Latest Posts by pleaseultraviolenceme - Page 5

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.

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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

lowkey I wanna sit on young mikas face. just smother that pretty face with my pussy

anon ur so right. why do you, as a man, have an INSANE JAWLINE if not to give me a nice seat!!

he loves it. he loves eating you out anyway, but having you sit on his face is on a whole other level for mika

wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull you down onto his mouth, moaning against your pussy when you tangle your hands in his hair

the noises are obscene

your stifled whines, a gentle, constant repetition of "mika, mika mika--" as you roll your hips against his face

the wet, desperate noises from mika pressing his tongue against you, dragging it through your cunt like he can't get enough of the taste of you

the one downside of the position is that he can't finger you like he normally would going down on you - can't fuck you with three fingers while he suckles your clit until you squeal and squirt over his hand

but that's okay (-: he's more than happy pulling you to an orgasm or two with his mouth alone, grabbing handfuls of your ass to knead and spank

sucking on your clit and lavishing the little bundle of nerves with tight circles of his tongue, bringing you closer and closer to the edge

the tipping point is when he pulls away, just enough for his "look at me" to be audible

and he doesn't break eye contact with you once you look down, his baby blue eyes turned dark with lust-blown pupils, the absolute need in his gaze pushing you over the edge as you cum

Mika Häkkinen and the f1 soft boi era ✨️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slowly lean closer to his ear whispering:

“Can you help me, maxie?”

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

“What?” He mumbles back.

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

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

“Wanna go?”

He nods.

i thought about oscar with baby fever and it became my roman empire. maybe he see’s her with her baby sister or smth and now he’s all like “i want one” and they have a list of baby names on the fridge and its just so wholesome and dnjendnskssn

this is so cute i can b soft for a second.

he would be so cute w baby fever he’s sending tiktoks and reels of babies, he’s asking all the drivers about their kids, trying to tell lando he should have a kid so theirs can grow up together and race against each other. lando tells him he is insane. you KNOW his mom is sending him packages full of his old toys and baby clothes she saved of his and his sister’s, so he has both in case of a boy or girl. you know he wants a big house and yard he just gives those vibes. goes out to the outskirts of the city so that they’re not surrounded by people but so he’s still reasonably close to the mtc. she’s not even pregnant when they move in and he’s furnishing the nursery. its definitely yellow themed and there’s one wall that’s painted like an australian outback (i think thats what they call it there?? am i wrong?? outback is a steakhouse in texas so it sounds wrong but ive heard daniel say it talking about aus) with kangaroos, koalas, and all kinds of things painted into the scenery. he’d have it done during the season when she’s traveling with him so that he can surprise her with it when they return home after a few months away. forget the refrigerator, he carries a list in his wallet with a pen and he’s constantly adding names and scratching them out, like he loved the name jessica until he saw a jessica on twitter tweet something rude about his girl and suddenly he hates all jessicas. (no offense to any jessicas reading this i had a bitchy coworker named jessica)

and then when she’s actually pregnant he would have the hardest time not immediately announcing it but everyone knows something is up, they didn’t tell anyone they were trying but oscar’s a lot happier than usual the entire season, because he’s constantly getting laid and getting to go raw and finish in her and honestly, that’s better than any first place finish he caught that season. so is the first time she wakes up throwing up, he feels bad but he can’t stop grinning like an idiot bc he’s so happy he doesn’t know what else to do. he’s holding her hair back with one hand and rubbing her back with the other and just keeps saying, “we’re having a baby” in a sing songy voice and she tells him, “i’m pretty sure it’s just food poisoning from that weird place we went to in the last city. i told you, we shouldn’t get food from places that smell like spoiled meat.” and he’s just like, “i’m pretty sure pregnant women have more sensitive senses of smell. i thought it smelled fine, plus i’m not sick.” and she’s hurling again at the thought of how bad it smelled, while he coos and tells her he loves her and their baby so much. then when she finally finishes throwing up and takes a test, he tries to watch her pee because he doesn’t want to be left out of anything but she makes him leave the room. she opens the door as soon as she’s washed her hands and he’s just standing in the doorway waiting to set the timer on his phone.

untouched - max verstappen x reader

pairing : max verstappen x fem!reader warnings : smut, oral (female receiving), dry humping word count : 1k summary : while max is giving you head, his mind is clouded with one thought : will he last long enough or come untouched ? a/n : hi !! this is my first time writing in a veryyy long time, also english isn't my first langage so excuse me if you see any mistake!! but i hope you'll enjoy it !! xoxo bunny

your hands were pulling on his hair, moans and whines were the only things that could be heard in the room.

max had been between your thighs for a while now, lapping and torturing your clit, he seemed more eager than ever before, acting like a starved man.

he had you seeing stars and you could feel the usual knot forming in your stomach, a feeling that max never struggled to make you feel and he indulged himself in this. it would be a lie to say that max didn’t take pride in how good he was able to make you feel with his tongue, mouth and fingers. he knew your body like the back of his hand.

but today, you weren’t the only one feeling the heat rising in your lower body and knowing yourself coming close to a climax.

it wasn’t the first time that max felt himself getting close without being touched, but it was the first time it happened while going down on you.

his hips involuntarily bucked up, his clothed crotch brushing against the mattress and giving him the slightest of friction. of course it wasn’t enough and of course he wanted more, but his whole focus was on you, your pleasure was his priority even if it meant ignoring his own.

your moans were getting louder and louder and his cock was harder than ever in his tight pants but max was determined to make you come before anything else, even tho his mind was clouded with the want of taking off his pants. he needed to release the pressure his clothes had on him.

