Prize

Heyyy hope you have a good day, i come bearing new thots

Credit where credit’s due, the idea is an old and deleted roger Taylor fic and not from me.

HOWEVER. Im now obsessed with this scenario with either lando or oscar (ill let you choose <3)

Roommate!AU !!!

Imagine you’re friends and roommates with lando or oscar and he has to study for his upcoming biology exam at uni. The topic? Female reproductive organs🤭

He just genuinely struggles with understanding the anatomy of a vagina and that picture in his damn book is absolutely not recognisable.

And since him and reader are friends and she doesn’t think thoughts all the way through she offers him to look at hers. I mean hes seen her shirtless a million times its nbd.

And staring at her beautiful pussy really does help him - to an extend. Hes so into his studies he doesn’t really process that he asked her „can i touch it??“ and she just goes along with it bc it’s already lowkey awkward and theres no turning back now.

She tries to not make it more awkward by suppressing her moans when his finger brush over her clit all while hes just identifying parts with his thoughts oblivious to what he does to her.

And she cant keep in the moan when he pushes his fingern in and suddenly he realises what hes doing. But he sneakily keeps going until she cums and hes trying his best to keep up the ignorant act bc shes js too hot like that😩

Got damn it i need a full length version of this fic again 😭

-🫀

i want to write a full length version omfg this is incredible!!! pictured oscar immediately. kinda set in like the early 2000s in my head bc i wanted to mention dvd rentals One Time and that's not a thing anymore but that's the world i grew up in LMAO

sorry i like got too into this at first and forgot i made plans to game with my friend and rushed the ending im sorry. added read more bc it's just over 1k <3 i think i like this a lot other than the ending idk . lmk what u think i hope it meets the expectations set by the original

reader thinks oscar's an innocent idiot but he just probably shouldn't be in medical school because while he can find the clit, he certainly doesn't know the name of it.

Her roommate has been staring at the same page for half an hour, they're seated on opposite ends of the couch, leaning against the arms and facing each other. She has a Stephen King novel leaned on her propped up knees and Oscar has an open textbook balanced on one thigh and a notebook open to a blank page on the other. After another frustrated sigh leaves him, she drops her book on the coffee table and leans over to see what he's looking at. She almost laughs when she sees the miniature sketch of a vagina, "You know, the DVD rental place down the street has rated X movies."

Oscar snorts, "I'm trying to work, leave me alone. I'm supposed to learn all the anatomical names of a vagina, but the only drawing I have is in this stupid book."

She leans in further to the diagram and hums, "That's a horrible diagram, no wonder you're getting nothing done. How old is that that textbook?" He shrugs and stretches back over the arm of the couch, "Probably like thirty, the professor wrote it himself and he's ancient."

Her eyes get pulled to his hips as he reaches behind his head and groans, his shirt lifting the slightest to reveal soft skin before he drops his arms back down. She licks her lips as she directs her gaze up to his face, "I could show you mine, if you want." The swift inhale Oscar makes is audible, he keeps his gaze locked on the books in his lap as he says, "Really?" Instead of verbally agreeing, she just scoots back to where she was leaning moments before on the arm of the couch and shimmies her shorts down before she can think twice. She giggles at the look on Oscar's face as she kicks the shorts off her ankles and he takes in the sight of her panties, lacy and red. "Are you sure?"

She shrugs and teases, "Well it's not like they have 3D models. I'm sure, I wouldn't have offered otherwise. Are you sure?" He nods slowly and she tugs her panties down her thighs and smirks at the blush that creeps up his cheeks as she drops them on his lap. She doesn't know where the sudden confidence has come from, but she feels no shame as she opens her legs to him. She drops one foot to the floor and the other lifts to rest on the back of the couch. Oscar holds her eye for a moment before she watches his gaze drift down her body and he starts to lean in before pausing, "Can I get closer?" She nods at his question and answers, "As close as you want." Oscar lurches forwards, knocking the forgotten textbook to the floor as he fumbles to grab his pen and notebook to take notes.

She can't read his chicken scratch handwriting, so whatever he's scrawling about her pussy is undecipherable to her as she watches him analyze her. She's trying not to think about how this could be weird, how it is weird to offer to let your roommate use you as an anatomy dummy. It's not really the first time. He's done other things, like when he needed to practice IVs so she let him give her a banana bag the next time she was hungover. She liked teasing him about it, calling him Doctor Piastri when she let him listen to her heart with his stethoscope. Or when she comes down with a cold and she calls him into her room to diagnose and treat her, and he brings her cold medicine and soup from the deli down the street.

She's pulled out of her thoughts when he clears his throat and she meets his eyes before she hums quizzically. The pink tint that had spattered his cheeks turns into a bright red as he asks, "Can I touch you?"

She almost thinks she didn't hear him correctly, but there's no way he could have said anything else, so she tries to joke, "So you're a hands on learner, then?"

Oscar quickly counters, "Yeah, do you mind?"

