1.1k Words, Cunnilingus, Stressed Out Jimmy

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

Control! Your! Self! - James Wilson

Summary: House knows you (a frathouse’s sweetheart and his favourite patient) have been hooking up with Wilson, despite Wilson’s constant denying. But, he just knows a way to make his friend crack—your sororities fundraiser.

Includes: Readers Nickname is Aelia, (Reader is 28ish), FratSweetheart!Reader, FWB, Nearly Getting Caught, Workplace Sex, Car Wash, Wilson Gets Flustered, Hilson (If You Squint), House Sorts of Gets Off Watching Wilson Get Off? Wilson Pops a Boner!

The bi-weekly checkups (that were scheduled to end months ago) with House since your knee surgery, always ended up with you in James Wilson’s office, the blinds pulled tightly shut and a hefty armchair pressed up against the door.

Wilson’s warm and veiny hands caressed the smooth crescent of your waist, squeezing at the fat of your hips whilst his bucked into yours painfully (but pleasurably) slow as you sat on his desk.

Your connected lips stifled each of your desperate moans, having to keep quiet as Wilson’s doctors and interns walked past his office, unbeware of the Head of Oncology’s absence.

Gosh was it hard.

Ankles crossed around his waist, you’re gripping the hair at the back of Wilson’s neck, fingers coiling around the chocolate waves. You tug every so often, eliciting a hearty guttural groan from the man above you, setting your skin on fire.

Forcing his cock all the way inside of you, tightening your hold around his body, Wilson lets out a deep whine, letting his head drop to rest between your bare collarbones.

“You’ve got to give me some sort of warning… what if House were to walk by and hear that?” Wilson hisses, his index finger tracing below your belly button, it tickled.

“You’re always bringing up House, I’d rather you didn’t with your dick inside me.” You giggled, pecking his lips and shuffling your body closer to the desks edge.

Pressing down on your abdomen, Wilson can feel himself in your stomach, rearranging your insides. His balls tighten, knowing you can take all of him inside your heavenly tight pussy.

“He’s ever-consuming…” he whined as you bite a sensitive spot on his neck, lapping your tongue over it to soothe the bruise, “… just like your pussy, my god.”

Ogling down at where your hips lay flush, Wilson feels tears tickling at his waterline, the sight of your walls inviting his length in never gets old.

The desk begins to rattle, Wilson’s impending orgasm creeping up at him at the sight of you under him.

Your fingers rub at your clit in circles, bottom lip tugged between your teeth and your gorgeous eyes curtained through closed lids—you felt like you were ascending.

Like ecstasy was coursing through your veins, your supplier being Wilson’s raw and passionate thrusts.

“Fuck, James. I’m so close…” trembled past your parted lips, heavy breathes brushing against his bushy eyebrows that are pulled together in deep concentration.

Looking into your eyes, Wilson nods his head frantically, “Good girl, come undone for me.” He ordered and you did.

Your orgasm came in red hot, causing you to shudder and clench around Wilson—who was so close too.

He groaned like he was in psychical pain as you rolled your hips onto his, to be honest he was in pain, he needed the sweet relief of coming soon.

Lifting your hips up as pure bliss came over you like a thick blanket, sweat beads painting your hairline, your toes clenched and your spine tingled as you finally came down from your high.

“Such a gorgeous girl, I’m so lucky.” Wilson said, cradling your face in his large palms, thumb rubbing over the apple of your cheek.

“Fucking me so good I might just make you mine.” your fucked our mind spoke for you, gazing at the doctor under hooded lids.

“Yeah?” Your pussy seemed to tighten again (somehow) and Wilson’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he mumbled incoherent nonsense.

“Mhmm, take you back to the frat house, show you off to the boys.” Wilson whimpered as pre-cum drizzled inside of you. “They’ll be so jealous, they all want me but I’m devoted to you, only.

“Imagine House’s face when he walks in on us in your apartment, looking so innocent sat on your lap watching ‘Tivo’, not realising you’re balls deep in me.”

Your dirtiest fantasies tip Wilson over the age, he cums staring into your eyes. His eyes gloss over with pure pleasure, his lazy eye (that you absolutely adore) turns in slightly when he moans.

As his hips jerk, balls pressing against your ass trying to shove his cock as deep as possible, you smile at each other through the haze of your orgasms.

Pulling out, a mix of both of your fluids seep out onto the desk, “Look at that, got me cumming so hard, baby.” You purred.

“And a lot, I think you might need to get checked out.” He tutted, spreading your folds, ogling at your soppy pussy.

If you had been any less sensitive, his mouth would’ve been lapping at your wetness immediately; that was too cruel though, he’d barely touched you and you were already twitching,

“Really, that much? You know any good gyno’s?”

Running his tongue over his teeth, Wilson nodded, “I’d say I’m pretty seasoned in that area, you could always come to me. You might need daily check-up, sweetie.”

Laughing, you slapped his hands away from your core, “But I thought you were an oncologist?”

“Who says a man can’t do both?” Grinning, he softly kissed your neck up to your jawline.

Scooping the mixture with your finger, you commanded Wilson to open up. Sticking your finger down his throat, Wilson suckles on your flesh before pulling off with a pop!

“You’re good, too good. Where’d you study?” You tease, leaning on your forearms against some of Wilson’s papers whilst he cleaned your wetness up with a tower (that he’d brought from home, knowing you had an appointment with House that day).

“I’m a Doctor, Aelia, I know all about anatomy.” He shrugged with a toothy grin, chucking the towel into an empty drawer.

Pulling his boxers over his hips and buttoning his slacks up (biting his tongue when the fabric brushed harshly against his worn out cock), he sat back in his leather chair, patting his thighs.

Eagerly dropping yourself into his lap after shuffling your tight shorts back on, you pressed a tender kiss to his Adam’s apple and then his cheek.

“I’m also a married man, twice divorced. I know how to please a woman.”

“You sure do, Peepaw.” Gasping, Wilson tickled your sides, ripping an almighty giggle from your throat.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain Head of Diagnostics, hobbled by. After trying to escape from Cuddy who was adamant on forcing clinic hours on the doctor.

He also was going to steal Wilson’s lunch, ergo why he stopped right outside.

House’s ears perked up at the sound of sweet giggles. Sure, Wilson had a nice laugh, but it was never that high-pitched.

And then, when he tried to burst in but was blocked by a heavy force pushing against the door, he knew something was up.

Eyes wide, you watched in shock as the handle to Wilson’s office rattled furiously. Facing the oncologist, he squeezed your hips and lifted you up onto your feet.

Passing you your little handbag and sweater you arrived in, he motioned towards the large windows adjacent to his desk.

Furrowing your eyebrows you shook your head rapidly, there was no way you were jumping out of that into the bushes below—you had dignity!

Tilting his head tentatively, Wilson clasped his hands together in a begging motion. “One minute House, the doorknobs going to fall off if you shake it any harder!”

“Another knobs going to be removed if you don’t let me in here, now!” House shouted, banging his fists on the wooden door.

Sighing deeply, running a shaky hand through his hair, Wilson rushed over to you and directed you towards the open window. He hushed you as you began to retaliate.

“Please just do it, I’ll stop by later and make it up to you.” Wilson promised, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the back of his finger along your cheek.

“You fucking better James Wilson. I’ll tell one of the frat boys to let you in.” Straddling the window ledge, Wilson gave you a pitied look and you rolled your eyes playfully.

Leaving him with a linger peck on the lips, you slid out of his office and landed on the soft grass—thank God he was situated on the bottom floor.

Otherwise you’d have no more legs for him to make weak.

Slicking his frizzy hair down, Wilson pushed the chair away from the door, allowing House to barge in like it was his own office.

He didn’t say a word as he leant on his cane, narrow his eyes, scanning the room for anything suspicious. He stopped when he reached the open window, the blinds fluttered in the Summer breeze, almost too much.

“Somethings fishy here…” House decides, plopping into Wilson’s chair and rifling through a draw pulling out a plastic container—his lunch.

Hiding his chuckle behind a cough, Wilson picked up the messy files that he was reading before you had strutted in. Legs for miles on full display, nipples perked that pierced through the hoodie—safe to say, he had gotten a little distracted.

