (fluff)

From the garage to the hotel (fluff)

Viva las Vegas (fluff)

22. Liam Lawson:

And they were roommates (smut)

Him teasing reader (smut)

The man with the hex (fluff, suggestive)

Tickle attack (fluff)

Reader playing with his hair (fluff)

Good, now sleep (fluff)

23. Clement Novalak:

Brother's best friend (suggestive)

24. Paul Aaron:

Only one bed (fluff)

25. Ollie Bearman:

Go back to bed (fluff)

26. Zak O'Sullivan:

Nuggets and shakes 9FLUFF0

Random:

Driver!Reader getting in a crash (fluff)

Somethin about Mick pleasuring himself makes me go a bit feral. I mean imagine he’s punishing you for being a brat and sits opposite you stroking himself. Ye please 🙏🏻

wicked. you guys are wicked. dedicating this to @daydreamingleclerc cause this is right up her alley.

Your boyfriend was mean, beyond mean. This was cruel.

To be fair, you were the one that put yourself in this situation but Mick didn't have to take you seriously the time, he usually didn't. You had teased him all through dinner; low cut top, you were out with friends so he couldn't be touchy, a hand on his lap the entire night, sitting on his lap for photos and wiggling around to get comfortable but he knew you were just rilling him up.

"Mick," you groaned, pouting as you watched him.

"What?" He mumbles, not even bothering to look up at you. His hand wrapped around his cock, moving up and down slowly; the same way you'd do it.

He made you sit on the bed, watching him make himself feel good instead of letting you touch him. This was more torture for you than him, at least he was still getting some sort of pleasure.

"Oh poor thing," he coos, glancing over at you. You were sitting on your knees, eyes fixed on his hand moving up and down. "Can I touch you, please?" You asked sweetly, hoping he'd cave and say yes.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Yes." You answer a bit too eagerly for your liking.

Mick smiles- the way your eyes followed his every move, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

"Fine. C'mere." He gives in, only because his hand is tired he tells himself. Not because he knows your hand feels way better than his. You're on your knees, looking up at him. His other hand grips your chin, "what do you say?"

"Thank you," you smiled sweetly at him.

"Good girl."

mick schumacher during wec testing in portimão, portugal - december, 2023

slippery when wet // david malukas (kinktober day 1!)

summary: she looks so good in her halloween costume, and all he wants is to bury his head between her thighs until she screams his name. even if it is in pato’s bathroom.

prompt: semi-public sex

pairing: david malukas x female reader

warnings: bathroom sex, david has an eensie weensie little bit of a corruption kink, sting ray gets traumatized

she looked so innocent, dancing with lissie and elba, her tight white dress hugging her curves. the dress was a decent length, down to just above her knees, but in davids hungry eyes, it was downright indecent.

the trio had dressed for the occasion: a triplets costume as kiss, marry and kill appropriately. elba was kiss, lissie was kill and y/n was marry, a charming white veil falling over her hair.

david malukas was smitten, it was an open secret.

there was nothing he wanted more than to hike his girlfriends skirt up to her waist, rip her lacy panties in half and bury his head between her thighs until she cried from overstimulation.

“dude, stop undressing her with your eyes. it’s getting creepy.” pato o’ ward laughed, placing a red solo cup in front of him. “i get that you two are in love or whatever, but I do not want to hear you two having sex in the trailer before a race.”

“but it’s my good luck charm.” dave joked, finally managing to tear his eyes away from his lover “don’t worry, i wouldn’t do that to you. I respect you guys too much. sting ray on the other hand…gosh he’s fun to fuck with.”

“if you could stop being madly in love for five minutes, maybe you’d actually get something done.” pato joked, nudging his shoulder

well, how could dave get anything done when all he wanted to do was her?

he slipped behind her, resting his hands on his lovers waist before leaning down to rest his chin on the top of her head. she hummed in content, leaning into his touch, placing one hand on top of his.

lissie and elba gave them a knowing look before drifting off to find their respective partners: marcus was out on the porch with the other ganassi boys and elbas husband had long since vanished after pato sent him on a beer run.

“your friends didn’t have to leave.”

“they did when you gave me bedroom eyes.” y/n laughed, mimicking her boyfriends ‘fuck me’ eyes before she kissed him softly, turning around in his touch so she could hug him.

one of davids hands come down to gently squeeze her ass, a fistful of flesh in his comforting grip. she knew what he wanted.