It's her turn to lose her breath as she stupidly nods and blushes as she takes in the realization that he's about to touch her pussy. In the name of science, she agrees, "No, go ahead." Then, his hand is on her pussy and his focus is entirely on the space between her legs as he spreads her lips apart and she has to close her eyes and force her mind to other places as he tilts his had interestedly. She wishes she could stop her body from reacting to his touch, but she can't. Not when he pulls back the hood of her clit, she hears him writing something, then there's a soft pressure on her clit and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to not react. She tells herself not to make any sounds so it won't be weird, he's just trying to study, he's not doing anything to her really.

She can feel the wetness build under his fingers as he slips them down to her entrance and back up. She hears Oscar mutter something but she can't make it out over the blood rushing through her head as he presses his fingers back against her clit. "Is this... The labia?" The laugh she lets out is half a moan, "That's the- clit. Labia are the lips." He dips his fingers down and pinches one lightly, "This?"

She's somehow endeared by the curiosity, and sighs, "Yeah. That. Minora. The outer one is majora."

Oscar lets out a little huff, "How do you know the names? You're not even taking anatomy." His fingers find her clit again, this time lightly pinching it, and her thighs tense as he mumbles, "Clit." She hears his pen scratching across his paper and then dips his finger down to her entrance and presses inside. She wonders what he's thinking as he slowly thrusts his finger in and out of her, his other hand still writing on the paper. It's not until he slips a second finger inside of her and curls them as he suddenly presses his thumb to her clit that she breaks her silence, a whimper falling from her lips as the unexpected pleasure hits her. She somehow doesn't realize then that this isn't his first time like she thought when she saw the surprised look on her face. Then she flutters her eyes open and immediately realizes it because he's already looking up at her, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. She gasps, "You- you didn't really need help, did you?"

He shrugs innocently, "I still don't know the names, could you remind me?" She can't tell if he's being serious or not as he quickens his thumb on her clit and she's saved from responding as he pushes up her body and presses his lips to hers hungrily.

Max Verstappen x fem!reader (implied Horner!reader)

The world didn't revolve around him, he'd been told, he knew. He accepted it, because he also knew that all that didn't matter. Not when he was able to watch you.

You and your risqué dance moves, the way your tits bounced so perfectly in your tight dress, your hand creeping down your stomach, your eyeliner that is smuched just the right amount.

Max knows, he shouldn't be looking at you like this, his boss' daugther, that is just ever so slightly too young for him. He's tried to stop, he really has. But he has agree with that one person on twitter; you certainly ooze sex.

He doesn’t realise that you’ve moved away from the dance floor and that you’re now leaning both your hands on the table before his manspreading self. Leaving him a, dare he say, amazing view down your dress, you smirk.

“Hey Maxie,” you slur, removing yourself from your position, rounding the table and sitting down in his lap, your arms sneaking around his neck, his head practically shoved to your tits. Not that he minds.

Max’s hand immediately finds its way to your thigh, your short dress has ridden even higher up, he attempts to pull it down.

“Hey schat” Max is way to drunk for this, he can’t control himself, not when you, the subject of his wet dreams is sitting on his lap.

You slowly lean closer to his ear whispering:

“Can you help me, maxie?”

He gulps, a drop of sweat slowly disappearing between your breasts.

“What?” He mumbles back.

“I’m really needy right now,” you practically moan in his ear, “just need you to take away the ache down there…”you glance down at your lap.

“Fuck baby,” he breathes out, clearly stressed, you’re now looking at him with this sweet smile.

“Wanna go?”

He nods.

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

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

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

Things to note

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

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

Michael did not get in any accident here<3

Reader is 22 and Sebastian is 23

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

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Mercedes!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a little bit of cursing

Word Count: 6.4k+

Playlist Recommendations: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭💔, 𝐒𝐕𝟓

Taglist: @drugged-kitkat , @darleneslane

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it. You’re drunk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.”

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

Sebastian Vettel was your sworn enemy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?”

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not by you, I can’t.”

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

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

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

“You’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt like something was missing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knew exactly who you had to see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me? What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Us?”

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

“You did?”

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

“Look, that was a long time ago and—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Seb.” You followed suit.

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I love you.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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

Favorite fics part. 3

7. Alex Albon:

Hoodie szn (fluff)

Labyrinth (fluff)

Safe and sound (fluff)

8. Arthur Leclerc:

Shut up and get Pt.1; Pt.2; Pt.3 (fluff)

Dim the lights (close your eyes) (fluff)

Keep you warm (fluff)

Him comforting reader (fluff)

9. Mick Schumacher:

Diamonds (smut)

Am I clear? (smut)

Merry ruff-mas (smut)

You don't have to be gentle (smut)

The devil is a fallen angel (fluff)

And When I'm Feeling Alone, You Remind Me Of Home (fluff)

10. Daniel Ricciardo:

Punishment (smut)

Him giving head (smut)

Him taking your virginity (smut)

Something watchful (something jealous) (smut)