“I’m not entirely sure Aelia would be too pleased with that statement…” he mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”, “Nothing.”

“No, I mean what is that?” House’s nose scrunches up, not in disgust, but in confusion.

Jutting his bottom lip out, too confused, Wilson turns and is greeted to a discarded blue lace bra, hanging off a picture frame. Oh.

That must’ve been hanging there since your entrance. Flung off and forgotten about in the midst of a passionate make out session, before Wilson received a soul sucking blowjob that left his teeth chattering.

Heart dropping to his stomach, Wilson reaches out to snatch at the bra, shoving it down his trousers, “There are the sneaky things.”

“Have you started wearing ladies lingerie, Wilson? Was part of the special dessert you were making for us tonight?”

Running a stress hand over his face, Wilson had to think fast, “No, those are my wife’s. Well they were until they went missing. Don’t know how they’ve ended up… there…”

“Can’t of been your wife’s, wayyy too big to be hers.” Wilson glares at House, whose face scrunched up in a devious beam.

Dropping the smile immediately, House began to poke at a cupboard with his cane.

“Aelia, I know you’re in there, come out. You’re busted.”

Scratching his head awkwardly, Wilson stuck his bottom lip up and shrugged, “She’s not in there, I haven’t seen her since her last checkup.”

Huffing, House shook his head and rolled his eyes sassily—like a deranged teenage girl—tutting at his best friend’s serious expression as he opened the cupboard door.

“I can assure you. Why would she be in my cupboard anyway?”

“Because, my dear friend… I have eyes and ears. You’re hooking up with my patient!” chewing on his lip, Wilson placed his hands on his hips and whispered.

“You’re right…”

Eyes widening, lips curling upwards ever so slightly, House’s voice dropped an octave, “You are?”

“No.” Wilson deadpanned, shuffling through his files and placing them neatly on his desk, grabbing a pen to sign off some patients further-going treatment.

“That’s it.” House banged his stick on the carpeted floor (for dramatic effect), Wilson raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “If you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to weasel it out of you.”

Pulling a rumpled flyer out of his blazer pocket, slamming it down in front of Wilson on the desk. Grumbling (because he now actually had work to do), Wilson unenthusiastically pickled the paper up, pinching the corners with his thumb and index finger.

“Sorority Fundraiser?” Wilson questioned, flicking the leaflet over, he was greeted with a group photo of a nearby sorority.

His eyes immediately gravitated to you, you were so much prettier than the others, a large cheesy smile gracing your features, sticking your tongue out cheekily, long hair cascading down your back as you leant your head against a friend’s.

The throbbing in his trousers he was so familiar with that day returned too, scoping your outfit; a bralette with tiny denim shorts.

“No… House, please.” Wilson pleaded, folding the leaflet over and shoving it into a drawer (the one with the sticky towel hidden in) for later use. “How’d you even get this, because I know Aelia wouldn’t invite you to this.”

“‘Course not, that’s like inviting your uncle to your strip show. I nabbed it off the Aussie Ken-doll, Aelia had slipped it to him before her check-up.”

Heat stirred in Wilson’s belly at the revelation, he was fired up with jealousy; why would you invite Chase and not him?

He must’ve been speaking his thoughts aloud as House tsked. “Maybe she needs someone less pre-historic?”

Chomping into (what was Wilson’s lunch) the bell-pepper with spicy rice and cherry tomatoes, House crunched onto a tomato, purposefully sending seeds flying all over Wilson’s clean shirt

Pulling into the car-park outside the sorority house, a crowd of girls circled House’s beaten down Dodge Dynasty.

Their tits squished together and pushed up through their tight bra’s, skin partially covered in soapy bubbles that overflowed from nearby buckets.

Hair tied back with multi-coloured scrunchies, lips pouty as they seductively rinsed sponges off over their collarbones—it was like a scene straight out of a 80’s porno.

Wilson had never seen his best friend’s grin so wide as a college student knocked on the window, House’s fingers trembled, placing a crisp 20 dollar bill in the girl’s palm.

“Girls look! It’s that hot doctor.” A close friend of yours, Estella; a bubbly girl whose wild curls matched her personality; shrieked from across the parking lot.

Pointing a manicured finger in Wilson’s direction, House swivelled to face the oncologist incredulously, who was slowly sinking further into the passenger seat, hands pressed firmly over his eyes.

“My, my would you look at that! You’re like a ol’ regular around here, you perv.” House nudged Wilson’s side.

Resting his forearm on the windowsill, House whispered something to one of your sorority sisters, handing them another 20 bucks before they hurried off towards another car.

“W-what did you do? 40 bucks, House that’s insane!” Wilson babbled, loosening his tie from around his neck that seemed to be suffocating him.

Dismissing him with a wave of his hand, House leaned back in his seat, slowly raising his sunglasses over his eyes.

“Paid a little extra for a select cleaner, and what’s the harm? It’s for the greater good of society.”

“I’m not sure practically prostituting these sorority girls for your sick entertainment is for the ‘greater good’, House.” Wilson scoffed.

“Hah, don’t lie. You’ll love it!”

That’s when you come skipping over, sporting a string bikini, tied loosely in bows at your hip, and… god does Wilson hate when House is right.

“Woah…” House voices Wilson’s thoughts, eyes trained on you as wiggle your hips in excitement at Tina (who was now wafting herself with the 2 20 dollar bills), beaming at the hot doctor’s special request.

Winking at your friends, they all wiggle their eyebrows towards each other, going back to cleaning the other cars to keep the other men waiting patiently with their tongues hanging out entertained.

Wrapping your finger against Wilson’s window, chewing on your bottom lip to hide your knowing smile, he smiled back weakly.

“Well morning, James.” You giggle after House rolled the window down, leaning into the car and purposefully pushing your tits together into the doctors face.

He can House stifle a snort beside him, “Ah! Aelia, fancy see you here.”

“Likewise, doctor and… other doctor.” You wave at House who waves back, body shuddering with laughter at Wilson, who was not-so discreetly averting his gaze from your breasts to your face every micro-second.

“We’re just in great need of a thorough wash, nice and soapy.” House drawls.

Quirking an eyebrow at Wilson, his face is steaming hot and you can tell he’s mortified. He’s sweating through his t-shirt and sporting a growing bulge in his trousers, something you’re now all so familiar with.

“I see, anything for my favourite doctors.”

As you move with purpose over to a discarded bucket of water and soap, Wilson slams the window switch and groans at House’s laughter.

“I get this is a whole thing to stitch me up, but this is plain humiliating, House!” He seethes, chest rising and falling dramatically as he catches a glimpse of you.

Leaning over to pick a sponge up, giving him a perfect outline of your sodden bikini bottoms, he lets out a shaky breathe.

“See, this is what happens when you don’t tell your old man things.” House shrugs, “I could get used to this you know.”

He adds, leaning against his hands, leaning into the drivers seat, watching his favourite client begin to scrub at the bonnet of his car.

Wilson grits his teeth in frustration, but his jaw falls slack when you make eye contact. When you tilt your head tentatively at him, flicking your braids sending them cascading over your shoulder, careful not to graze them with the soapy water, Wilson knows he’s a goner.

Pulling his right leg to his chest, he tries to hide his impossibly hard erection from his best friend, who stares at him like he’s insane.

“What are you doing?” House questions, fussing with Wilson’s knee to push it back down but he’s met with a whole body’s worth of force.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Wilson responds, squinting as he tries to find your blurry figure through the windshield, now covered in soapy water that you’d thrown onto the car.

“So you admit it?”

“Admit what?” Wilson sighs deeply, carefully palming himself through his trousers, praying House can’t see his desperate actions.

“That’s you two are… hooking up, having sexual intercourse, riding the flagpole? Fucking, shagging, doing the devil’s tango, indulging in a bit of hanky panky—“

“God, alright! Jesus House.” Wilson covers his ears with his hands, face scrunching up in disgust at his friend’s words, “We’re hooking up.”

Placing his foot back down on the mat, exposing his covered erection, House whistled lowly and scoffs. “My goodness, you hiding one of my canes down there?”