“you look so innocent in white. with those carnations on your wrist and the lace on your hair. but nobody else knows what I know, my pretty perfect girl.”

“mhm, and what’s that.”

“how you sound anything but innocent when I have my tongue buried inside of you.” he rasped, lips just barely dusting her ear.

and that’s how they found themselves on one of the house’s cavernous bathrooms, their giggles echoing off the tile as david swept her off her feet, his lips stitched to hers with a grin as he guided her towards the vanity.

“david!” she giggled, feeling his hands venture up her dress, hiking the white fabric over her hips before he groaned.

“jesus, you even wore the leg garter.”

“um, yeah. hand to god, I was hoping you’d rip it off me when we got home.”

at the confession, he wasted no time dropping to his knees, kissing up her thigh before gripping the garter between his teeth and attempting to tear it off. when that didn’t work, the mclaren driver let out a disgruntled, well, grunt, before ripping it apart by hand. she gasped, feeling his hungry lips trailing up her thigh.

"here? in pato's bathroom?"

david shrugged. "i had a craving."

"for what?" she laughed

"you. on the counter, love. spread those gorgeous legs nice and wide for me."

she did as she was told, perching on the edge of the counter. her garter lay in shambles on the floor, which she had figured was going to happen at some point during the night. david's hands grappled for her lacy panties, the man barely paying the pattern any mind as he fought to yank them down her legs without breaking them (and he heard a few stitches pop, he can't guarantee there aren't any rips).

"you're my own personal angel, sweetheart." he breathed, sinking to the cold tile floor. the bathroom lighting was soft, framing her face in a gentle halo of light. "too wicked for heaven, but way too sweet for hell."

she breathed heavily as david's warm hands parted her slick lips, her juices dripping onto the counter.

"fuck, baby." he exhaled. "i got you this worked up already?"

she nodded, nudging him with one silver stiletto-clad foot. "david. please."

"patience, my sweet girl." david hummed, clicking his tongue before running his fingers over entrance. "so good for me." he breathed, the cold air to her most sensitive area making her jolt.

and when his tongue licked it's first path up her cunt, she couldn't stop the moan she let out; a hearty, yet strangled cry that she was certain could be heard through the drywal if not for felix's phone being hooked up to the sound system, currently blaring the monster mash.

she would never get tired of the way david ate her out, like he was on death row and she was his last meal. he paid her so much care and attention, her arousal dripping down his face as he practically french kissed her heat, strong hands keeping her legs spread for him.

"oh god, david." she whined, bucking against his face, tangling one hand in his curls.

"i know honey, i know. god, i love this pussy. but you need to stay quiet. we can't let anybody hear those sexy noises you make." he slurred, drunk off the taste of her as he plunged his tongue inside her without warning.

she tried to form words, tried to even just let out an expletive, but all that came out was another strangled moan, this one louder than the first, followed by a series of whimpers as she leaned back against the mirror, almost fucking herself on his tongue as she struggled to keep her hips under control.

“david!” she whined, pouting when he pulled away from her, a mischievous grin on his face.

“you promised to be quiet, love.”

“fuck off. I can be quiet, I will be so fucking quiet.” she begged. “please david, I need your tongue.”

“you have to be so so quiet, pretty girl. or I’ll have to put your panties in your mouth to muffle those pretty whines.”

he focussed his attention back on her aching core, tongue lapping up every last drop of the juices spilling from her. she bit her lip to stop herself from moaning, hard enough to draw blood as he sucked her clit in between his lips.

“oh my god, david.”

“what the fuck?!?!”

david stumbled to his feet, almost tripping in the white lace lying against the floor as he moved the shield his girlfriend from the interlopers eyes.

“sting ray? what the fuck, dude!” david shouted, trying to wipe off his face. it was pointless: they were both flushed red and it was obvious what they had been doing.

of course, the garter and panties on the floor would probably give it away.

sting ray robb stood in the doorway blinking as he tried to comprehend what he had just walked in on. “have you never heard of locking the goddamn door! I have seen things that no man should ever see!”

“haven’t you ever heard of knocking!”

shocked, dumbfounded and a little traumatized, sting ray shut his eyes and backed away from the doorframe, practically slamming the door closed with a disgusted shout.

“I have seen things I can’t unsee!” his idaho drawl carried down the hall as david and y/n stood stock still in the bathroom, laughter on their rosy cheeks.

“dave!” she scolded “why didn’t you lock the door?”

david shrugged, kissing her forehead. “you distract me too much. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“if I lock the door, can we finish what we started?”