"oh god max i’m… oh fuck i’m close!"

your words were a melody to his ears mixed with your delicious moans and if he could he would bottle them up to listen to them on repeat. he was sure that he’d never get tired of them, he’d never get tired of you.

and it all suddenly came to him, his eyes widening at the realisation that he was way closer than he thought. he felt his cock twitching in his boxer when he decided to give up. "fuck it" he thought as he positionned himself and begin to slowly roll his hips against the mattress, finally getting the relief he needed so much.

it didn’t take long for him to reach his orgasm which made him back up from your body for a quick second, to catch his breath. he then went right back at it, his hands holding your thighs as close to his head as possible, his fingers were sure to leave marks on your skin in the morning and he loved that.

"don’t stop, i’m coming… please max"

his right hand left your thigh and quickly found your clit, his thumb started massaging the bundle of nerves, making your back arche. then you finally you came, all of the pleasure and the tension washing over your body like a wave.

your thighs were squeezing his head, something he was used to and would never complain about. he made sure his mouth left a trail of kisses along the inside of your thighs before getting up and he stood there for a few seconds, to admire your body, your -still- slightly shaking thighs, your messed up hair and your knuckles who were still white from holding and pulling so much at his hair. you were his most prized trophy, the one that he would never let go of, the one worth everything, every sacrifice.

"fuck… want me to return the favor love ?"

and that is when the man, the second time world champion suddenly felt embarrassed for the first time, in a very long time. max had managed to forget how he painted his briefs white with his cum, how minutes ago he came untouched, just driven by your pretty sounds.

"i uh.. no don’t you worry sweetheart"

you were surprised and kind of taken aback, not used to your long term boyfriend rejecting such an offer. one thing that max never said no to -usually- was head from you and you knew that he loved it. he loved seeing you on your knees in front of him, doing your very best to please him and his refusal kind of worried you.

"oh, is everything okay ?"

he knew he couldn’t hide it no more, especially not to you when you were the one that made him come undone in his tight pants. without touching him you were still the one that got him to climax and that alone showed just how much of an effect you had on him.

"i don’t really know how to say this but i.. yeah i already came"

your eyes widened and a smile formed on your face.

"don’t laugh i’m not joking y/n!"

you couldn’t help but laugh, hiding your smile with your hand. even tho he might not think about it this way, you found that incredibly flattering. making your boyfriend come without even undressing him made something inside of you switch, it gave you a full boost of confidence and you were not about to let that opportunity go.

"ooohh you poor thing, i didn’t even get to touch you yet!"

"sorry baby, i couldn’t control myself, you sounded like an angel.."

fuck, max verstappen knew his way with words. but he wasn’t the only one able to play this type of games.

"if only you knew how angelic you sound, maybe you would let me deal with you tonight.."

as you said that, you got into your knees in front of him and unzipped his pants. max didn’t move, his cock already getting harder at your sight. your eyes looked up at him before pulling his pants down. and here you saw the wet patch on his underwear and licked your lips, the thought of max coming on himself making you squeeze your thighs together.

"y/n please"

"please what?"

you were quick to answer him while slowly pulling his underwear down, finally freeing his cock from his boxer and taking ahold of it. max threw his head back and his hand went to your hair, lightly grasping it.

"please touch me"

"as you wish my love"

max knew he was in for a long night when your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and god knows how much he was excited about it.

bestie idk what would even be the plot of something like this but i have been Thinking Majorly abt carlos x reader x lando a lot recently... just wanted to let you know in case that mayhaps inspire you 👀

oh bestie you just unlocked something dangerous in my brain. I have no idea how to write threesomes because I’ve only ever done monogamous stuff but hope you like this lil blurb I cooked up for you & you only 🤍

generous (1.8k words) lando/carlos/fem!reader - this is nsfw, minors dni!!

It starts with a squirm. It’s innocuous and barely there but Carlos clocks it so fast. He’s so in tune with you and your mannerisms by now that he knows when something has struck a chord with you, feeling you shift a little where you’re laying against him on the sofa, and he watches your lips part in an innocent and quiet sigh. It almost sounds wistful to the untrained ear, but he can see your eyes flicker across the screen and his own ones dart to the television to look at what exactly has you so… riled up.

Oh. Of course. It’s a sex scene, a bad one at that and it has Carlos eyebrows lifting enough to crease the skin of his forehead. He refrains from smirking because he can feel the pads of your fingers stroking down his arm, almost subconsciously, feeling the hairs on his flesh as they map out a random path.

Lando clears his throat and the sound is so jarring in the quiet room that you jump a little, the both of you looking over at him. His eyes are fastened on the tv, but there’s a tenseness in his body that lets Carlos know that he’s anything but focused on what’s happening on the screen. That, along with a distinct flush on the apples of his cheeks and his fisted hand.