Groaning, tugging at the roots of his hair, Wilson pleads, “Not now, what am I supposed to do?”

“I say just rub one out here, no one will notice. It’ll match in with the soap Aelias using anyway.” House shrugs, the outside world would never know considering the car was covered in a thick layer of bubbles.

“Anyways, I’d dig it.”

I wrote the entire end of this in one go and Tumblr didn’t save it, so it’s extremely rushed I apologise 😭

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!”

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

Someone Sane

Max Verstappen x friends to lovers

Masterlist

Part Two to Always Walk Me Home (would recommend reading AWMH first)

Summary: You and Max have a shared love for strawberry wine. The rest of your friends think you’ve got bad taste. Or: @vetteltea read Always Walk Me Home and asked for more about the strawberry wine, and then I ran with it. So this is also a bit of a prequel, really 🍓

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication

You walk through the front door of the apartment, shucking off your coat and slipping off your shoes. Max Verstappen’s apartment is a shoes off household. You’ve learned that in the two and a half months you’ve known him. You can hear your friends in the kitchen, laughing loudly about something. One of Max’s cats- Jimmy or Sassy, you can’t tell them apart- is sitting in the hall, watching you curiously.

You’re the last one to arrive. You’d had to work late, had told them to get started without you. You bend to pat the cat on the head on your way past. Everyone is gathered in the kitchen, standing around the island. Someone yells your name enthusiastically when you walk in. Your friend Louise, the one who’d introduced you to this friend group, shoves a wine glass in front of you. It’s not full, just a half glass of something pink.

“Try it,” she says.

Her eyes are wide. Everyone is staring at you. This feels like some sort of initiation. You smell the cup- you’d have assumed it was a rosé, but there’s a hint of something else there. Trusting your friends to not have spiked it with something, you take a cautious sip. Strawberries. It’s strawberry wine. Sweet and sugary. Next to you, Louise laughs. You furrow your brows and stare at her.

“What?” You ask.

“The wine,” she says through a giggle. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

You take another sip. She raises her brows.

“No?” You say, before you down the rest of the glass. “No, that’s good. I love strawberries.”

Her jaw drops open. The rest of the group erupts into chaos. Someone calls you batshit insane. You look around in bewilderment.

“Thank god,” Max says, taking your glass from your hand. “Someone sane is finally here.”

He’s holding the bottle of wine in his hand. You don’t know Max very well- he’d been a friend of a friend up until a few months ago, when Louise invited you to a party and then kept inviting you to events. You’re… friendly. He intimidates you a bit. He’s smiling at you now, though, as he pours you a full glass of the wine.

“They all think it’s awful,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I was going to drink the whole thing by myself. It would’ve been sad.”

You blink and laugh, taking the glass back from him. “Cheers, then, I guess?”

He picks his glass up from the counter and clinks it against yours.

…..

“Does anyone want wine?” You call out from your kitchen into the living room.

It’s a quiet night. Not everyone was able to make it, so you’re at your apartment. There’s a football match playing on the TV that nobody’s really paying attention to. There’s a few people playing some sort of game of cards that you didn’t even try to understand. Everyone else is just sitting around and chatting.

“What kind?” Louise calls back.

You open the fridge and laugh. “Never mind.”

“S’that fucking strawberry shit, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you say in a singsongy tone.

You turn around, reaching for your corkscrew. At the very least, it means you won’t have to share with everyone. Just-

Max calls out. “Bring me a glass? And maybe just bring the bottle in here?”

Someone is making fun of him for it, you can hear it from the other room. You do as he said, though. You hand him the glass, having already poured the wine into it. Then you turn to head back to your original seat. Max reaches up with his free hand and tugs on your wrist.

He pats the open spot on the couch next to him. “Sit here? So we can share the wine.”

Your face grows hot, but you nod and come around to sit next to him. He’s potentially the only one watching the football match- you think his favorite team is one of the ones playing. You feel a bit out of alignment for a moment. You’re in your own apartment, on your own couch, but something about him asking you to sit next to him has thrown you off kilter. You take a breath and try to relax. He doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re overthinking it.

You settle back into the couch by your second glass. By Max’s second, he throws his arm over the back of the sofa, his fingers just barely brushing your neck in the process. It’s nothing, but it makes you shiver anyways.

…..

Max is out of the country on your birthday. He’s in Spain for the Grand Prix. He’ll be back soon after, though, and then the next race is in Monaco. You’re already buzzing with excitement, chatting with your friends about outfits and plans and events throughout the weekend.

The night of your birthday your friends take you out to dinner. It’s a Monday night, so it won’t be anything too crazy, but it’s nice to know they’re thinking about you. You have good food, better wine, and then Louise invites everyone back to her apartment to hang out for the rest of the night. You’re in her kitchen when you hear the front door open. It strikes you as odd- you’d all walked here together. Though you suppose someone could be leaving, or popping out to get some air. You’re reaching into the fridge when someone clears their throat. You turn over your shoulder and find Max.

“Hi, birthday girl,” he says, voice soft and scratchy. He holds up a bag. “Brought you a present.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, because you swear his plane didn’t land until 8:00, and it’s only 8:30. You sort of want to hug him, but he’s not a very touchy person, and you’re not sure you know him well enough yet. You cross the kitchen anyway.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. “You were in Spain.”

He laughs. “It’s not that long of a flight.”

“Yeah, but…” you blink up at him. “You had a busy weekend. I didn’t expect you to come over.”

He tilts his head at you. “It’s your birthday.”

He says it like that’s enough explanation. To him, maybe it is. He may not be a touchy person, but he is the type to show up for his friends. You’ve seen examples of it everywhere- he’s the first to respond in a group chat, the first to show up to every party. It’s a side of him that you don’t think the rest of the world gets to see very often. You’re honored to somehow be a part of it.

He holds the gift bag out to you. “I don’t think I’m going to stay long,” he admits, scrubbing at his scruff with his free hand. “I’m exhausted. But I wanted to at least stop by.”

You take the bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to.”

Inside the bag you find a soft, light scarf, similar to the one Louise wore the last time you saw Max. You’d complimented it, asked where she got it- she’d answered a boutique in Spain. You gasp, running the fabric through your fingers. It’s cream colored, and you wrap it around your neck happily. Then you realize the bag still feels heavy. You reach inside again and your fingers wrap around the neck of a wine bottle. You know what it’s going to be before you even pull it out.

You hold the bottle to your chest and smile up at him. “My favorite.”

He’s smiling a bright smile, has been since you took the bag from him. It makes his cheeks squish and his eyes crinkle. The look he’s giving you is warm and soft. Your heart thuds wildly in your chest. It’s just him being friendly. That’s enough, really, isn’t it? Max picks his friends carefully. The fact that he’s here, that he made such an effort to be here with you for your birthday, is enough.

You uncork the bottle and pour two glasses- one for you and one for him.

It’s not until the next morning that you notice the embroidery on the end of the scarf- a tiny pink strawberry, hidden in the corner.

…..

Your apartment is packed to the brim with people. Your friends are here, your friend’s friends are here, people’s siblings and cousins. What started as a small Grand Prix afterparty has turned into a bit of an overwhelming event. The guest of honor isn’t even here, and likely won’t be. He may have showed, had told you he was planning on it, but then he went and won the race, and now you’re sure he’s busy. You’re sure Red Bull has roped him into some sort of sponsored event.

You’d texted him to tell him congratulations, but so far he hasn’t answered. You can’t say you blame him. You’d seen the celebrations at the podium ceremony- there’s no way he’s had a moment alone.

You and your friends had opted to go back to your apartment since it was closest. However, with this many friends all in town to watch him race, your home has become a bit of a landing pad. You can barely make it through your own kitchen without stepping on somebody’s toes. You’re running dangerously low on alcohol, though you wonder if that may be a good thing. Maybe it’s time to move this party to a club or a restaurant or anywhere other than your tiny apartment.

You squeeze your way through to the front hallway, trying to find anywhere that has any sort of space. You can see from here that your balcony is nearly dangerously packed with people. You reach into the hall cupboard, where you know you keep a couple bottles of wine-

The front door swings open. You groan at the idea of another person in your apartment, resting your head on the edge of a shelf in the cupboard. You don’t even bother looking to see who it is, because everyone you know is already here.