“david malukas!”

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @clemswrld @httpiastri @libraryofloveletters @lorarri @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @diorleclerc @love4lando @thatsdemko @oconso

Always Walk Me Home

Max Verstappen x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You and Max are keeping things casual. Sooo casual. You can be casual. Right?

a/n: Heeeeere we go, his number is in my bio for a reason, it’s my other favorite boy! This one is heavily inspired by some of the prompts on this list. anyways enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol/mild intoxication, mild sexual references, google translated Dutch

Things with Max are… brand new. Everything is still fresh. Everything he does gives you butterflies, makes your heart skip a beat. It’s the honeymoon phase, as everyone calls it.

It’s so brand new that nobody knows. Nothing is… official, yet. You’ve just been on a few dates, had a few movie nights. You’ve stayed at his place a couple times, waking up with his arm around your waist and Jimmy and Sassy curled up next to you. It’s casual. You’re keeping things casual. Max seems content to feel things out, to keep seeing you without labeling it. You’re trying so hard to be casual about it that it’s almost embarrassing.

You feel like everyone sees straight through you. On top of spending time alone together, you and Max are friends, so you see each other at group outings and clubs and dinners with your other friends. Max acts the same there as he always has- kind, courteous, and friendly. You won’t lie, sometimes you wish he’d hold your hand or pull your chair out for you or something, anything to show you that you’re not the only one feeling less than casual. But you’re scared of scaring him away, so you keep your mouth shut.

…..

You’re out to dinner with friends, somehow ending up sitting next to him. It’s nice, really nice. You can smell his cologne, can feel the warmth radiating off of him at the packed table. You have to fight the urge to nudge his foot with yours, to press your knee against his. That wouldn’t be very casual of you. You can do this, you can be normal.

He’s saying something to the person next to him, laughing and leaning towards them. You want to be the reason he’s laughing, want to be in on the jokes. You keep your mouth shut and look at the menu instead.

“What are you going to get?” Max asks.

He’s suddenly in your space. He’s leaning close, his shoulder brushing against yours. Be normal. You shrug, sliding your finger down the menu.

“Probably the shrimp scampi,” you say, pointing at the item.

Max nods. “You love seafood.”

You blink, breath caught in your chest. He’s right, but you didn’t know he knew that. Let alone for him to say it as fact. It’s not like he’s whispering either- someone else could hear. It’s silly, because it’s such a small thing, but you’re overanalyzing everything about it.

“I do,” you agree, turning and smiling at him.

“I remember things,” he says, a soft smile on his face, and now your face is growing hot.

Someone draws his attention away, and you look back to the menu. You nearly yelp in shock when something brushes your knee, but- it’s Max, you realize with a start, his hand searching for something. You hold your breath. His fingers find yours, and he interlaces your hands, palm to palm. He keeps them resting on your leg.

You try to take even breaths. He’s holding your hand in public, with your friends right next to you. Sure, it’s under the table, but this is the most you’ve gotten from him in a setting like this. He’s held your hand on dates, done much more in the privacy of his home, but here it feels overwhelming. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, and you resist the urge to hold on so tightly to him that he can’t let go.

Eventually the food comes, and you both let go so you can eat. But it was nice while it lasted.

…..

Max’s apartment is spacious and cozy, despite the fact that he’s gone from it so often. There’s a warmth here, an aura that just screams Max. His cats roam freely, though while you’re there they have a tendency to follow you around.

“They are traitors,” Max accuses as Jimmy and Sassy weave around your ankles in the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m just better than you,” you say.

“Oh, you are,” he says, sending up a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. “But I feed them. So they are traitors.”

You laugh, leaning down to pet the cats. They nudge their heads against your hands and legs, paw at your socks, and when you walk into the living room, they follow after. Max just watches with disappointment.

By the time he joins you in the living room, drinks in hand, both of them are curled up in your lap. He lets out a huff and sets the drinks on the table. Then he’s nudging at the cats, and you cry out when he pushes them both off your lap.

“Max!” You say, appalled.

He laughs, lays down on the couch, and promptly placed his head exactly where the two cats had been. He stares up at you with a wide grin, eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer.

He reaches for one of your hands. He squeezes your fingers softly before bringing your hand up to his hair. You laugh and take the hint, start running your fingers through the blonde strands. He lets his eyes fall shut. Then you watch as he brings his hand up, purses his lips, and points at them.