It makes something wicked flare up in the Spaniard’s chest, sliding his hands down your side where it had laid dormant and casual, slipping beneath the blanket he’d thrown over you when the three of you had sat down and decided on a movie.

You don’t say anything at first, nor do you react but he knows that you’ll soon shift your eyes and glance up at him questioningly. You do exactly that when he slips his hand to your lower stomach, under your t-shirt so he can feel the softness against his bare palm. He doesn’t look at you, but you’re staring up at his face, trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing because surely he’s not… Shit.

The sound you make in your throat is quiet, but it’s a whimper that sounds so loud in the room that you can feel your entire body flush warmly when Carlos successfully finds his way inside your shorts, fingers touching the slickness gathered between your thighs. He rubs one finger over your clit, gently and almost non-existent, but you react so beautifully that he can’t help but smirk when Lando shifts in his seat from the corner of his eye.

Carlos knows about your feelings for the Brit, it’s harmless and he’s secure enough in your relationship to feel anything but threatened. That’s why he’d barely reacted when you one day confessed, albeit a little drunkenly, that Lando was sexy. Your words, not his.

You hadn’t brought the subject up after that night, thinking and praying that Carlos had somehow forgotten you confessing your thoughts and feelings for his best friend. He’d certainly acted like it until a few days later after the Imola weekend where you’d stumbled into your hotel room after the club, a little buzzed and a whole lot of horny. He’d had his fingers deep inside you, worked you up to two orgasms and the third one took a little incentive. So, he’d very casually and calmly painted a pretty picture of Lando between your legs and Carlos in your throat, the filthy words whispered in your ear. You’d screamed your orgasm that night.

You suck in a breath between your teeth when your boyfriend slicks his fingers up further and rubs circles where you’re the most sensitive, squirming in his hold and your heart jumps when he takes pity on you, sliding one finger into you. He almost groans at how easily it goes in, daring to add a second finger right after because he knows how achy you must be right now. It’s written all over your face, your hands gripping his shirt as you push conspicuously into his moving fingers.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Carlos asks and you blink your eyes open, confused and a little hazy until you realise that he’s not even talking to you.

Your eyes flick to Lando sitting by your feet like you'd forgotten that he was sitting there - awake, body seizing up in slight panic when you find his eyes already looking at you. The tips of his ears are red, and his mouth drops open like he wants to answer but he can’t find the right words, closing it mutely.

He guiltily looks away before looking back at Carlos, frown marring his face when he realises he’s been caught ogling his girlfriend.

“I’m—“ he stops, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, cabrón.” You can’t see your boyfriend’s face but you can easily hear the smugness in his voice as he speeds up the movement of his fingers. “She’s beautiful, I can’t blame you for looking.”

If you were of sound mind, you’d probably have sat up and slapped his hand away, even scold him. But you can’t lie to yourself, can’t say that you haven’t been fantasising about a scenario like this. Carlos clearly knows it, because even though you haven’t expressed the extent of your desires, he reads you like a book.

And he would be a damned liar if he said that he hadn’t thought of you and his best friend together. It was probably sick and a little twisted, but there was something about it that got him off.

“Maybe I should…” Lando trails off when Carlos curls his fingers, making you stutter out a filthy moan as your stomach starts getting tied up in knots.

He stares and you stare back, because fuck you can’t look away from the brightness of his eyes, how his pupils have blown out in what you can only describe as sheer and utter arousal.

“Are you close, mi amor?” Carlos whispers against the side of your head and you nod with a small keen, feeling his lips twitch against your temple in what you can only assume is a smile.

The smug son of a bitch is having the time of his life and you grip his arm that’s working between your legs when you feel yourself climbing closer to the edge, breaths coming out laboured and messed up. Like you’re sucking for air but can’t quite get enough in your lungs.

The sounds you make are so mesmerising to Lando that he can’t help but stare, clenching his hands in his lap in a poor attempt to shield his half-hard cock from your eyes but he knows the gesture is futile. He’s so entranced by the way you’re looking at him through hooded eyes that he completely misses Carlos’ question aimed at him, only coming to when your eyes flicker up to your boyfriend, breaking the trance he’d found himself in.

“Do you think I should let her come?” Carlos asks again, face so hard to read that it should scare Lando but if he squinted hard enough he can almost see the hidden amusement in his eyes. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking from Lando’s part.

Lando all of a sudden feels overwhelmed, looking down at where you’ve managed to slide onto your back, head resting on your boyfriend’s lap and legs splayed out underneath the blanket. He has a fleeting thought of ripping it off so he could see exactly what Carlos’ fingers are doing to you, but the situation is so bizarre and odd that he doesn’t even know what would be considered crossing a line.

He doesn’t dare to make a move, in fear of abruptly ending whatever this was, but then you open your mouth around a breathless moan and Lando’s hand shoots to cup over his cock; like the mere sound of you hurt him.

Carlos’ eyebrows jump in amusement, staring at his friend with that doe-eyed, vacant look he always holds and Lando almost looks away from the intensity of it.