Last few pages (smut)

Heat (+MV) (smut)

Face sitting (smut)

Stress reliever (smut)

First time (sweet smut)

Spoiling (fluff)

Possessive and obsessive (fluff)

11. Sebastian Vettle:

Touch my body (smut)

Corruption (teacher!seb) (smut)

Scream! (smut)

Clandestine (smut)

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

I'd rather take my time (smut)

Something wagered (+JB) (smut)

Reader being insecure about her thighs (suggestive)

Stay with me (fluff)

Sugar daddy (smut and fluff)

Look at her (fluff)

A man after midnight (fluff)

12. George Russle:

All of you (smut)

A helping hand (smut)

A helping hand Part.1; Part.2; Part.3 (smut)

We are not just friends and you know it (smut)

Without my permission (smut)

Across the hall Part. 1; Part. 2 (1. fluff, 2 smut)

I think he knows (fluff)

Gust of wind (fluff)

One bed (fluff)

13. Kimi Raikkonen:

Him using ice (smut)

Only the best for you (smut)

Reader gets injured (fluff)

Spoken admiration (fluff)

Protective shield (fluff)

14. Marcus Armstrong:

Careful daughter (fluff)

Sidewalk rule (fluff)

15. Lewis Hamilton:

Please (smut)

Don't give me that look (smut)

Cry little girl (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)

Something wagered (+SV) (smut)

Darling (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)

MASTERLIST

INDYCAR DRIVERS AS ROMANCE BOOK TROPES

summary: I give romance tropes to my favourite funky indycar men. if y’all actually want to see me do any of these, please tell me in the comments 🫣

dedicated to my bestie @magnummagnussen who helped ghostwrite and give her ideas on a few of the tropes! (sorry for not including sting ray bestie, I have his trope to callum!)

pato o ward

reverse grumpy sunshine!!! pato is a bright ball of sunshine and in an ideal romance book he would pair with a girl who is a little grumpy (just a little bit) and cynical about falling in love and then dear sweet patricio would sweep in and show her just how magical being in love can be and show her that soulmates are real and life doesn’t have to be doom and gloom all the time

josef newgarden

single dad x nanny trope! I can see this playing out as recently widowed josef (probably not the right word) struggling to balance being the only caregiver for his son next to his racing career. cue y/n, the nanny he hires to watch after his son while he’s away and competing. he’s scared to fall in love again because he’s still grieving what he once had, but his son grows attached to y/n and how could josef not fall in love with someone his son loves so much?

kyle kirkwood

second chance romance! he lost her once, and now that she’s back in his life he won’t give her up!! the way I see this one playing out is that maybe they were together before kyle made it to the big leagues, back when nobody in america knew his name. but while she was deciding which ivy league scholarship to choose, Kyle is thinking about his career. she gives him an ultimatum, and he picks racing. so she goes to her big fancy school and forgets about him. but when a family tragedy brings her back to florida and she comes face to face with kyle, who is now a grand prix winner, hes desperate to keep her from being the one who got away.

colton herta

accidental pregnancy!! their relationship was falling apart, the distance and the pressures of colton’s career. eating them alive. words were said that couldn’t be taken back. so they called it quits, he moved to nashville and she tried to keep her head down and finish school. until she missed her period. her world seems to be ending with those two little lines, but she still cares about him. she can’t just keep coltons child a secret from him, this disaster is as much his fault as it is hers. so she goes to indiana the weekend before the 500 and she tells him. tensions are running high between them both, but they’re trying to do right by each other and the baby, and the experience reminds them that maybe they were meant to be together all along.

marcus armstrong

brothers best friend!!! y/n ilott knows that marcus is off limits. since she was fifteen she’s thought all her brothers friends were gross anyways. marcus was always by far the most annoying. fast forward a few years and they’re racing together in the same series again and suddenly marcus armstrong isn’t a gross as she remembers. and has his voice always been that sexy?? but callum can NEVER know.

david malukas

wrong number! let’s face it this man is too lazy to make contacts for half of the names in his phone. he was so sure that was sting rays number. why wouldn’t it be, the man from idaho had typed it in himself. turns out, it wasn’t sting ray at all, but some random college student who lived over a thousand miles away. he starts to text her when she gets bored, eventually progressing to face time calls, and begins to get flustered once he has a face to put with the personality. ends with him flying out to meet in her in person.

christian lundgaard

fake dating! he shouldn’t have done it. every bone in his body told him not to do it but the panicked look on her face was enough to make christian agree to pretend to be her boyfriend to scare off her cheating ex boyfriend, who was making her seriously uncomfortable. it was just supposed to be for the weekend, until the guy started leaving her alone. but a lot can happen on one race weekend and suddenly it doesn’t seem so fake anymore.

callum ilott

childhood friends to lovers! they were always just supposed to be friends, but if that’s the case, why does callum hate her new boyfriend now that the relationship is getting serious? why does y/n still feel like something is missing? cue a drunken night out leading to the hottest sex callum has ever had and lingering questions on both sides about what they really truly want out of life and love.