You take that hint too, lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. When you try to pull away, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and keeps you there. He deepens the kiss, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of your neck to hold you there. It’s not the best angle, but it’s nice, always nice to kiss him.

He finally lets you go and collapses back into your lap, a satisfied smile on his reddened lips.

…..

“I can’t open it!” You squeak. “What the fuck, how do they make it look so easy?”

You’re holding a bottle of champagne in your friend’s apartment, trying to get the cork out. It doesn’t help that you’re scared- one too many horror stories about someone getting a cork to the eye, or breaking a window. You huff and try again, gently. No use.

“Lando slams it on the ground,” your friend suggests, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, and he also shattered one of Max’s trophies,” you say. “So maybe not the best example.”

You hear familiar laughter, then, and you drop one hand to your side, still holding the bottle in front of you with the other. Max makes his way through the kitchen, a smile on his lips that paints his whole face. You hold it out to him, pouting.

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

He wraps his hand around yours, around the bottle. You can’t lie, your mind goes somewhere else for a second, but you tamp those thoughts down and try to focus.

“See, you put this hand on the cork,” he instructs, “and this hand on the bottom.”

His hands are warm over yours. Your face feels hot. Does he feel the sparks when his skin touches yours, too? Or is this normal for him? Is it just a friend helping another friend? You wish you knew, wish he’d say something to quell your worries and calm your racing heart.

“-and then you twist, like this,” he demonstrates.

The bottle hisses, and you jump, but there’s no dramatic pop, no shooting of the cork. You just pull it out, and you stare at the bottle with wide eyes. Oh. That was-

“Easy, right?” He says. “You are already a pro.”

You laugh, shake your head, and hold out the bottle to your friends, standing there with their empty glasses. You want to study their faces, ask them if they noticed anything. You want to ask if they saw the sparks, too. Someone takes the bottle, and your hands fall to your side, the cork still between your fingers.

Your knuckles brush against something- when you look, it’s Max’s hand. He’s still standing there, watching as everyone passes the bottle around. You swallow tightly, bump your hand into his. Deliberately. You want to look up at his face, want to gauge his reaction, but you resist the urge.

Max reaches his pinky out and hooks it with yours. For just a moment, standing in the kitchen, surrounded by your friends, you’re linked. The sparks run from his finger, up your wrist and arm and straight to your heart. Your chest fizzes like the champagne, bubbly and overflowing.

…..

You weren’t even planning on seeing Max tonight. It’s a girls night, one that’s been suggested over and over, each of you being too busy to make it happen until tonight. You’re at your favorite bar, bass thudding in your chest, your friends all around you.

And then, there’s a tingling feeling in your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone is watching you. You turn over your shoulder and lock eyes with Max.

He’s leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. He has a black t-shirt on that’s always been one of your favorites- it hugs his upper arms and his chest so perfectly. He’s watching you, a soft smirk on his lips, a drink in his hand. Everyone is moving around you, but you’re stuck on him.

You smile, wave, and force yourself to turn back to your friends. You like him, you want to spend time with him, but you’ve been neglecting your friendships because of it. Your friends have been teasing you all night about how you’ve been too busy, how you keep checking your phone, how there must be a guy. You’ve denied it at every turn. You can’t leave them now. Ditching your friends for the guy who isn’t even your boyfriend would be the opposite of casual. You force yourself not to look at him, but you swear you can still feel him staring.

Ten minutes later, a bartender appears with a tray of shots and lime wedges. “For you,” she says, pointing at you, and your friends squeal in excitement. She points behind you, then. “From him.”

You turn over your shoulder again. Max is watching, and waving this time. You laugh and wave back, and your friends all do the same. He’s far away, too far to make it in time as you each grab a shot and throw them back in unison. You put the lime between your lips and turn to look at him again, raising your brows. He laughs, eyes lit up so bright you can see the blue even across the room, you swear. Then he juts his chin in the direction of the hallway when nobody else is looking. A message just for you.

You find him out there ten minutes later, trying not to make it obvious and taking the time to come up with an excuse- you fake a phone call. The hall is empty when you walk out, and you wonder if he’s given up on you- you know you saw him walk out. Then he pops his head out from around a corner and waves you over frantically.

He’s leaning against the wall, the same way he was in the club. You stand against the wall on the other side of the hallway and stare at him.

“I’m not leaving right now,” you say. “I promised I’d stay out late.”

“I know,” he says. “Just wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? Seeing me across the bar wasn’t enough?”