“Please, please, Carlos.” You plead, grabbing at his arm just to have something to hold on to as your stomach starts coiling, on the brink of an explosive orgasm.

Carlos sucks his teeth, and the sound of it is disapproving enough for you to whine because you know what it means without him having to utter a word. No, you’re not allowed to come.

“I’m not the one you should be asking, nena.” He chastises you, eyes flicking up to the man sitting on the other side of the sofa. “Así que?”

Lando’s Spanish is limited, but it’s clear what Carlos is expecting of him by the tone of his voice and a zip of excitement shoots down his spine when he realises that his friend is handing him the reigns to something he holds so dear. He’d seen Carlos chew out men for even disrespecting you in the past, and he knows how wildly protective Carlos is of you.

His eyes slide down to where you’re writhing, thighs closing and hips pushing up as you’re getting close. He wants to see you come undone but when he opens his mouth, the complete opposite comes tumbling out.

“No.” His voice is hoarse, loud and you whine when Carlos stops the movements of his hand, like he had been expecting Lando to respond in the negative.

Lando is sitting close enough to hear the slick sound as Carlos pulls his fingers out of you, and his hand squeezes himself through his sweatpants subconsciously.

“Lo lamento, amor. If Lando says no then it’s a no.” He says with no real regret in his voice, and it makes you scowl a bit.

Lando can’t help but almost smile in amusement, thinking that you look adorable as you’re pouting with that wild look in your eyes. He’s so preoccupied with the way you’re glaring and huffing at the both of them that he misses Carlos holding up two fingers to your mouth. It’s only when you begrudgingly and shyly open your mouth that he realises that those fingers were just inside of you, heart speeding up when the light of the television catches the slick on his fingers. Fuck.

He watches you suck on Carlos’ fingers, humming and moaning like you’re tasting something so magnificent and Lando makes a noise before he could stop it. The sound catches Carlos’ attention, causing him to look up from you to his friend.

“She tastes very good.” He said, conversationally and Lando struggles to keep his eyes from bugging. “Don’t you, nena?”

The last question is directed at you and you nod shyly, never taking your eyes off of Carlos. He strokes his other hand over your head lovingly and bends to kiss your mouth.

Lando watches silently, feeling a little like an outsider but he can’t keep his eyes off of the slip and slide of your tongues against each other. It’s like watching a train wreck, you just can’t look away from it even if you tried.

He almost feels like passing out, blood rushing to his nether regions when Carlos parts with a slick sound; licking his lower lip as he glances at Lando.

“Do you wanna taste her?”

sorry for stopping at literally the worst time but i had to contain myself or we'd end up with 5k of smut 🫣 so um, hope you liked that. please don't hesitate to send me anything, i'd be happy to write blurbs and stuff! x

can we get max Emilian brain rot? Teasing him with a little show, getting him worked up with lingerie, not letting him touch you uGH

trying to combat my weird writers block aaaahh I hope you enjoy this 🤍

pleasant surprise (1.2k) max verstappen/fem!reader nsfw blurb

You can hear him in the kitchen, pouring himself a sugary drink and humming loudly to a song he’s had stuck in his head for the majority of the day. It makes you smile as you stand in the bathroom, staring yourself down with critical eyes because you want it to be perfect. A good surprise. Something Max will look back on when he’s gone for the week and has no one else but his hand and his vivid imagination.

It’s black, thin and strappy. The lace is so intricate and pretty that you can’t help but run an appreciative hand over the material, admiring the way the cups are holding your tits and enhancing them perfectly. It was hard to find good lingerie that did wonders for your body nowadays, and you usually went for the boring old cotton because comfort was always your first priority in that regard. But you’d gone shopping with Kika in Spain a few weeks ago and had come across this gorgeous set in the display window. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it, ignoring your friend’s teasing smile when you purchased the lingerie.

“Babe?” Max’s voice drifted down the hall, footsteps getting closer and you quickly turned around with wide eyes.

“In here,” you strategically placed yourself behind the door so he wouldn’t spot you as he walked by. “I’ll be right out.”

Your boyfriend made a sound of acknowledgement and you figured his attention had been pulled by his phone, because he didn’t say or do anything else as he continued walking toward the bedroom. You took one last glance at yourself, wiping at your glossy mouth until the feeling of the sticky substance irked you; Prompting you to switch the light off in the bathroom before you started going at your face with a wet wipe.

You’d spent too long on your makeup. Granted, Max was going to probably ruin it in five minutes but you wanted to look pretty for at least a few minutes.

The man in question was standing with his back to the door when you entered, completely oblivious to your presence as he tapped away at his phone. His head twitched to the side when he heard you clear your throat gently, but he still didn’t pull his eyes away from his phone screen.

“Daniel just sent me this funny— Whoa.” He’d managed to turn around in his little ramble, light eyes going unnaturally wide as he caught sight of you standing in front of him. He swept his gaze from your toes to the top of your head, mouth opening and closing like he wasn’t sure what words to utter.

His reaction alone made you preen a little, biting down on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay as you took a step closer to him. Max’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes lingering on your midriff before you locked eyes.

“You look—“ he trailed off, clearly at a loss for words.