TAGS:

@clemswrld @httpiastri @libraryofloveletters @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiasundays @scuderiamh @lorarri

harmony

{lewis hamilton x fem!reader}; {feat. toto wolff}

in which lewis persuades you to skip work for sexy times.

warnings: smut - woken up with oral, hold the moan vibes + having to keep quiet, oral sex (fem!receiving) while on a phone call, fingering, orgasm denial / build up, dom/sub controlling vibes if you squint with a tiny bit of light choking, semi-exhibitionism, dirty talk and fantasizing, unprotected sex, blatant lying to one’s boss + poor grasp of how f1 engines work on this author’s part (please suspend disbelief)

written for the kink bingo challenge - noise control

You wake up to the feel of his tongue against the flat expanse of skin below your belly button, tracing sinuous circles lower and lower, until he reaches the part of you he’s dying to taste. His fingers are pressed against your thighs, pushing them apart as he wriggles under the duvet, and even though you can’t see him, you can feel him - the scrape of his rough stubble, the heat of his mouth all over you, making you whimper at the sensation of his soft, wet lips touching your skin. You pull down the covers, exposing his braided hair before his wide, brown eyes peek out at you, and he’s smiling, flashing his white teeth at you as he strokes the insides of your thigh with his soft cheek.

“Good morning, beautiful.” His voice is always gruff in the morning, and the sound instantly prickles your skin with awareness and want, and you start to reply when his fingers gently part through your pussy, his thumb gently rubbing at the bead of your clit lazily, teasing you. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” It’s barely dawn and you’re groggy from sleep, but the instant he dips his head to lick a wet stripe up the parts of you he’s touched, your eyes widen and suddenly, the rush of adrenaline and the promise of sex makes your body shiver awake.

“I’ve got to get ready for work in twenty minutes,” you protest, weakly, as his tongue traces erotic shapes between your legs, alternating with gentle little kisses that make you want to whimper and moan his name. His warm hand curls around your hip as he practically worships the softest, sweetest parts of you, lapping with his tongue at the altar of your thighs. “Mmmm,” he whispers, hot breath teasing you, making your body grow hot with desire. “Can’t you call in late? I need to taste all of your sweet, wet cunt. Now.”

You shudder as he seals his mouth over your clit, the suction of it driving you crazy, making you want more, more of anything and everything he’s got. You reach down to stroke his shoulders and cup the back of his head, tight with his braids, and he hums with affection, his eyes watching you with a glint in his eyes - desire inscribed all over his face. His hand trails down the outsides of your thighs, stroking you there, softly, rubbing little circles that make your breathing hitch. “Gonna fuck you with my tongue, love,” he says, and when he makes good on his raspy promise, your hips leap off the bed, feeling the slick, flexible shape of his tongue press deep inside you, curling deliciously into parts of you that’s almost too good to bear. You slide fingers into his tightly wound braids, undulating and gasping that it’s too much and not enough at the same time - wanting roughness, tenderness all at once. He pulls away, breathing heavily - and you relish the sight of his mouth and chin, glistening with your wetness, his saliva.

“So good for me, baby.” His smile is so wide, and it squeezes at your heart to be at the receiving end of such open praise. “You can take more, can’t you?”

You’re barely coherent when you tell him, “please, holy fucking shit - please, more?” He grins, leans down for a final kiss along your soft lips.

“I’ll give you everything you need, baby,” he pauses, like the most evil, opportunistic man alive, “if you call up work now and tell them you’re not coming in today.”

Your eyes widen when you register the thing he’s asking you to do. “Lewis. I can’t - I have so many things to clear today. We’re working on the engine-”

He gives you a faintly pitying look. “You work too fucking hard, my love. Don’t you deserve just one day off?” He lets a slow smile cross his face, his voice dipping into dangerously low territory. “One day where you get to spend all day in bed with my mouth between your thighs and my cock deep inside you.”

You can’t repress the shiver that runs through your whole body, with the erotic timbre of his voice, the sultry way he looks at you - hands wide on your thigh, thumb stroking absently as if to remind you constantly of his touch, to whet your appetite for more.

“Lew.” You chew on your bottom lip, as he raises his eyebrows in a playful challenge. “The boss would kill me.”

“Toto is very understanding.” Lewis assures, his fingers growing restless, sliding to the inside of your thigh and up its slope. “He won’t suspect a thing.” The soft pad of his index finger traces along the juncture of your legs, his feather-light touch along the seam of your pussy somehow more erotic than it has any right to be. You shiver, and Lewis ups the ante, making slow, sinful circles around your clit. “Promise.”

The assurance in his eyes is enough to make you grow bold, and when he tips his face in an unspoken, deliberate order to get your phone from the bedside table, it’s pure instinctive desire that drives you to do so - wanting to please him and only him. You start to look for the number for HR, ready to be done with this call in under a minute, when Lewis taps your thigh and makes you look up.