The tequila running in your veins has you feeling braver than usual. It doesn’t seem to scare Max. He just grins wider, brow quirked.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. “You’re pretty from far away, but even prettier up close.”

Your face feels hot. He pushes off from the wall, leans towards you. He could box you in if he wanted, could pin you right there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes your hand in his and pulls you away from the wall, too. The kiss he sweeps you into is sweet. He wraps his arm around you, and you sling yours around the back of his neck. One of his hands cradles the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. Out of all of it, you’re much more focused on the feeling of his thumb on your cheek than the feeling of his lips on yours. It’s strangely intimate, strangely soft, the way he holds you as he kisses you in the hallway of a bar. The way his nose nudges against your cheek, the way he pulls you closer and closer like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away, leaves you gasping for air.

“You taste like lime,” he says.

You nod, dumbfounded.

“You should go back to your friends,” he suggests, kissing your temple. “If I keep kissing you I won’t want to let you go.”

You breathe out a laugh and slap his shoulder. “If you keep staring at me in the club I won’t be able to focus on anything else.”

He laughs. “I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it fun. Besides, you’re fun to watch.”

…..

Three days later, Max is holding your purse. He’d taken it from you when you were all standing in the lobby of the restaurant and your friend dragged you into the bathroom. He’d promised to keep it safe. Now you’re back, your friends are gathering their things and saying goodbyes, getting ready to go home. You’re watching him.

The little black bag looks even smaller in his hands. His fingers are wrapped around the clutch, thumb rubbing back and forth across one of the stitches the same way it had on your skin the night before. He’s talking to someone else, but when there’s a break in the conversation, you nudge him.

“I can take that back,” you say, holding your hand out.

He tilts his head, blinks softly. “That’s okay. I’ll carry it.”

You’re sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “Okay, but I’m leaving, so I need my purse.”

He nods. “I thought maybe I could walk you home. If you wanted.”

You nod in response, feeling a bit dumbfounded. The two of you exit the restaurant, waving goodbye to your friends. He takes your hand the second you’re outside, your purse still in his other one. Your fingers knit together like second nature, now. You could predict the pattern of the brush of his thumb against your skin like clockwork.

Your apartment isn’t far, but you find yourself walking slow on purpose, prolonging the moment. You pass people on the street and you know that to them, the two of you look like a real, actual couple. It’s nice to pretend. You lean into his shoulder, and he stumbles and laughs and keeps both of you upright. The two of you talk the whole way there, about everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.

When you reach the apartment building, he finally holds your purse out to you. You open the clutch, digging through it to find your keys and the front door access card. He watches in amusement as your fingers fumble through the bag.

“D’you wanna come up?” You ask. “I have some of that wine you like.”

You pull the card triumphantly from your bag. You look up at him, and he’s smiling softly, something sparkling in his eyes that makes your breath hitch. Makes the champagne bubble in your chest all over again.

“That’s okay,” he says, softly. “I’ve got to get back to the cats. But can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You blink, card still pinched between your fingers. “Yeah, sure.”

He tilts his head at you. “Maybe brunch. You are going to need sleep. How about you text me when you wake up and we’ll go from there?”

You nod. He nods back. Then he reaches up, cups the side of your face in his hand. He’s so gentle about it, more so than he normally is. When he presses his lips to yours, he tastes like gin and he kisses like… like he cares for you. Like this isn’t leading somewhere else, like he’s not going to pull you into his lap and start trailing kisses down your neck. He kisses you just to kiss you, just to say goodnight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says when he pulls away. “Goodnight, liefje.”

You smile up at him. “Goodnight, Max.”

He smiles back. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead softly. You swear you’re melting into the sidewalk. You must be a puddle under his feet. You want to press yourself into his chest, tell him to wrap his arms around you, ask him to never let you go.

But you’re trying so hard to be so good at being casual, so you kiss his cheek, turn around, and walk inside. You take the elevator up, leaning against the wall and covering your giddy smile with your hand. When you get into your apartment, kick off your heels, and drop your bag on the counter, your phone buzzes. It’s a call. You look at the screen and see Max’s face.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Did you get in alright?” He asks.

Your heart squeezes fiercely in your chest. He sounds so soft, asking it. You walk over to the window, peel back the curtains, hoping you’re right about what you think you’ll see. There he is, still standing in front of the entrance, phone to his ear. He’s staring up at your window. When he sees you, he waves.

“Yeah,” you say. “You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

But I’m so glad you did.

“Yes I did,” he says, voice soft and scratchy from the night out. “Had to make sure you were safe.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” he says. You watch as he waves again, smiling up at you. “Goodnight.”