“Holy shit,” you hear. “I didn’t know you could fit this many people in here.”

You peer around the cupboard door. Max is standing there, a wide grin on his face. He smells like champagne and Red Bull. Someone makes their way through the hallway, and he steps back to stay hidden behind the open door.

“We figured you were out with the team,” you say, eyes wide.

“I’m going,” he says, jerking his head towards the hallway. “I came to get you guys. Who are all of these people?”

“Friends of friends, people’s families, I don’t know,” you say, still peering around the door at him. “I think someone’s grandma is here. We’re almost out of alcohol. I’m grabbing wine.”

You pull the bottle from the cupboard and hold it up to him. He grins impossibly wider at the label. Strawberry wine.

“Nobody else will drink that,” he says. “You’re going to have a mutiny on your hands.”

“Yeah, well, I got it as a gift for you, to celebrate the race, but now I’m thinking about chugging it and then locking myself in the bedroom.”

Max raises his brows. You stare back at him. Then it hits you. You step around the cupboard door and without thinking, you throw your arms around him.

“Congrats, by the way. On the race.”

You remember mid hug that this is Max, and that Max doesn’t really like hugs. Before you can pull away, though, he’s wrapping his arms around you. He squeezes you tight to his chest for a moment. You feel him rest his chin on top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says, quietly. “I’m glad you were there to see it. And thank you for the wine.”

You know he’s talking generally, about your friend group. But for a moment, you let yourself think he’s talking just about you.

“I have a better plan,” he says, keeping you held against his chest. “You and I take that bottle. We sneak it into the club with us.”

“And all the people in my apartment?” You ask, flinching as you hear something that sounds an awful lot like broken glass.

He sighs. “We bring them with us. It’s better than them destroying your place.”

“Even the grandma?”

“Grandmas love nightclubs.”

You laugh into his chest. “You should go. If someone sees you they’ll go crazy.”

He pulls away and grabs your shoulders. “We should go. We’ll call Louise on the way, tell her where to meet us.”

Really, who are you to say no? He’s Max Verstappen, he’s just won the Monaco Grand Prix. So you slip on a pair of shoes and follow him out the front door before anyone can catch sight of him. Then you’re walking down the streets of Monaco, side by side with him. He takes the bottle of wine from your hands and stops at a crowd of people partying in someone’s front lawn.

“Has anyone got a corkscrew?” He calls out. Someone throws one to him. He opens the bottle, then calls, “and maybe a couple cups?”

Two plastic cups are handed through the crowd to him. They ask him to sign the corkscrew. He hands it back afterwards and shoves the cork in his pocket. Then he pours two glasses and hands one to you. Strawberry wine on a sidewalk in Monaco, in step with the man who won the Grand Prix. You’ve never had a stranger or better day.

He calls Louise when the club is in sight. “Yeah, just down the road. Uh-huh. No, bring everyone.” You hear Louise say something. “Well I don’t know, does the grandma want to come to the party?” He asks, quirking a brow at you. “Then bring her. Okay. See you soon, then. Oh- no, wait, Louise- she’s with me.” He reaches out and squeezes your upper arm lightly. The touch sends sparks shivering up your spine. “Yeah. Long story. Just meet us there, yeah?”

…..

It’s nearly Christmas, and you’re stressed. That might be an understatement, actually. The holidays are always stressful, plus a project at work that’s gone haywire, leaving you picking up the pieces. You wouldn’t even be at the party, too exhausted and so tired of people, if it wasn’t your last chance to see most of your friends before the holidays kick off. You’re leaving to spend time with your family soon. It’s one of the few things you’re looking forward to.

You wander through the party feeling a bit like a zombie. It’s Max’s apartment, with more people in attendance than your usual group. You bounce from friend to friend, always clinging to someone’s side, trying to avoid talking to anyone you don’t know, or anyone at all, really. You’re just socially exhausted.

Max finds you in the kitchen. He sweeps you under his arm into a quick side hug, and you force a smile when you look up at him. He sees right through it, frowning down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, poking your cheek lightly.

You try harder to make the smile genuine. “Nothing! Why?”

He stares at you, tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

You shrug. “M’just tired.”

You can tell he doesn’t believe you. But someone asks him a question, and the friend you’ve glued yourself to is leaving the room, so you follow. You don’t see Max for a while. In fact, it’s been a suspiciously long amount of time. Somebody else has noticed and brings it up, asking where he’s gone off to.

“Oh, he ran to the store, I think. Didn’t say why.”

Someone suggests a drinking game. You make a break for the balcony. Jimmy is standing in front of the door, staring up at you.

“Jim,” you mutter, bending to pet him. “I know you’re gonna make a run for it the second I open the door.”

He meows at you, like he understands. You try to usher him towards Max’s bedroom, but he stays put. You sigh in frustration. In the living room, the noise kicks up another notch. When Max steps into the hallway, there are tears in your eyes.

“Did he scratch you?” Max asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut. “No. M’fine.”

Max clicks his tongue at you. You sigh, again. There’s a shuffling noise, and then you hear the sliding door open. Cool air hits your face. Max’s hands land on your shoulders and he leads you outside. You’re in socks, and the concrete is cold on your feet. You open your eyes and sit down on the patio couch. Max closes the door behind him and sits down next to you. It’s then that you notice the bottle of wine in his hand. Strawberry wine. You’d checked the fridge earlier- that bottle wasn’t there. So either he’s been hiding it, or… he ran to the store. Didn’t say why. Your throat feels tight.

He hands you the bottle carefully. He’s already opened it, but he neglected to bring any glasses. You shrug and tip the bottle to your lips. Sweet, sugary, room temperature wine washes over your tongue and you sigh.

“What’s going on?” He asks, gesturing for the bottle. He waits patiently as he takes a sip, too.

You huff and rub your cheeks with your empty hands. “Nothing, Max. I’m fine. There’s a whole party inside, I’m sure they’d love to play drinking games with you, so-“

“But I’m here with you,” he says patiently, voice soft. Your heart is cracking wide open in your chest. “Because I want to be. So tell me what’s going on.”

There’s so much to tell him that you don’t know where to start. It’s your family, it’s the traveling you’re about to do. It’s work, so stressful you wish you could just quit. It’s this awful feeling you can’t shake that maybe none of your friends really want you here. It’s Max, and the way your heart skips a beat when he looks at you. The way your stomach fills with butterflies when he touches you. The way he could have any girl in the whole world, and you’re just his friend. You curl your knees close to your chest and wrap your arms around them.

“I’m just stressed,” you admit, figuring that’s the easiest answer. “Work, and the holidays, and… just , everything. You know?”

He nods, passes the bottle of wine back to you. You take another drink. You study the label of it to try and keep yourself from crying in front of him. That would be embarrassing. That would scare him off. You rest your chin on your knee. Then you feel it.

Max’s arm, draping over your shoulders. The weight of him is heavy and steady and warm. He’s going to throw you into a tailspin with just that one motion. Then- like he doesn’t know how much he’s already affecting you- he presses his hand to your shoulder and pulls you against his side. Fuck. You’re not going to cry in front of him. You won’t do it. But Max doesn’t do hugs and cuddling, he’s not a touchy person, and yet he’s wrapping himself around you to hold you close.

You rest your head against his shoulder and take another drink of wine. He takes the bottle back and does the same. His hand sweeps up and down your upper back in a soothing motion, over and over again.

You’re not going to cry. You won’t. You close your eyes instead. You feel Max’s cheek against the top of your head. You won’t cry.

“Maybe after the holidays we should all go somewhere warm and relaxing,” he says. You let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I think we could all use a bit of a break, no?”

You nod against his chest. He squeezes your shoulder. If you keep your eyes squeezed shut, he won’t see the tears. You can’t cry in front of him. So you sit, blind to the world around you, your head pressed to his chest.

Later, you blink your eyes open to the sound of voices, feeling disoriented. Someone is saying something to Max, saying your name. And Max, his voice rumbling beneath your chest-

“-walk her home, or she can stay here,” he says. “I’ve got her, mate.”