“Don’t call the admin office. Call Toto himself.” His smile turns almost devious. “I want him to hear it straight from you - that you’re not coming in today.”

As far as requests go, it’s still fairly innocent. You swallow against the intimidating thought of calling Toto, knowing that his displeasure will certainly come through the call, and you really hate making him upset. You think about the way his arms would look in rolled up sleeves, crossed over his broad chest and his mouth turning sullen as he stands to his height above you, and the thought is…

Well… it’s something.

Lewis grins at your face, as if reading your thoughts almost telepathically. “Are you blushing, babe? You down bad for Toto, huh?”

“No!” You hurry to defend yourself, but Lewis just smirks knowingly, the picture of cocky confidence, and it’s kind of hot, actually, that he’s not at all threatened by the way you might just have a tiny little bit of a crush on your boss. “I just… he scares me sometimes, and I hate disappointing him.”

Lewis kisses your hip in assurance. ‘You couldn’t ever disappoint him. He likes you, even if his face doesn’t always show it.’

You shake your head, doubtful and not at all reassured, and your fingers are shaky when you pull up his number and press call. Lewis beams, the pleasure on his handsome face making him even more unfairly gorgeous than you can bear. “Such a good girl,” his voice drops a register, as he bends down and lets his tongue trace a line down your hip and over the mound of your pussy.

Your mouth drops open, and you squirm against him, even as the phone continues to ring in your ear. “Lew! Stop that.”

He chuckles, but doesn’t pay attention, holding you tightly in position for his mouth to explore. “Keep perfectly still for me. And be perfectly professional with Toto, yeah?” You watch with unfolding worry as his fingers spread your legs wide and he dips for for another taste…

You grow frantic. “Lewis! I’m going to cut off this call and-“

“No.” He orders, between swipes of his tongue at your sweetness. “Stay on the line, sweetheart.”

Your stomach drops when Toto answers curtly, voice deep, reminding you of a headmaster that’s ready to dish out punishment. It’s too late to back out of the call now, and Lewis’ eyes sparkle when he realises this. His tongue licks gentle, teasing strokes up your cunt, and you shudder, on the precipice of moaning.

“Hello? Yes?” Toto’s always straight to the point. “Is there a problem with the-”

“No. Toto, I’m sorry to call.” You clear your throat, watching helplessly as Lewis smirks to himself and continues to busy his mouth with your cunt, lapping torturous, zig-zagging motions through your wet centre, letting his tongue tease sinful circles around your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing. “I… I won’t be coming in today.”

“Oh.” He pauses, and you hear the shuffling of papers. He sounds distracted. “Why not?”

Lewis squeezes your thigh, and you open your eyes to look right down at him, those gorgeous warm eyes laced with a sensual streak, and the smirk you can only feel against your softest parts. He sucks against your clit, his fingers teasing at your wet entrance now, and your cheeks grow hot as pleasure grows. “I’m sick.” You barely get out, trying to keep your voice as neutral as possible.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Toto says, as heat coils low in your belly to the tune of Lewis’ hot, wet suction, building you up towards a sensation that’s so ridiculously good, you’re dying to cry out. You bite down on your bottom lip, a hand reaching down to fist into his neat braids as your hips rise to press more firmly against his mouth. He moans appreciatively, and you release a shaky breath. Toto’s voice continues, assertive in your ear. “Have you gone to see a doctor?”

“Soon,” you clear your throat again, overriding the impulse to cry out. “But I have enough medication to cover me, I think.”

“Mm.” More papers, and in the background, someone’s talking to him, which takes his attention away for a couple of seconds. Meanwhile, Lewis is unrelenting, devious, his cheeks flushed and now wet with your slick, with the thrill of getting you off in such a precariously sexy way. You pull the phone away from your face to let out the tiniest little whimper, and Lewis makes a low, appreciative sound, a renewed desire to chase that noise all the way until you explode.

“Well you better be getting some rest.” Toto’s voice is measured and even when he speaks again. “Is Lewis there with you?”

Your eyes widen, and Lewis, who can faintly overhear the exchange, pulls away for a second to chuckle. “Yes,” you tell Toto truthfully, because there’s never been any reason to hide your relationship. “He’s uhm… he’s here.”

There’s a fondness that enters his voice when he replies. “Well I hope he takes good care of you.”

You didn’t think you could blush any hotter than right now. Lewis winks at you, and you swallow down a shudder when he returns back to the sacred space between your legs for a long, indulgent lick. “Y-yes. He’s being so very good to me.” You can’t help the little hitch in your breath that escapes, as Lewis rubs the bridge of his nose against your clit, his flexible tongue dipping inside you so he can taste inside. He ventures inside you so deep that your back arches against the mattress, and you struggle to contain yourself and the noises that threaten to spill forth. Lewis looks at you, eyes lust-drenched and irresistible and you moan.

That sound you make doesn’t go unnoticed by Toto, and you hear him get up to close his office door, before sitting back in the chair that creaks a little. When he speaks again, his voice drops a register. “What’s he doing for you, hm?”