…..

He picks you up for brunch the next day. By the time you’re in his car, it’s nearly 10:30. He drives with his hand on your knee, like always, fingers dancing across your exposed skin below the hem of your sundress. You like watching him drive, like being here with him. He pulls up to the restaurant and runs around to open your door for you, leaving you laughing. He hands the keys to the valet. Then he slips his arm around your waist and leads you inside.

You’ve been on dates with him, but none this fancy, none where you feel a little out of your element. Max seems comfortable, though- it’s moments like these where you’re reminded he’s not just your-friend-Max. He’s three-time-F1-world-champion-Max-Verstappen. Of course he can get a reservation here with such short notice. They’re honored to have him here.

A waiter leads you to a booth in the back. The restaurant is bright and airy, fresh flowers on every table. Max asks for a pitcher of water and orange juice before the waiter leaves. He pulls your chair out for you, pushes it in when you sit down. Your palms are sweating, heart beating rapidly. It’s just- this is the closest you’ve come to feeling like you’re actually dating him. Suddenly, it’s terrifying.

You ask him what’s good on the menu. He points out his favorites- the French toast, the eggs Benedict, the omelettes. He tells you he’s going to order a fruit sampler for the two of you to share, and you smile softly.

“They always have the best strawberries,” he tells you, eyes lit up. “You love strawberries.”

“I do,” you tell him, warmth filling your cheeks. “You do too.”

You’d bonded over that, when you first became friends. A strawberry wine that nobody else wanted to drink. Too sweet. You’d split the bottle with Max and went to bed with a sugar rush, your lips still tasting like strawberry. Ever since, for every special occasion, the two of you have gifted each other that same strawberry wine. It’s a running joke, among your friends- you’ll open the bottle, ask if anyone wants a glass. They’ll ignore you, but Max will come running.

He opens his mouth to say something, but over his shoulder, you spot something that makes your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He looks at you in concern. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just-“ you sigh. “Your coworker is here.”

Charles Leclerc has just walked in the door, a girl on his arm. The waiter is pointing in your general direction, towards an open table a little ways away. There goes your whole morning. He’s going to want to leave now.

Max turns to look, brows raised. “Oh. At least it’s one I like.”

You can’t help the laugh. “Should we go?”

Max turns back to you, perplexed. “What, get up to say hi? I don’t like him that much. He’ll come over here when he sees us.”

Us. You wish he meant it how you want him to.

“No, like-“ you sigh, gaze flickering down to the table. “You don’t want people to know, so-“

“What?” He asks, wide eyed. “What do you mean, I don’t want-“

“You didn’t want to tell anyone,” you say, quietly. You can’t look at him. “We haven’t even really talked about this, and… I figured you…”

You trail off, because you can feel him staring at you. He reaches over and tucks his finger under your chin. He tilts your face upwards towards his. His gaze is soft, a small smile on his face.

“Schat, you have to be joking,” he says, and you stare back at him. “Of course I want to tell people. I have wanted to tell the whole world since I kissed you the first time.”

You blink. “But you- you didn’t want to put a label on it. You never…”

“We never talked about it,” he says. “I was giving you time. I’m a lot. Dating me is a lot. You are… I was following your lead.”

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, a giddy feeling in your chest. “Oh my god, I’m so dumb.”

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment. His eyes are bright and sparkling, his smile spreading across his whole face. You’re so done being casual.

Charles appears at the end of your table seconds later, smiling at the two of you. “Max, hi, good to see you. And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds, turning to you.

“Charles, this is my girlfriend,” Max says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

When you greet Charles, you can’t wipe the giddy grin from your face. It stays there the whole rest of the day- through breakfast, through a walk through a park, through a late lunch at Max’s with the cats winding around your ankles. Every time it starts to fade you think of Max, bright blue eyes, his finger under your chin. You fall asleep still smiling. You’re pretty sure it’ll be there when you wake up.

…..

The next time you go out with your friends, Max carries your bag the whole night. He also keeps his hand on the small of your back nearly constantly. He orders and pays for all of your drinks, includes you in all the conversations, and brushes his lips against your temple every time there’s a lull in the talking.

Nobody questions it. None of your friends even bat an eye. You find out why when you end up in the bathroom with the girls, a tradition as old as time itself.

It turns out they all already knew.

“Max told us all the day after he kissed you the first time,” someone tells you. “And then he told us we all had to act like nothing was different, because he didn’t want to scare you off.”