But what his mouth didn’t say, his body clearly made up for. His reaction spoke a thousand words and managed to boost your confidence as you turned around slowly, showing off your pert bottom hugged by the lacy thong. Max made a small noise in his throat, setting his phone down without tearing his eyes away from you before he quickly closed the distance between the two of you.

What he wasn’t expecting was for you to take two steps back, tutting loudly enough for him to halt his pace and frown at you in deep confusion. He looked dumbfounded, having been so prepared to put his hands on you and watching you melt like putty.

But your stance was different, rigid back and eyebrows raised on your forehead in a teasing display that made Max’s palms itch with the urgent need to touch you.

“You can’t do that.” He said quietly, confused by your lips breaking out into a wide smile.

He looked a little lost as he reached out his hand to place on your waist, making a sound of protest when you spun out of his reach. His hands balled into fists as he fought the natural urge to grab and pin you against the nearest surface just to hear your squealing laughter.

But he liked this game. Whatever you were doing was making his joggers feel very tight all of a sudden.

“I can and I will.” You said, voice going up in a teasing tone as you took a cautious step forward with narrowed eyes, like you were expecting him to jump forward and grab you. You looked pleased when he stayed put, reaching your arm out to touch his right pectoral with the pads of your fingers.

Max glanced at your fingers, the way they were mapping out the muscles of his skin and he inhaled quietly when you swiped over his nipple over his t-shirt, eyebrows pulling together. It was only when you put pressure in your fingers that he took a few steps back, letting you walk him back until his knees hit the bed frame. He sat down gingerly, reaching for your waist but stopping immediately when you made a noise of disapproval.

“You’re just being cruel.” He said, annoyance pinching his face as he looked up at you and it made you grin because you knew how tortured he must’ve felt.

“I’m being tactical.” You said, gently straddling him and placing both of your hands on his shoulders. “I know that you’re gonna rip these as soon as you get the chance and I paid too much for them.”

Max sucked in his lips to hold his smile back, nostrils glaring with laughter and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“I can always buy you new—“

“No.” You cut him off with a shake of your head, laughing. “Just… enjoy it.” You reached for his hands and guided them back, placing his palms against your ass.

It was hard to contain the gasp when he immediately squeezed, like he was trying to grab as much flesh in his hands as he could. You grind forward with a muted moan and it makes Max swear in your ear as you finally sit crotch to crotch.

You lean forward to capture his mouth in a kiss, smiling at the way he eagerly responds and circling your arms around his shoulders to bring him into you.

“Fuck, you smell good.” He murmured when you separated, eyelids fluttering shut when you kiss down his jawline to his ear, burying his nose in the softness of your hair.

You suck small hickeys into the skin of his throat, paying extra attention to his Adam’s Apple because you know that it makes his eyes roll. Your hands grab into him a squeak leaves your lips when he suddenly drops back on the bed, taking you with him and the expression on your face makes him laugh.

“I’m staying on top.” You said, arching a brow like he’d ever say no to that and he grins like you know he would, pulling a hand back to spank your ass cheek. “Max!”

“Get to it then.” He says it jokingly, but there’s a fire in his eyes that makes you comply happily.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

this was kinda rushed 🫢 but I just wanted to do this quickly so I could go back to writing my fic. I’m in such a slump rn that I’m trying to get out of but I hope this was somewhat enjoyable. thank youuu for your lovely request 🤍

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

bathroom

3 minutes

need to fuck you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only you.” You nodded, breathless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you did.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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

Always Walk Me Home

Max Verstappen x Reader

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

Max nods. “You love seafood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max!” You say, appalled.

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

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer.

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pulls away, leaves you gasping for air.

“You taste like lime,” he says.

You nod, dumbfounded.

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” You answer.

“Did you get in alright?” He asks.

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

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

But I’m so glad you did.

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” you mutter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

It turns out they all already knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” he agrees.

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

…..

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

“I love you,” you say.

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

Then he says it right back.

read the prequel/ sequel, Someone Sane

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

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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

Masterlist

Two insane F1 and MotoGP fans with a multitude of unhinged thoughts who write together.

🐝- Resident Dom George expert of the blog. Unapologetic lover of Nando. Mentally dating Lewis Hamilton.

🐻- Resident Sub Fabio expert of the blog. Sebastian Vettel is my wife. Unapologetic about how some (most) of these drivers have strong sub energy.

Mainly writing for: Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Daniel Ricciardo, Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Nico Rosberg, Fabio Quartararo, sub Lando, occasionally Carlos Sainz - Will not write for Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez.

Warning: Every single thing we are going to write will be 18+ NSFW, but will be tagged. 

Trans!reader versions of the fics over at @trans-carboysandbikemen

Pls send us any thoughts u have- we love to hear them!

Masterlist: 

George Russell:

George's Rough Night (Driver!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Use me up (ft. Lewis Hamilton)

When the sun goes down pt.1

Fernando Alonso:

Feed My Ego

Childhood Bedroom (ask)

Constant Craving

Good Luck Charm (ask)

Phoning it In - (ftm!reader version here!)