The sliding door closes. You realize you’d fallen asleep. Your face heats up, unsure of if you should pretend you’re not awake or if you should pull away immediately. You’re still trying to decide when Max’s hand starts brushing up and down your back again. Your eyes slip closed. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. No wonder you fell asleep.

Max shifts, squeezing your shoulder. “Schatje, time to wake up,” he whispers, close to your ear.

You sigh and pull away, sitting up to look at him. He keeps an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You rub your eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them. You’re too exhausted to find it in yourself to be embarrassed about falling asleep on him. Besides, he could’ve woken you up if he wanted to. He’s being a good friend.

“It’s late,” he says. You swear you’re imagining it when his hand comes up and his fingers brush against your cheek. “Do you want to sleep in the guest room?”

You nod.

In the morning, when you drag yourself out of bed, Max is gone. There’s a note on the counter. He had early morning training, and then a padel game. Didn’t want to wake you. Next to the note, there’s a bowl of strawberries. Sassy winds herself around your ankles. You smile and try to slow the beating of your heart.

…..

Max is standing in your empty apartment one night, the last of your friends to leave. You’re wandering through the living room, picking up cups and trying to pretend he isn’t watching you. When you try to walk by him and head for the kitchen, he grabs your hip.

You stop and stare. His eyes are boring into yours, wide and blue and soft. There’s a smile on his lips. You haven’t asked him yet why he’s still here, mostly because you don’t really want him to go. His hand is burning a hole in the fabric of your shirt where he’s holding onto you. You think if you look down, you’ll find flames licking up your side. But you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

His other hand sneaks up, and his fingers brush against the side of your face. It reminds you of the moment on his balcony, weeks ago now. You’re caught between wanting to let your eyes slip closed and never wanting to break his gaze.

You realize moment’s later he’s looking for some sort of confirmation from you. He’s waiting, though you’re not sure exactly what he’s looking for. In an act of blind, foolish courage, you take a step towards him and wind one of your arms around the back of his neck. Max sighs. You twist your fingers into the hair on the nape of his neck.

Max is your friend. This could ruin everything. If this goes badly…

You take another step closer. You can hear his soft breaths. His fingers brush against your cheek- you swear you feel him tremble, just slightly, just enough for you to know. He wants this, but he’s scared, too. His heart is beating just as fast. His mind is racing just as fast.

When he kisses you, his lips taste like strawberry wine.

…..

Max is holding your hand on the sidewalk. He’s walking you home from a club you’d been at with your friends. You love him, but you haven’t told him yet. You’ve only just realized it that night, seeing yourself laugh in the bathroom mirror and then seeing the smile on his face when he looked at you.

Next to you, though you don’t know it, Max is having the exact same realization.

…..

“Can you grab my watch?” Max calls out from the kitchen. “In the bedside table, top drawer?”

You’re trying to resist the urge to tell him to find it himself. You’re horribly late to a dinner, this stupidly fancy dinner that has you second guessing every piece of clothing you put on. Max was no help, telling you that everything you tried on was perfect and beautiful and would look even better on his floor. You love him, but today, he’s driving you insane.

You stomp over to the bedside table and open the drawer. The box with his watch is sitting there, nestled in with other odds and ends. You pick up the box and almost close the drawer without even noticing. But something makes you pause and stare.

In the drawer there’s a little plastic tray, and it’s full of wine corks. You recognize the logo. Max is calling your name in the other room, something about hurrying up, but suddenly you don’t care about the stupid dinner. You’re thinking of that sidewalk stroll you took so long ago, the corkscrew he borrowed, the way he put the cork in his pocket. You’d thought it was to throw it away later.

He calls your name again, from the doorway. You reach into the drawer without turning around, running your fingers over the corks. He makes a noise and walks across the room to you, wraps his arms around your waist and tucks his chin over your shoulder.

“Did you save the all corks?” You ask, voice breathy.

Max nods, presses his lips to your bare shoulder. “All except the very first one. By the time I… when I went to grab it, it was gone.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You turn around and press yourself into his arms and laugh. He’s staring down at you in bewilderment. He’s been driving you crazy all afternoon, he must think you’ve finally snapped.

“The first cork is in my jewelry box,” you tell him, and a laugh bubbles up between his lips, too. “I took it off the counter. I didn’t know why, at the time. Just felt like I should.”

You’re late to the dinner. Max makes an excuse. Nobody believes it, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

…..

Some time later, there will be a moment. It won’t matter where you are, or what you’re doing. It will be you and Max, and you will look at him and the whole world will melt away. And the strangest thought will pop into your head.

Our friends are going to send us strawberry wine when we get engaged, you’ll think. And they will bring it to the wedding.

He’ll turn to you, like he’s heard your thoughts. He’ll smile, cheeks pink as the strawberry wine. At that same moment, he’ll be wondering if strawberry shortcake is an acceptable wedding dessert. Every time you taste strawberries, you’ll think back to the kitchen in his apartment. The wine you were supposed to hate. And Max, a smile on his face, glad to not be alone.

Someone sane is finally here, he’d said.

And then everything had changed.

p.s.: am I way too invested in this pairing? Probably. Have I already decided what their wedding song would be? Definitely.

p.s. again: ironically, it turns out both @vetteltea and I hate strawberry wine 🍓

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p

𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋 – 𝐒𝐕𝟓

-> summary: losing a game of lance vs stroll unlocks the competitive and kinky side to sebastian that he had kept down since his rbr days.

-> pairing: sebastian vettel x reader

-> word count: 4.2k

-> warnings: 18+ mdni. extremely competitive seb. long introduction, i’m sorrryyyy. spanking, fingering. perhaps a bit out of character but i tried my best.

sv5 masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Lance VS Seb had become a bigger pain in the arse than you ever expected it to be. And you expected quite a lot.

Sebastian Vettel was known for many things. Being a kind person, an activist, a stand-in parent for many of the drivers on the grid who were not fortunate enough for their own fathers to be present. But only one or two drivers remained that remembered Sebastian for his strongest personality trait when he was younger.

His innate desire to win. At whatever the cost.

Having driven Mark Webber to borderline insanity and arguably forced retirement during his blonde, sun-kissed RBR career, Sebastian continued his tirade against anyone who had stood in his way. From Fernando Alonso to his best friend Lewis Hamilton, not one of them escaped the wrath of the German racing machine.

Though the gods appeared to no longer smile on Sebastian the same way they once did, that desire remained in everything he did even after Ferrari had shattered his soul. He put his all into everything, from the F1 season to two days a year at ROC and Grill The Grid, there wasn’t anything he didn’t want to come out on top in.

And that included Lance VS Seb.

The ridiculous way his eyes lit up when you had informed Sebastian that the latest round of silly tasks would be Table Tennis really should have given the heads up that the 34-year-old would act like a total menace. With a singular sentence, he was glowing with the youth of a newly crowned four-time world champion once more.

“I am very good at Table Tennis, you know?” He muses as you walk through the Aston Martin hospitality at the Jeddah track, to the room in which the team was filming for the YouTube channel.

“I am sure, Sebastian.” You answer simply, perhaps a little too sweetly for his taste. You hear him chuckle, and turn your face to see him shake his head in response, that cheeky grin pulling on the corners of his lips. The kind that made his eyes crinkle and made you nervous.

“You don’t believe me. I will prove it to you,” he insists, raising his crooked index finger to the air like he had on so many podiums in his youth. Of course, that championship-winning mindset would never go away.

It was your turn to laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully. It was charming, seeing him so invested each time in proving to you he had the ability to come out on top in every single one of the little trials.

“It’s not me you have to prove yourself to, it’s the fans,” you point out, acting like a true media representative as you opened the door to the small room in which the table had been set up, paddles resting on the surface. It was just the two of you so far, joined only by the preset cameras on tripods for filming.

“I would much rather prove it to you,” he smirks, “besides, it’s much easier to win when you have an attractive woman cheering for you.” And so it begins, the incessant teasing and flirting that had been happening for many weeks now, and despite your better judgment, you couldn’t tell him to stop.

It had started off slow, at first. Winks when he passed you in the corridor, and cheeky, ambiguous comments that bordered on innuendos. No one ever thought anything of it, knowing Seb to be jokingly flirtatious.