Your cheeks burn as you look away from Lewis. “N-nothing.”

“Oh. That’s disappointing,” Toto says, and you can almost imagine the tiniest grin curve up on his face, his forearms with rolled up sleeves now on his desk. “He really ought to be a better boyfriend…”

“H-he is,” you splutter, half caught between embarrassment and worry that he’ll fire you in an instant - or worse, that he’ll stay and listen. The image of Toto listening in, privy to your most secret and sacred intimacies with Lewis, makes you want to hang up instantly. Lewis doesn’t care - he revels in your discomfort, your struggle to maintain your professional facade, your composure. He slides two fingers inside you, curling upwards to rub against the sensitive spot inside you that he has grown accustomed to touching, and your whole body squirms, growing molten-hot, dripping with unfulfilled yearning. You exhale roughly when you manage to tamper down the tide of pleasure, and Lewis smirks when you say, weakly, “He’s… he’s just taking care of me.”

“I bet he is.” Toto’s voice grows almost unbearably low, and this time, there’s an unmistakable gruffness that underscores his words. Your eyes grow wide with realisation when Toto says, “I think I can hear him taking such good care of you.”

Fuck. You definitely should hang up, now.

Lewis murmurs, “put him on loudspeaker, babe.” When you give him the most horrified look of indignation, he strokes your thigh reassuringly. “Trust me. I know you’ll love it.”

There’s nothing - nothing more thrilling than this: the mischievous, cocky arch of his brows when you lose all sense of self and comply with his wishes. Whatever Toto’s thinking about, what he’s able to hear from you two on the other side, you don’t trust yourself to imagine, but you hear the rough edge of his voice that comes through clearly from the loudspeaker, “Please don’t let me interrupt. I just have a couple of questions about the engine if you’re not going to be coming in today…”

Toto’s mean, keeping you on the phone line like that - it’s punishment, surely, for faking an illness. He grills you about the pneumatic valves, and you’re fighting against the way your brain melts from the torture Lewis enacts between your legs, trying to piece together information for Toto that’s at least vaguely professional. You gasp when Lewis’ mouth closes over your entrance, tongue reaching out to lick you there, wet and hot and flexible, making soft little moans. “You taste so good,” he whispers, almost too-loud, “so sweet and good for me.” His tongue pushes right inside you again, and you jerk against the bed, whimpering, on the cusp of begging him to stop - or worse - to let you cum.

“Shhhh,” Lewis warns, eyes crinkling at the sides - gleaming. “Gotta be so quiet, baby.”

So instead of moaning his name like you’re dying to, you rattle off to Toto about the new design of the valves in your shakiest voice, how they’re guaranteed to be more efficient without compromising the speed of the car, the fuel/oxygen conversion, the balancing act you’ve struck between efficacy and the weight of the engine. Between your legs, you’re walking that tightrope sensation of staving off your orgasm and getting so fucking close you just might scream.

Toto clears his throat, and you can hear the impatient shuffle of papers again. “Right. Remains to be seen if it’ll actually work, but I think we can give it a try.”

Lewis smiles - Toto’s tough, but fair and realistic. You twist in the sheets, impatient to be let off. “I’ll send an email about the inner workings-”

“That won’t be necessary,” you can almost hear the smirk Toto gives. “Make sure you rest. I’ll leave you in the excellent hands of Lewis, and please remind him to return you back to us when he’s all done with you.”

“Yes, Toto,” Lewis’ calls out, eyes gleaming with sensual promise even as his thumb rubs over your clit now, keeping you on the edge. You let out a shivery breath and tell Toto, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Take care, you two.” Toto chuckles, then clicks off.

“Fuck you,” you start to scold, but then Lewis dips back down at your pussy again and does this illicit thing with his mouth that has the protest dying right in your throat. “Fuck. Lewis.”

“Look at you, being all professional on the phone. God, you know what your technical vocabulary does to me, don’t you? My girl’s so competent,” Lewis says, tenderly, pride filling his voice. All you can manage is a nod, already on the edge of something quite explosive, already beyond mindless from the sweet suction of his pretty mouth. He laps his tongue flat against your clit now, feeling your wetness grow as he builds you up again. You shudder audibly, the sounds of your exhales matching his own ragged breathing. You know Lewis hears it too - and there’s this flash of a smugness he gives you, as if he loves this game so much - the adrenaline of putting you on display, not letting Toto know while he’s tuning you up, still running through him even after Toto’s hung up.

A little part of you wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t hung up.

“Lewis, oh my god,” your voice is too desperate, too full of shame and need - as profane thoughts start to infiltrate your mind that don’t just centre around your boyfriend. In response, Lewis moans, and does this filthy thing with his tongue that’s the very definition of mindfuck. Your heels dig into the sheets bunching around his body, hips twisting in the agonised-pleasure of an almost orgasm, and he fights to keep his mouth on your pussy, but he’s strong and good at what he does.