Lewis Hamilton:

Use me up (ft. George Russell)

Consolation Prize (ask) // Part 2

Pecco Bagnaia:

Soft Worship (ask)

Fabio Quarteraro:

It's like a reward (AFAB GN!reader)

Lando Norris:

Sub Lando Thesis

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

Age Is A Number

Pairing: Fernando Alonso x Vettel!Reader

Rating: R

Warnings: Age gap (21 year difference), smut, oral (m receiving), face fucking, protective!Fernando, dominant!Fernando I’m sure there is more

Words: 2.9K

Requested: Yes/No

Request: @poisonlily444 Hi!! I was wondering if you could write a fic with Fernando cuz lately I’ve been obsessing over him sm And maybe she’s like toto’s daughter or lance’s sister or smth like that (you pick who she’s related to idrc) and they have been in a secret relationship cuz she’s like 20 but actually he’s very protective with her and stuff Maybe they attend a gala or smth and she goes as his date in a green dress and when asked Abt it Nando is like “yeah she’s really beautiful and hot and she’s also my gf of a year” and everyone loves them after P.S. maybe a bonus scene at the end where they get home in Monaco and it s just pure filth 🤭 i loved how you wrote the sergio one so please please please make nando really possessive and overprotective

A/N: you can see where I lost my focus on this, I hope you’ll all enjoy it and hopefully I can get used to writing without my meds, it here ya gooo ☺️🤭

"I'm sorry, what?"

You want to curl in on yourself as your brother stares at you. He wasn't expecting you to drop this bombshell on him. He didn't think that when you called and told him you were coming home, you'd say to him you had a boyfriend.

Or the fact that your boyfriend is 20 years your senior, older than him. Oh, and that your boyfriend is Fernando Alonso. You rub your eyes and prepare yourself for this conversation. Wanted the earth to swallow you, but this was something you both needed to talk about.

"I'm dating Fernando." You whisper, hanging your head. You've been hiding this relationship for about a year, almost 2 years soon. "As in Fernando Alonso?" Sebastian asks, still not fully understanding. "Yes, as in Fernando Alonso." You groan and spin on your stool, standing as you rub your face.

"No, you're not. Nope. Nuh huh." Sebastian laughs, pulling his hair as he tries to remain calm. "Seb-" "He's TWENTY-ONE YEARS YOUR SENIOR! Fuck, Y/n. He's 6 years older than me! What the hell are you thinking?" Sebastian yells, causing you to flinch as he never raises his voice at you.

"Sebastian......he's good to me." You whisper, not sure how to explain this to him. Fernando was fantastic to you. He didn't play with your feelings, confuse you, or anything like that. When you argue, he makes you both talk and understand one another.

"Y/n, he's known you since you were a kid!" He snaps, and you step back, not wanting to start fighting. "Seb, he only met me a handful of times when I was a kid. It's not like you and Mick." Which only has Sebastian laugh humorously, shaking his head at this whole situation.

"Go home, Y/n." "Sebastian." You sigh, reaching out for your brother, who only steps back. "Let me, let me think this over; go home before we both fight." You blink, trying to keep control of your tears, and gather your things, heading to your apartment.

You're not over-emotional, but you did when it came to your brother. He was someone you looked up to. Sebastian was your world; he made you who you are today. He was more of a parent to you than a brother, so having that conversation with him and how it went. Hurt. Stepping into your apartment, you throw your purse and kick off your shoes before standing in the middle of your living room and crying.

Crying to being hurt. Crying because Sebastian didn't support you. Crying because you didn't know what to feel. You were hurt, angry, sad, and confused. You cover your face, crying as you hear the familiar beeping of the code put in, and then the tinge of spice and mint wraps around you, signaling that Fernando is here. "Princess?" Fernando calls out for you, smiling like a goofball.

He smiles at the bouquet of flowers in his hand, a small gift to make you smile. Not hearing a reply, he steps father into the apartment but stops to take in the mess you left as you came in. "Princess?" He waits for a beat, hears the soft muffled sniffles, sits the flowers down, and moves quickly to your side.

"Y/n? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Where? Princess, look at me." He pulls your hands off your face and sighs, seeing your blotchy face. He steps back and looks you over, ensuring you aren't physically hurt. Seeing that you're okay, he reduces it to emotional or mental. "What's wrong? I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong." His voice is soft. Hearing how soft and the anguish on his face makes you choke on a sob and fall into his arms.

"Okay. It's okay." He pulls you closer, his grip tight. It almost hurts. "He..he.." You gasp out, trying to get the words out, but they're just gasped. "Princess, take a deep breath." You shake your head no, unable to do it. "Yes, you can." Grabbing a hand, he puts it on his chest and takes a deep breath. "With me." He whispers as he does it again. You copy the movement and start to calm down.

If there was Fernando hated most, it was when he couldn't help you. Seeing you in this state was the worst. He couldn't just tell it to fuck off like he'd do to people. Fernando wanted to protect you from everything, but sometimes the things inside you are the one thing he can't protect you from, only watch and help calm you down.

Seeing you calm, he takes a deep breath and tries again. "Okay, what happened?" He asks and sees tears form again, but you take a deep breath and blink them away. "I told Sebastian." Hearing that, the first emotion is anger. The only reason you'd cry like this is because Sebastian is mad.