But you weren’t sure he was joking anymore.

“Is that why you were so upset that the grid girls left?” You countered. Goodness he had never stopped complaining. You remembered him, in that Ferrari Red racing suit, complaining like a child that the grid girls had been removed as a regular occurrence from the race day activities.

“Of course, don’t you always feel as though you perform better with an attractive person?” His lips quirked up as he spoke, the innuendo not lost on you.

“Sebastian,” you sigh, exasperated as you look at him with a pointed look. “Please behave while we film this challenge.” He simply raises his hands in mock defeat as Lance Stroll wanders into the room, flanked by the cameramen for the Aston Martin YouTube Channel.

There were the usual formalities, saying hello to the cameramen and giving Lance a hug to the tune of Sebastian asking why you never embraced him like that. Of course, you had answered with ‘because Lance isn’t even remotely as infuriating as you.’

Finally, as Sebastian batted across the table in practice, the cameramen informed the two drivers that they would begin filming soon. In the overall standings of Lance VS Seb, Sebastian was leading by a comfortable 7 - 3. Regardless, you knew that he would be desperate to win Table Tennis most of all, the competitive gleam in his eyes even more prevalent on camera.

When they began filming, Sebastian tossed the ball in the air, catching it again and informing the audience at home of the terms and conditions of the challenge. There’s a back and forth between both drivers, playful teasing.

“This time we chose the challenge ourselves, and we chose to play table tennis,” Sebastian smiled brightly, to which Lance scoffed, shaking his head.

“We? You pretty much insisted, Sebastian!” The younger driver pointed out, causing you to laugh. Sebastian shook his head, pointing the paddle at him. “No no this is equally your decision, Lance!”

After a few minutes of bickering, which you agreed with the cameramen would be cut for the sake of both drivers' integrity, they finally began the challenge with the utmost seriousness. Lowering his center of gravity by bending his knees, Sebastian gazed down the table with the intensity of a racing driver waiting for the lights to go out. Though you’d never admit it, that potent stare you mostly saw behind a helmet before the races always made your cunt flutter.

Taking a deep breath, he throws the ball and taps it across the table with ease. The instantly recognizable ‘tunk tunk' of the ball’s impact with the paddles and table sounded throughout the room. Lance, relatively unbothered by Sebastian’s cut-throat style, stayed practically straight-backed as he lazily batted back.

The first round went to Sebastian, the ball from Lance’s paddle missing the edge of the table and falling in an arch onto the floor. A grin splits across the Germans face, indicating he was pleased with gaining the first point of the game.

Though, the excitement was short-lived. Sebastian only managed to parry the ball back once in the second round before he overshot the table entirely, shouting out a shocked ‘oh!’.

“One all,” the cameraman announced. You giggle as Sebastian glanced over at you with a determination you hadn’t seen in him in a long time. He was insistent upon triumph, simply to prove you wrong.

A few rounds in, and as expected from the two of them, both drivers began to complain that it was hard to see the white ball against the equally white table in an attempt to maintain a level of pride. At this point, both were on an even playing field with a 2 - 2 score, and it was at this point Lance decided he was going to begin taking the challenge seriously.

“Okay, I’m going for the winner,” he declared, finally lowering his center of gravity and Sebastian widened his stance as he served the ball. Back and forth, both drivers batted until Lance’s shot missed the edge of the table entirely.

“Perhaps Sebastian could actually win this,” you muse, leaning back in your seat as the driver shot you a playful glare.

“Watch me,” he insisted, beginning his next serve. The next few rounds were a whitewash, Sebastian seemingly proving himself as he gained point after point against Lance. That natural instinct to dominate, the remnants of his Redbull years taking control of the match.

The purple patch was limited. Eventually, Lance started coming back. One point after the other, he slowly crawled himself to another equal footing with his new determination not to be entirely schooled on camera, much to Sebastian’s dismay and your absolute delight.

“Nein!” Sebastian yells, frustrated at himself for allowing Lance to recover from the significant lead that he lagged behind. The accent you had grown to love and find particularly attractive was strong even in that singular word, his *frustration* emphasizing the Germanic lilt. Passing the ball back to Lance to serve, he throws it at his feet with an ‘oops!’

“You know it’s getting serious when Sebastian starts speaking German,” you wink to Lance, listening to him laugh before turning back to Sebastian. “You shouldn’t be taking your frustration on Lance because you are inept at playing Table Tennis.”

For the first time, Sebastian looks mildly irked by your comment, a witty retort of his own falling from his lips. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be distracting me at such a critical time. I think you’ll find you will end up a sore loser.”

You can’t help but giggle. What was Sebastian going to do? Pester you with F1 facts until you drop dead? Everyone knew the man was a ray of sunshine and didn’t have a bad bone in his body. Even when frustrated over drivers interrupting his qualifying laps, Sebastian would drop his anger at the drop of a hat in order to keep the peace.

But Sebastian is entirely serious about these last few rounds, his knuckles white as he practically strangles the handle of the paddle with his grip. He knocks the ball back with stronger strokes, trying to outflank and outmaneuver Lance. Instead, his desire to win worked against him, leading the opposing driver to end up with a match point.

“Ready, Seb?” Lance spreads his stance, covering as much space across the table as he could to defend his point. Sebastian on the other hand, prepared to attack, ready to slam the ball across the table and take the point back.

This round goes longer than the rest, with quite a few passes between the two of them as you watch on the edge of your seat. Sebastian’s tongue peeks from his mouth, the tip resting against his upper lip as he focuses entirely-

“Go Lance!” You call, throwing Seb completely in his shock at your betrayal. The distraction is exactly what Lance needs to finish it, bouncing the ball off Sebastian’s side of the table and taking the match point. He leaps in the air, cheering as you clap for him with a laugh.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have made such a significant deal about Lance’s victory. Sebastian was quieter than you had ever seen him, fingers brushing over the flat of the paddle as Lance continued his victory lap around the table.

When those ice-blue eyes meet yours, you freeze to your spot on the sofa. There’s a hunger there, a form of frustration you’ve never seen in him. For years, you watched Sebastian try and fail to obtain a WDC with Ferrari, witnessed him grapple with a car he knew would never give him the title he felt he deserved. Looked in those same eyes and felt his disappointment.

This was different. There’s no cold indignation. It’s a playful fire, spurred on by your disloyalty.

All the while the team rounds out the end of the video with the simple sponsorship breakdown from Lance, Sebastian gazes at you with that same expression. It sets a blaze inside you, one that settles between your thighs and creeps up the base of your spine.

It was entirely unlike him. And you loved it.

Packing up their things, the cameramen inform you they will send you the edited clip by the end of the day for approval, and you wave them out of the door despite the rising heat on your face.

“Good game, man.” Lance shakes hands with Sebastian, who shows him that same warm smile that usually graced his face. Had you not been the recipient of that fervent stare, you never would have guessed anything was off with him. Neither did Lance. “See you at practice,” Sebastian shows him out of the room, shutting the door behind Lance’s back.

There’s a flirtatiously unsettling silence that fills the room upon your isolation with the scorned driver. Sebastian looks over his shoulder at you, paddle in hand. Your breath catches in your throat, ears burning as his eyes drag over you.

“Your teasing lost me my game,” he points out, matter-of-fact as he slowly walks across the room with a casual nature that doesn’t match his eyes. You bite on your lip, and excited panic rises in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” It barely comes out louder than a whisper, Sebastian’s smirk knocking the oxygen completely from your lungs. It’s not as though he was a particularly domineering person. No, it was more that you could tell he was plotting something with the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he grinned.

“Stand up,” he murmurs, voice low but direct. Despite your better judgment, you find yourself stumbling to your feet without argument. It won’t save you though.

Walking behind you, Sebastian continues his reprimanding. “You couldn’t help but dig in that knife, hmm? It made me lose. What am I to do about that?” The cheeky lilt to his voice indicates he’s not actually angry. But God, you feel so turned on at the concept of him telling you off.

You hear it before you feel it. The ‘thwack’ of the paddle in his hand striking the flesh of your ass. Your body jolts in shock, the gasp that forces its way from your throat echoing in the room. Snapping your head over your shoulder to look at him as the sting works its way into your skin in prickling swirls, you note the way Sebastian’s eyes drag over your ass before catching your own.