You collapse into a fit of laughter, bracing yourself against the sink. All this time, you were worried about it, and he’d told everyone right away. You’d thought you were the one struggling to be casual. God, you’d have saved yourself so much trouble if you’d only asked. If you’d only told him straightforward what you wanted. If you’d only been up front.

You’re giddy with it, then. You can feel it coursing through your veins and buzzing in your fingertips. You won’t call it love yet, at least not out loud. It’s too soon, right? It can’t be love. But it’s something, and now you want him next to you. You want his lips on yours again. You’re missing him even though he’s just through the door, waiting for you, your bag in his hand.

When you return to his side, you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. You watch his smile grow and his cheeks turn red. You place your hand on his shoulder and put your lips against his ear.

“You should take me home,” you tell him.

His cheeks get even redder, and he turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “You’ll walk me home, right?”

“Always,” he agrees.

He takes your hand, squeezes lightly. You feel like you’re glowing brighter than the neon lights above your head.

…..

You slip up over your morning cup of coffee three days later. The cats are in your lap. There’s the perfect amount of cream and sugar in the mug, he’s made it exactly right. The sun is shining through the windows, bouncing off his hair and painting his skin in golden light. You weren’t going to say it out loud, you really weren’t, but it slips past your lips anyways.

“I love you,” you say.

Max laughs, takes the mug from your hands, and kisses you.

Then he says it right back.

read the prequel/ sequel, Someone Sane

okay, now I’ve got my three favorite boys in the masterlist! thanks for reading! come say hi, or check out more of my writing here. drop an ask or a dm to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

since we all call him daddy already, daddy kink + jenson? 👀

- 👁🫦👁

this is the one. 

the two of you had been out shopping all day, it was jenson’s idea but now he's getting irritated with you dragging him from store to store. 

you were trying on a dress, jenson sitting in the waiting room scrolling through his phone. you stepped out to show him but he wasn't paying attention. 

“jense? jenson?” you called for him twice and no luck. “daddy?” you call, hands on your hips as you call for him. 

the man looks up and smile, “cute. are you done ?” 

you roll your eyes and walk back in to change. jenson gives you his card, letting you pay and telling you he’ll be in the car. 

you cannot believe this man but anyways you bought what you wanted and a pair of heels to match the dress since he was annoying you - you knew he wouldn't mind. 

jenson was waiting in the car for you, sat in the driver’s seat when you got in. “what’s up your ass today?” you ask and he looks over at you. 

“excuse me?” 

“why are you so cranky ? it was your idea to come out.” 

he moved so fast, you didn’t even realize until his hand was wrapped around your throat. “what did you say to me?” 

your eyes meet his. “nothing.” 

“that’s what I thought,” he says. “are you going to behave now?” 

“yes.” he lets go of your throat, hand coming up to rest on your jaw. 

“yes who?” 

“yes jenson.” 

he shook his head disapprovingly, “try again.” 

“yes daddy.” 

“good girl,” he smiles, kissing you. 

in another universe, you chose me.

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟭𝟬: 𝘆𝘂𝗸𝗶 𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗼𝗱𝗮 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗮𝗯-𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝗳𝗿𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your mental state is suffering–you’re not sure if you can handle alphatauri posting another thirst trap of your boyfriend to disguise their inability to build a car that doesn’t break within the first ten laps. but, when yuki posts his own half-naked picture on main? he’s asking for it, at this point. clearly, he’s been spending too much time with pierre. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. ab-riding. pierre gasly is his own warning. no penetrative sex. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: yuki tsunoda x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: drabble. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best friend • saweetie ft. doja cat

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: this is actually the dirtiest fic, in theory yk. yuki has my heart, and i'm single handedly going to fill tumblr with my posts about him, thank you, good night.

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cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

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you can’t stand his smug ass smirk. he knows damn well how you feel about his thirst traps. sure, alphatauri milks any chance of plastering yuki across their social media page to fail at distracting fans from the fact that their the slowest car on the grid, and that they can’t build a car that doesn’t fall apart like legos. but, yuki, posting practically-naked (he’s only shirtless, so really you’re mildly exaggerating) pictures on his main instagram page?? he’s not george-fucking-russell, so, why the hell would he do that?