"He's mad about our age gap." Fernando sighs, rubs his face, and leads you to the kitchen to give you some water. "Of course, he's mad." You scuff and roll your eyes. "That's all you have to say?" Gulping down the water, he hands you. You can see him thinking because if he was in Sebastian's place, he'd react the same way.

At the same time, he knows that what he is doing with you isn't for fun or just to feel young again. He loves you. He wants to get married and have children together. He couldn't say that Sebastian, the fucker would punch without a second thought.

"No, princess. But I understand your brother's worries. He raised you. You're more his daughter than a sister." Fernando pushes off the counter, walks around, and grabs your face, tracing your jawline. "He's protective. Like me." You giggle, knowing just how protective Fernando can get with you. "All he sees right now is me fucking his sister. He doesn't see how much I love her, worship her, or constantly ruin other men for her." He whispers the last part, making you laugh and blush.

He was right. You'd dated a little, but they couldn't give you the type of relationship you craved. They were mainly boys than men, and damn was Fernando, all man. He knew what you needed even when you didn't ask; he was always there, showing how much he loved you.

"You didn't ruin other men for me." You retort, which has your boyfriend leaning back with a smirk. "Really? Maybe I should try harder." He teases, which has you nodding as he leans in to kiss you. He halts when he hears knocking at the door and groans, cussing softly in Spanish.

A smile pulls at your lips as your grumpy boyfriend walks down the hall to the door. Opening the door, he grumbles but stops seeing Sebastian. "Oh, hey." Sebastian just stares at Fernando and sighs, shaking his head. "Don't tell her I was here." Walking away, Fernando curses and yells he's going to get the mail, following after Sebastian. "Hey! Sebastian!" Fernando yells, jogging down the stairs. Grabbing his shoulder, he forces him to face him. "I don't like this." Fernando chokes on a laugh and shakes his head, letting go of his old friend.

"I'm serious about her. She's not some distraction. I want to marry her. I understand the age gap-" Sebastian scuffs at hearing all this and hangs his head. "She's 20. You've lived a life. She's barely lived hers." His voice lowers as people walk past them, paying them no mind. "Don't. She's not a fucking child Sebastian. Y/n is a woman I love and building a life with. So don't you dare diminish her because of age, 'cause she's far more mature than you right now?" Fernando stares down at your brother, refusing to let anyone, including your family, talk down on you.

"Give me time," Sebastian whispers, hating his feeling. "Talk all the fucking time you need. Don't ever, ever talk to her like that again." Turning on the ball of his foot, he stalks back upstairs and into your place.

"Any mail?" "What?" Fernando asks, hearing your question, confused by you asking him that. "Nando, you went to get the mail. Was there any?" He shakes his head and removes his leather jacket showing off that tight white t-shirt underneath. "Hey, do you want to go to this gala with me? It's in Monaco." You turn around, holding the flowers he got you in a vase, and he smiles, seeing the light back in your eyes.

"How come you want me to go?" You weren't going to say yes. It's just that Fernando hated how the media eyes you like candy. Of course, they didn't know the two of you are dating. He despised how they constantly tried to pair you with the other drivers. Wanted nothing more than to show you off as his.

Walking over, he grabs the vase and sits it down before grabbing your chin, keeping eye contact. "When I say this, I fucking mean it. You are mine. You aren't the rumored girlfriend of Charles, Mick, or any fucking else. You're mine. Mine to fuck, love, mark, and show off. If you think for one goddamn second, I'll continue another year of little boys panting after you. You're wrong. Yeah?" You swallow and nod slightly, rubbing your knees, hating how you react to his words. He always got you wet when he showed off possessiveness.

"Okay." You whisper, and soon Fernando smashes your lips together. It then softens as he pulls away. "Good. You have work that day, so we will meet there." You smile, already knowing which dress you are going to wear. He'll lose his goddamn mind.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh, he would bend you over and fuck you hard and good when you both get home. He had no idea you even owned a dress like the one you were wearing. He had expected an elegant dress that covered your skin. Something you'd be comfortable in. Not this.

Stepping out of the car, you thank your driver, who you smile at. Even that simple smile has Fernando wanting to rip the guy's eyes out for even looking at you. For being the center of that smile, not him.

You fix your dress, eyes searching for Fernando before you find him staring at you. You are wearing this stunning emerald green, self-tie plunging halterneck fishtail dress. The bow was light and rested on the back of your shoulders while the strings fell to your mid-thigh giving your back some cover, but if you moved the tie, it'd reveal your whole back. The front has a plunging front that shows off your chest.

Fernando had only seen the back but lost it when you turned to show off the front. He's next to you in quick strides, snatching your hand out of the driver and pulling you close. "The moment we get home, that dress will be off, and you choking on my cock, yes?" Fernando whispers in your ear, having you nod dumbly as he kisses you sweetly and guides you to the entrance.

The moment you two stepped foot in the entrance, you were blinded by cameras and the deafening sound of the shutter of cameras. Fernando places a comforting arm around your waist and directs you through the sea of people. You stop seeing your brother and Hanna as they stare at you both. Hanna smiles brightly, while Sebastian seems skeptical of the two of you.