Nothing is said, he just watches. You realize he’s testing the waters, seeing if you’ll stop him before continuing any further with this fantasy. You don’t bother to halt his advances. You couldn’t if you wanted to, body screaming for him to continue with whatever he had planned.

Without resistance, a quiet groan indicates he intends to do just that. His long, lithe fingers wrap around your wrists behind your back, gently locking them in place as he leads you over to the Table Tennis top.

“Do you remember the German I taught you?” He murmurs as your hips knock the edge of the countertop. How could you forget the times you’d sat up late at night with him on the balcony, trying not to fucking jump his bones and instead letting him coach you through playfully strict German lessons? You nod, not trusting yourself to speak for fear of the sound being obscene.

“Good. You will count.” Your heart lurches in your chest as it meets the flat surface of the Table Tennis top, Sebastian’s freehand with the paddle having gently pushed your back into position.

Pressure between your shoulder blades indicated that Sebastian’s palm was keeping your chest down against the table. You turn your head, cheekbone pressed against the cool surface as you let out a shaky breath, waiting impatiently for him to spank you.

But he doesn’t launch into it. No, he rests the flat of the paddle against your hip, noting the way you flinch at the contact. Drawing circles over your ass, he makes you relax into the table, watching as the tautness in your muscles bled away at the soothing sensation.

“It will be 5.” He informs you, watching as you nod your head slowly in recognition of his instructions.

It happens so quickly, the lack of contact from the paddle, the whistling sound of it arching through the air, and the sudden, loud ‘smack’ that echoed through the room. Despite the way your body jolts immediately upon impact, you don’t feel the pain until seconds later. The prickling, stinging sensation that floods down the back of your thighs.

“Ah- Eins,” you gasp out weakly, mind swimming as you pull at every single brain cell you had to remember the translation. There is a hum of approval from behind you, Sebastian indicating you had gotten it right. Immediately his hand soothes the tingling skin.

“Good,” he instructs you, before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your pants and slowly pulling them down, exposing the bare skin of your ass. “Again.”

You flush, realizing that Sebastian has your arse out on full display, lace thong-panties not providing much coverage as he lines up the paddle against the exposed surface of your skin. You nod quickly, equally as turned on as you were nervous.

It hurts more this time, with no fabric there to serve as a buffer. The rubber of the paddle connects with your supple flesh in a sharp smack that sounds so much louder this time. Once again your muscles are tight, and this time a subtle warmth settles between your thighs.

“Z-Zwei,” it comes to you naturally this time, falling from your lips in a soft whisper. You feel Sebastian’s fingertips rub soothing circles into the inflicted skin once more, but doesn’t take his time with it this time, striking you suddenly with another flick of his wrist.

“Ah!” Heat sparks over the flesh of your ass, surely welting by now at his ministrations. “Drei!” You can hear Sebastian behind you, unable to see him from this angle. His breathing is labored, hard enough for it to be audible.

He’s watching the way the muscles in your thighs twitch against the pain, noting the way you were enjoying your punishment if the wet patch of fabric in the crotch of your panties was anything to go by. He’d never seen anything so sexy.

This time, you feel him switch cheeks, paddle on the other side of your hips in a slight tap to inform you of the change. “Your skin is so hot. It’s gone pink,” you hear him murmur, slight wonder in his voice.

You open your mouth to answer him but are cut off by another sharp strike. Sebastian watches as your flesh jiggles upon impact, swallowing a groan as you whimper a quiet “Vier.” That one settled deep in your cunt, sparking arousal.

“Gutes Mädchen,” he murmurs, the words not computing in your brain as he brushes comforting circles into your skin once more. “Last one. Make sure I can hear you.” You nod dumbly, eyes closed tight.

He watches as you rub your thighs together, desperate to ease the impending tension in your abdomen. Fuck, he loved it. The way you squirmed, twitched for him as you anticipated the final impact.

This is the loudest yet, the echo bouncing off the walls as you let out a weak cry. Your eyes are welling up with tears, clit throbbing as you fumble your final number. “Fffuh- Fünf!” It was you who was panting now, toes curling.

“So good,” Sebastian murmurs softly, knuckles brushing down the curve of your ass and working them between your thighs before settling his fingertips on your clit. Your legs immediately go boneless, a pathetic sob escaping your lungs as he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You remembered your lessons so well,” he praises, and you could genuinely break down in tears. Sebastian had never given you any indication he could act this way, the soft, kindhearted man who handed out beers after race days and cleared up litter that the fans left held a fiery side from his youth that genuinely had taken you and your cunt by surprise.

You loved it.

“Come here,” he whispers, taking you by the waist to help you stand up straight again, minding the way you wince as your skin smarts. He hooks his hands above the underside of your knees, gently lifting you up onto the table. His eyes gaze into yours, a hunger there that makes your stomachs do somersaults like an F1 car hurtling towards the barriers at high speed.

You lay back, noting the way the net stretched across the table bends under the pressure of the crown of your head. You close your eyes, nervous as your panties are peeled from your soaking thighs.

“Look at you, Scheiße,” he whispers, fingertips running through the slick that coats the inside of your thighs. It’s obscene, watching as Sebastian gazes down at your cunt. You expect to feel his fingertips find your clit once again, but instead, it’s something much thicker, colder.

It takes you a second to realize that it is the handle of the table tennis paddle that he’s sweeping through your folds, jaw slack as he watches your arousal collect on the laminated wood.

It brushes your clit, causing your cunt to throb with need. You’ve never wanted to be filled so badly, thighs fidgeting in a wordless attempt to get him to fucking do something. There’s a gleam in his eyes in response, and a mixture of concern and arousal swirls in your stomach as his secret master plan.

Without warning, he slips his index and middle fingers into your slick, right cunt. Your back arches against the table with a pathetic whine, the stretch exactly what you needed. You were so responsive to his touch, Sebastian’s dick throbbing in his pants at the way your eyes rolled back.

“Do you like that?” He whispers, his voice low as you clench around his fingers. They pump in and out of you slowly as you nod, dumb from the increasing pleasure that radiates from your core.

“So good for me now,” Sebastian muses, playful in his observation as he watches your pussy slick up his digits. Long, deep strokes have your thighs shaking within moments, needy whimpers stuck in your throat.

Pleasure mounts between your thighs, Sebastian twisting his wrist so his palm and fingertips face the floor, finding a spot inside you that sets your nerves alight. Your attempt to moan his name comes out in a garbled mess, and your hands desperately grab at his wrists in a feeble attempt to ease the onslaught of mind-blowing pleasure that flows through you.

It’s so good, too good, too much, and not enough at the same time. The noises you’re making are obscene, and Sebastian smirks at the way he’s reduced you to a shaking, sobbing wreck.

“Spread your legs wider,” he orders, his gruff voice laced with a much stronger accent than you usually heard from him. It has your cunt fluttering around him, tight around the ring finger that he attempts to ease inside you.

You do as he asks despite the haze that clouds your mind and vision. That white-hot feeling glows around your body, muscles pulled up so tight and tense you’re afraid your hamstring could snap with the simple action.

A sloppy, wet sound punctuates each thrust of his fingers, followed by a low groan of his own. “That’s it, Schatzi.” He breathes, fingers keeping that brutal pace. “I can feel you’re close.” You garble his name, the last syllable pitching up in a squeak.

It’s too much, vocalizing nonsense as it builds up so high you can barely breathe. You’ve stamen too much air into your lungs and yet you feel like you need more, the tension reaching a peak and threatening to snap-

Sebastian grabs the paddle once more, slapping the flat of the bat between your thighs and connecting with your clit. It cracks through you like a whip, hot and melting and vicious- then nothingness. Suspended. A few seconds pass, holding you hostage in your own body until it plummets, roiling waves of intense ecstasy that borders on being painful, your cunt clenching around his fingers.

You’re squealing, sobbing, tears falling from your eyes and dampening your hairline as you thrash against the sensation, head rocking from side to side as you slur his name. It’s so intense-

Sebastian works you through it, hushing you softly as he helps you ride the overwhelmingly acute sensation. Is there with you for every moment until it’s too much, pushing away his fingers as overstimulation hits you like a tonne of bricks.