“Please, please,” you beg, tears in your eyes, and just as you think you cannot take it anymore, he spreads your legs even wider and truly buries his face there, groaning as if he’s half-starved and you’re the last, delicious thing he wants to feast on.

“Lewis… fuck, Lewis!” You thrash against the sheets as an orgasm crashes into you with an intensity that floors you, and he rides the wave with you, eyes blazing, mouth relentlessly dragging out every bit of your pleasure. When the last tremors fade, he laughs with pure, heady pleasure as he kisses your belly with his dirty, slick mouth, smearing your juices on your skin. You’re panting like you just ran a marathon. Lewis’ eyes are so sparkly, so pretty, when he’s this turned on and looking straight up at you.

“Pass me the lube,” he whispers, motioning to the side of the bed that’s just within reach. You comply, and he holds out his hand for you to shakily squeeze a generous dollop of it onto his palm. He reaches down to you, spreading your legs wide, before letting two fingers gently graze over your entrance, touching the sensitive skin there and guiding his fingers in little teasing strokes, making you even slicker for him.

“So pretty,” he says, and you want to protest, because he’s the pretty one when he’s above you like this, glowing with a ethereal aura around him as he looks down at you, full of confidence. Angelic is the word that comes to mind. You watch, captivated by the stretch of the tattooed fingers that wrap around his cock, his eyes at once hungry and so full of tenderness and trust, and your heart can’t stop racing when he leans over you, his thighs bracketing yours.

“Please…” you beg, wrapping arms around his shoulders as you get him right atop you, and he smiles down indulgently, in a look that promises you anything you ask for. “Want you, Lew.”

“Just me?” He teases, and you roll your eyes at his jibe. You know he will never let you live this down - now that he knows about your little crush on Toto.

All teasing aside, you press a kiss to his nose, his Cupid’s bow, and tell him, “You know I want you.” His eyes soften at your admission, growing serious now. “I want you in all the ways a person can want another.”

He looks almost bashful at that - like he’s not expecting such a confession in the midst of a playful morning fuck. “You have me,” he says, taking your hand in his and pressing it to his lips. “All of me. Always.”

Something in your chest melts at his words.

“Relax for me,” he whispers as he runs his cock along your wet, sensitive folds, pressing gently against you, wet with lube and with precum. His cock is so hot and throbbing that it makes you tighten your grip over his shoulders. He brushes his lips over yours, kissing you from the distracting stretch of himself in you, going slow, careful to let you adjust. Lewis is so gentle, and the way he fills you up with such care makes you fall in love with him just a little bit more. “That’s it…” he says, voice husky and slow, “that’s my good girl.”

You kiss him as his fingers wind around the curve of your hip, giving him leverage to move inside you with a rhythm that comes so instinctively to you both, until you melt into the sheets - into him entirely. The haze that surrounds you, heady, dizzying, makes you whimper almost brokenly, unable to form coherent sentences any longer. Dimly you register his fingers sliding up from your hip to your waist, coasting over the curve of your breasts before he slides it over the column of your neck for a gentle squeeze at the sides. He likes these little reminders that you’re his to use - to play with - to tease into mindless ecstasy.

“More, Lewis,” you beg, and he presses his fingers into the gentlest chokehold, before easing up on you, fingers light around your neck, with a grin that tells you he likes it when you sound whimpery, desperate. He fucks you faster now, hissing at the way your fingernails dig into his back, moaning when you drag them down. He whispers your name against your lips between wet, open-mouthed kisses, and you tighten around his cock at how full it feels, having him inside you.

“Bet Toto would’ve loved to hear this,” he says, and you swear at him, because he’s dragging out this fantasy, making you crazy, getting you close as his fingers reach down to rub your aching clit now. He’s close, too, you can tell, from the way his breathing goes ragged, his eyes dark and wide with lust. “You’d let him hear me fuck you, wouldn’t you?”

You only cry out, bucking against his touch, his thrusts. You don’t trust yourself to answer.

“Yeah I know you would. You couldn’t be quiet because you’d want him to hear you get filthy for me, wouldn’t you?” His voice is still so smug but there’s the tiniest tremble there that you can hear. It’s so sexy, knowing he’s getting off on it too.

You thrash against him, whining now with the shame of loving what he’s saying, feeling so hot you feel like you might combust. “That’s too dirty, Lew.”

“You love me saying slutty things to you.” He groans, his hips snapping against yours erratically now. He’s so close. “Especially if Toto’s just near enough to hear it, huh? Bet your moans would get us both in trouble.”

You groan, and clench around him at the thought.

“Fuck, I need to come,” Lewis says with a urgency that lights up something primal in you, as all tension breaks apart inside you, and suddenly you’re coming, pulling him closer to you as you shudder uncontrollably, crying out his name, the thought of Toto listening to this at the back of your mind, spurring you on.