there’s only two answers to this question, and they’re both correct. one, pierre gasly—the french bastard. you can’t leave them together unsupervised. and two, to make you mad. 9which you very much are, so, yuki achieved what he wanted. he’s especially thrilled, when you shove him down onto your bed, and straddle his lap, angrily tugging his shirt off. yuki grins up at you, satisfied at where a simple shirtless picture lead him to. he should listen to pierre more often, his ex-teammate might have good ideas, however rare they are. once his shirt is off, you freeze, breathing heavily as you drink in the sight of his torso. you lean forward and start sucking marks into his pecs, biting into the meat of his chest, and tracing the definition of his abs with your tongue. yuki’s moans rumble in his chest, and he lets his eyes flutter shut and basks under the thorough claim you’re leaving on his body. at least you’re kind enough to avoid placing any marks high enough to where they could be seen from the neck of a shirt—alphatauri will just have to post pre-filmed videos they have in the vault while your hickeys fade, they’ll survive.

you erratically jerk away again, and strip your bottoms off, shoving your underwear down and tossing them behind you. you tug your shirt up until it bunches under your armpits, and you drag the cups of your bra underneath your chest, causing them to spill over the top obscenely. roughly grabbing at your boyfriend’s hands, you direct them to grasp at your boobs, and command, “keep your abs flexed.” yuki makes a noise of confusion, but you don’t elaborate any further. you lower yourself to sit on his abdomen, and grind across him slowly, testing the waters. your head falls forward from the zing of pleasure that races up your spine, and you quickly start rabbiting your hips across the dips and ridges of his muscles. 

yuki is rendered speechless at your motions. he was expecting you to ride his dick, not his abs. he’s not going to complain about this, though. you’re rubbing yourself off on his torso—your moans are bitten off and rough, and your grinds are deep and forceful to make sure your clit catches on every sharp edge of his abdomen. it’s the dirtiest thing yuki’s ever seen you do, usually he’s the one being unhinged. he squeezes at your chest rhythmically, dropping his hands to your chest eventually to watch how your breasts bounce at every shift you make—he sighs contentedly, this is heaven. 

he brings one hand to reach around you and palm himself over his shorts, but is denied the chance to do so. you hiss at him meanly, and pull his hand back to your waist, eyes flashing at him in warning. yuki falters under the commanding glint of your gaze, maybe he pushed you too far this time. he adjusts his grip on your body and takes some of the load off you, and guides your hips against his body for you—he could feel your thighs begin to tremble in exhaustion and based on how deadest you’ve become on getting yourself off on his abs, he doesn’t want to feel any additional wrath when your release slips from your grasp. 

a squeal of relief rattles through your chest at how yuki does the hard work for you. he moves your body exactly how you crave, and you find it incredibly difficult to remember why you were mad in the first place. instead of your thighs shaking in tiredness—you’re thankfully not used to being the one putting all the work in, your boyfriend’s stamina is appreciated—they begin to quiver as you get closer to cumming. your own hand comes to tug at your nipples, looking for any last flare of pleasure to push you over the edge. the wetness you’ve spread across his abs has started to lessen the friction you feel against your cunt. yuki sees the frustration furrowing your brow, and shifts his right hand down over your navel so his thumb can rub at your clit. you gasp, throwing your head back at white-hot burst of contentment behind your eyes, and all it takes is a few more furious passes of yuki’s fingers on your cunt, as the coil snaps inside your core, and waves of bliss crash over you.

yuki slips his hand away, and guides you to ride out the aftershocks on his abs. he moans at the sight of pure satisfaction on your face, and how you’ve soaked his torso, reminding him what belongs to you, with no room for vagueness. you eventually slow your roll, and fall to the side off yuki. the two of you pant as you stare at the ceiling, allowing the rapid beats of your hearts to slow.

you tilt your head to face him, and smile dopily at the sight of yuki staring at his navel. you’ve drenched him with your release, and it glistens beautifully on his tanned skin. if you were truly unhinged, you’d take a picture with your hand rubbing your wetness across his skin, and post it for everyone to see. the contrasting shades of your skin under the light of golden hour would look perfect. it would probably cost your boyfriend’s career, so maybe that’s not an equal exchange. 

hummingly faintly, you stumble off 9ithe bed, legs still shaking as you walk towards the bathroom. “you can get yourself off. you’re not fucking me for a week—“ yuki makes an alarmed noise, sputtering in disbelief, struggling to find his words, “oh, don’t get mouthy with me. i could make it so you never fuck me again—i just gave you enough material to last you for that long.” you slam the bathroom door shut, and yuki’s mouth hangs open in shock. fuck, pierre. he’s never listening to his suggestions ever again.

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