Your chest heaves as you suck in air, eyes closed. Sebastian is on you in seconds, smoothing your hair back from your face and pressing kisses to your forehead and cheekbones, and nose. It’s hard not to laugh weakly, exhausted but relieved to be in his care. To have him to hold you.

“I- I didn’t expect that from you,” you whisper through your intakes of breath. You hear him chuckle, pressing another kiss to your temple that was wet with tears.

“I didn’t expect it from myself,” he admitted quietly. “Perhaps there is still a spark of the young world champion in there somewhere.” He muses.

A pause.

“He never left,” you smile weakly, entirely exhausted and thoroughly fucked out. “I could tell you that just from seeing you compete with Lance over a game of fucking table tennis!”

To that, he laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Oh, no. I just can’t have someone younger than me beating me. How would that look?”

“You’re a sore loser,” you grumble, watching him release you in order to kneel at your feet.

Turns out you were the sore loser, the red marks printed against your ass smarting under your touch as Sebastian replaced your panties with a wink.

END

Tag list: @welld0nebaku @oneafterdark @yeolsbubbles @byunniebaekhyunnie

for sugar daddy! jenson how about waking up with him in the morning while you’re sleeping on chest (i feel like his chest would be comfy since he’s so fit lol) and him being very touchy/cuddly which leads up to morning sex with you riding him slowly🫣

you guys know I loveeee good morning scene so duh I had to write this -- also I started writing and ended up there so the prompt isn't exact! 

He felt something on top of him, but he refused to open his eyes just yet. Damn his internal clock for waking him up so early, it couldn’t be half past eight yet and he was wide awake. 

Finally when he opens his eyes, he squints from the sudden sunlight and that alone is the tell tale sign of who's in bed with him. 

You like to sleep when the curtains open; something about the sunlight on your skin being comforting and he didn’t mind, he liked when you did it to be honest. 

Well most of the time; days like today was not one of them. 

“Sweetheart?” He calls, but you were still asleep. 

Jenson’s fingers trail over the curve of your spine, the blanket tossed over your carelessly and up to your hips which left your skin uncovered. He plays connect the dots with the freckles on your back, up and down until you stir a bit. 

You roll over and you end up on your back. 

Jenson smiles, shifting a bit to kiss your shoulder and then moving to kiss your collarbones down to your chest and over your tits and down your sternum until he makes his way to your stomach. It was no secret that you were a bit ticklish so he was extra careful not to wake you as he made his way between your legs. 

His tongue laps over your cunt and you shift a bit, eyes still closed when you feel something between your legs. 

Your arm stretches out to feel for Jenson but he’s not there and your brain makes the connection. “Morning,” you hum, your hand reaching down to tangle in his hair. 

The man smiles, kissing your thigh in response.

hihihihi! 🥹💕 i want to let you know that i adore your hotch fics! and i wanted to ask if you’d be ok—but no pressure!!!— to write one with bombshell!reader waking up from anesthesia and forgetting hotch and her are already together and starts flirting with him the way bombshell!reader absolutely would lol? thank you!

thanks for requesting lovely! fem, 1k

You don’t remember waking up, but you’re sitting against a pillow with a yoghurt in your hand. You must’ve been on some sort of auto-pilot… Are you in a hospital gown?

You put your yoghurt down on the table that’s been wheeled over your lap and stare at the white-blue chequered gown creased between your thighs. Your head feels heavy. 

“You okay?” 

You drag your gaze to the source of the voice. 

Agent Hotchner sits in the chair next to your bed. He has one leg crossed over the other, but he notices your confusion and his nonchalance turns to concern. “You need help?” 

“With the yoghurt?” you ask. 

“Yeah, honey. I can help.” 

You roll that over in your mind. Stern Agent Hotchner just called you honey. 

You’ve been trying to convince him for a while that you’re someone worth being sweet to. Trying to sway him, because there are parts of him you can’t get out of your head when he’s not around. He has not yet been swayed. Honey is a hand held out you’re going to snatch. 

Hotch stands. He goes to pick up your yoghurt. 

“What, are you gonna spoon feed me?” you ask, a clumsy drawl to your voice.

“I was going to… but I don’t like your tone.” 

Is he flirting back? You must’ve hit your head. “Coward,” you murmur. Speaking of hitting your head, there’s a throbbing behind your eyes, and a dryness to your throat bordering on uncomfortable. The yoghurt was there for a reason, clearly, but you don’t have the energy in you to eat seductively. 

“My head hurts,” you say quietly. 

You close your eyes. 

“I know.” A hand touches your face. You stay very still, though your heart doesn’t. “You don’t feel too hot. Do you want a drink? I can get you anything.” 

“Your hand is so big…” 

“Not so much bigger than your own,” he says. 

“Prove it.” 

He says your name like he knows you well, which sets your racing heart off all over again. But, used to hiding from him, you open your eyes to watch him and wipe all surprise from your face. You raise your hand, and he raises his, and you press your fingers together. Your fingertips don’t reach his, his palm wider, warmer. You thread your fingers carefully into the gaps between his, your lips curling into a satisfied smile. 

Less satisfied when he closes his hand around yours. 

“You’re teasing me,” you say. 

“Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why don’t you lay back properly?” 

“Super, super forward.” You lay back under the pressure of his hand, stricken by the feeling that he’s done something like that before. You rest your head against your elevated pillows and have to give up —you can’t hide how surprised you are at his open touching, his face so close to yours you can see every warm fleck in his dark eyes. 

“You look startled,” he murmurs. 

“I think you’ve been bodysnatched.” 

“I have?” 

“Yes.” You nod. “I can’t keep up. And I’m usually pretty great at that.” 

“At what?” 

“Flirting.” 

“Oh,” he says, taking your hand again, pulling it toward his mouth, “you think I’m flirting?” 

“Is there something wrong with me?” 

“Not beyond the usual. You’re more lucid than they suspected you’d be, actually.” He kisses your knuckles. 

“I’ve hit my head.” 

“No, honey, you were under anaesthesia. Everything’s fine.” 

“You’ve hit your head.” 

He breathes out a laugh. “I don’t remember any injuries, but I’d love to know why you think so.” 

“You’re kissing me.” 

He pauses, lowering your hand. “Yes?” he says cautiously. 

“Would you want to do it again?” 

Hotch puts your hand on your chest. He cups your cheek in one hand, takes your shoulder into the other, and leans down to see you eye to eye. “Are you feeling okay?” he asks. You can feel the love he has for you in each word. 

Weirdly, you can feel it in yourself, too. Like, more than a crush. More than wanting him to spin you around or play with your thigh under a desk. You really love him. 

“I think I forgot you,” you say softly. 

“Amnesia is a very common symptom of anaesthesia, don’t worry.” He pulls your face up to peck you, quick but not without a gentleness that has your hands thrumming with pins and needle. “I thought you were acting strange, but I put it down to discomfort. Sorry, I imagine it’s very disconcerting to feel you don’t know me.” 

He just kissed you. “No, I know you, I just… I think I love you, but you don’t usually want me back.” 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “I’ve always wanted you,” he says, his dulcet tenor another comfort entirely. “And I love you, whether you remember it or not. Should we try to finish your yoghurt?” 

“You really love me?” 

He turns your face to press a kiss into your eyebrow. “You don’t remember?” 

“I do–” You begin before thinking about it, and realise that you’re telling the truth. You remember that he loves you. Agent Hotchner loves you. He’s in your hospital room handling you like thin glass.  

“Well, is there much else to remember?” 

You practically smirk at him. “I can think of some things.” 

“Wow!” He leans down for another kiss. “You’re awful,” he murmurs, his smile soft on your lips. 

mark webber masterlist

all blurbs are listed from oldest to newest - oldest being on the top and newest on the bottom. // it’ll be updated as I post!

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

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

Wordcount: 2.1k

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

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

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

This time was different

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

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

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

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

It all went good, until they reached Mercedes

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

Toto Wolff

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

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

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

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

Maybe he was all those things her dad said

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N Horner” She answered the phone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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