Lewis buries his face in your neck and comes inside you deep, and you can feel the spurt of his cum in you - hot, messy and reckless, as he shivers and makes sounds that are better than any dirty fantasy you’ve ever had. He collapses beside you, arms still wrapped around your body as his lips press to your neck, your skin pebbling under the hot brush of his breath. You curl your arms around his back, thoughts of work all forgotten as you kiss the parts of him that are just within your reach. This is all you need, right now. Just him, and no one else.

“I need a shower,” Lewis murmurs, sounding exhausted. You reach behind his neck and massage the line of muscles that connect from the base of his scalp to his shoulders and he hums in gratitude. He always aches there when he eats you out for extended periods of time.

“Thought you were going to stay in bed with me all day,” you half-complain, as he turns his neck to allow your fingers to massage a new spot.

He flashes a bright grin at you, going limp under the touch of your hands. “That depends… are we going to have to make more phone calls to get you going again?”

Your bright blush and squeak of indignation makes him burst into laughter that echoes off your bedroom walls. He’s so terrible - but he’s yours.

All yours.

—

I started on this way back in august of 2022, when i was deranged and decided i wanted to explore more ‘hold the moan’ type of scenarios. There might have been an earlier draft of this story where Toto actually joins in (askjhdakjsdhs) but it was too much for my brain to handle and I didn’t want it to detract from Lewis in any way. So maybe we’ll do a Toto one another time (maaaaaybe).

I really struggled to write this for months but eventually I just needed to finish it and let it be. It spiralled past 4K territory and I was slowly but surely losing my mind. Thank fuck it’s done and I don’t have to think about it any more. Also i seem to love writing stories about skipping work to fuck… it’s clearly a kink that resonates.

I’m a bit nervous to have this out cause i haven’t written for him in so long, but I loved writing Lewis in this so much - he’s a really cool mix of sexy, sweet, playful to me, and i def want to write more for him (so send inspo?). Inspiration from this was taken from ‘every kind of way’ by H.E.R.

Would love to know what you thought, or if you’d like to just scream about how mindlessly hot Lewis is at me <3

support me here if you want!

my other fics can be found on the pinned post of my tumblr!

all my love, ivy

save a horse . . . // callum ilott

summary: indycar is in texas, and you know what that means. or, callum looks so delicious in that cowboy hat and his girlfriend- who grew up on a dude ranch and knows full well what the cowboy hat rule means- can't keep her hands off of him

author's note: shout out to @magnummagnussen for encouraging this dumpster fire. also, it ends kind of abruptly because i ran out of steam

it all started one thursday afternoon in the juncos hollinger motorhome

callum was on his way back from his media duties with two paper cups of tea in his hands

and when she sees him, her breath catches in her throat

because her normally babygirl looking boyfriend is taking her breath away in his juncos polo and his straw cowboy hat

and it brings an old texas saying back to the forefront of her memory and an old rule about cowboy hats

and it’s enough to get her to choke on her water

“you alright, babe?” callum asks, in his sweet innocent british voice before he kisses the top of her head

“yeah, yeah. I’m good. just peachy.”

and once they’re alone, standing on the patio and drinking their paper cups of tea (something that y/n’s texan parents would have gawked at)

she turns to him, her voice low as she says “you know what they say about horses and cowboys?”

“no?” callum shook his head, an innocent and lovable kind of stupid “should I?”

she bounces her eyes around the motorhome before hooking a finger and beckoning him closer

“save a horse, ride a cowboy, babe.”

she winks at him before grabbing the hat and placing it on her head

“and she who wears the cowboys hat must ride him later.” she whispers, voice husky in callums ear

and he could have sworn that he was half hard in his jeans already

“is that a promise?”

“more than. but, you have to go finish your media duties first, sweetheart.”

fast forward three hours and all the media things are done, and they're back in callum's drivers room

and they simply cannot keep their hands off each other

like at all

shes taking her lacy panties off, hooking them on the doorknob

his polo is gone, thrown across the room somewhere (he never did find it)

she's reaching to take off her cowboy boots, but he stops her

"keep them on, pretty girl."

"that's kinda kinky, ilott. is there something you aren't telling me?"

"just that you are so fucking hot right now."

fingers scrabbling for callum's belt, his hands pushing up her cute little denim skirt

peasant blouse pushed up so her tits are right in callum's face.

"oh, yes, baby!" she whines. "just like that callum, right there."

"doing so good for me, my pretty girl." he hums against her skin, kissing all over her chest as he thrusts his cock deeper into her

"god, i fucking love your cock." she pants, hands on his face as she kisses him, grinding down just enough to wrench a moan from callum's throat

because callum is fucking VOCAL as hell

"yeah, i know you love this cock, sweetheart. you were so needy for it today."

"what can i say- oh! the cowboy hat did things to me."

she moans loudly as she throws her head back, the hat falling to the floor as callum presses his hand to her mouth.

"ssh, baby. we don't want anybody to hear us, do we? those pretty sounds are for my ears only."

SUNDAY PRE RACE, 2022 US GP | by andy hone