"Shit, I forgot he'd be here," Fernando whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Doing that has the cameras going wild and people screaming. "Y/n! Come take a photo with us!" Hanna yells, and with a slight nudge, you move into your brother's arms. "I'm going to do some interviews; take care of her." Fernando nods at you making Sebastian smile tightly. "I know how to take care of my sister." You sigh and smile, dragging your brother away.

"Fernando! Over here! Fernando!" A reporter yells, and their enthusiasm gets his attention and goes to them first. "Easy there." Fernando grabs the young reporter, who smiles brightly and about falls over when he approaches him. "Thanks! When did you start dating Y/n Vettel? Is there a problem with the age difference?" He rattles off and then blushes, unsure if he overstepped, but the driver laughs.

"She is my girlfriend of almost 2 years, and as of now, the age difference isn't a problem for her family." He jokes, making the others around them laugh. "She is a wonderful person!" The reporter gushes, and the stupid smile on Fernando's face gives him away. "Y/n is the love of my life. She's gorgeous, intelligent, just an energy in my life that I can't live without anymore. She's, just yeah." A blush covers Fernando's face before he laughs and waves goodbye going to find you.

Walking around, he finds you at your designed table, seeing that Hanna and Sebastian are also there, but Sebastian seems to be messing with your heel. "Something wrong, princess?" Fernando asks, making you look up with a smile and blush, having heard everything he said about you. "The strap to my heel broke. Seb is trying to fix it but failing." Sebastian grumbles and steps away. "Fine, you try fixing the damn thing." Sebastian goes back to his seat, and Fernando sits down. He gently lifts your ankle and places it on his lap.

His fingers trail patterns on your ankle, making you squirm but look away, trying to talk to Hanna, who giggles. She loves seeing you in this situation as she loves Fernando and knows he'd care for you. Sebastian just looks ready to die but refuses to admit the way Fernando treats you will reign supreme.

"Here you go, baby." Fernando fixes the strap as you thank him and lean forward, grabbing his jaw and pulling him close as you kiss him slowly. You do pull away to not freak your brother out. Pulling your heel away, you put slight pressure on Fernando's dick, making him jump slightly and eyes narrow at you.

"Careful." He mouths, but you just give a soft smile and carry on for the rest of the night. Until you leave, you tease each other, slightly flirting with other men, and Fernando gives you touches under the table to unsuspecting company.

"We're heading home. See you later?" Fernando asks Sebastian gathering your things and pulling you close, slightly tipsy from the alcohol. "Get her home safe," Sebastian orders kissing your side of the head, watching a lazy smile appear on your face. "I know how to protect her. Later Hanna." With a nod of his head, Sebastian watches you both leave.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Fuck!" You moan loudly. Fernando moves fast, slamming you into the wall. "Let me see you, Kitten, fuck, you're probably dripping for me." Fernando rasps, making you whimper and spread your legs. "Wore nothing underneath for you." You whine, hands tangling in those gorgeous locks of his.

"Kitten." He growls, hating that you are so exposed where anyone could see you, but he also dies a little when he was teasing you and could have easily slipped his fingers into you. "M sorry, Daddy. Fuck. You were so close to finding out my secret." Fernando smiles, stands back up, and lifts you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

"Y/n, kitten. You know the rules, baby. What are they?" He asks, undoing his belt, having your mouth water, having always enjoyed this punishment. "Only Daddy comes, not me." You whisper, which has Fernando nod his head to the floor and have you sliding off the bed and onto your knees. The sound of his pants being undone has your heart rate pick up before you take over helping him out of his pants. "Damn." Fernando groans, feeling your hand wrap around his base. With slow strokes, you assess him trying to figure out the best way to take it first, and you lean up and poke your tongue out. Fernando moans feeling your tongue tease him before your lips wrap around the head of his cock. Fingers curl into your hair and pull you forward, making you choke. You take a deep breath and calm yourself. You freeze when you feel Fernando touch your throat, looking down at you.

"Relax your throat." His fingers ghost your neck, and he feels the muscles relax before he positions himself and both hands anchor your head. "I'm going to fuck your throat, okay?" He asks, and you nod, tongue moving slightly before it settles on, tracing a vein on his underside.

"Good girl." He pulled out slowly before moving his hips, testing to make sure he wasn't hurting you in any way. When he feels how relaxed your throat is, he starts to pick up his pace, groaning at how you feel.

You swirl your tongue but also moan, sending small vibrations through him, moving his hips faster as the slight twitch in his balls lets him know he's close. "M gonna come, Kitten. Swallow if you want." He groans, which has you relaxing your throat more as he moans and stills in your throat. You have no problem swallowing as Fernando pulls away, seeing the slight string of spit, and smirks, leaning down and kissing you deeply.

"Now, your turn." You squeal loudly as Fernando lays you down on the bed.

horny thoughts? okay, biting jacques. that’s it.

thank u bestie this is SO on brand for us. resident villeneuve fuckers. this bleach blonde bastard switch Absolutely has a biting kink and i WILL elaborate

damon hill's book is just "jacques was an ambitious little shit who liked to push the limit" and i cannot be convinced it was not the same Outside of racing

ik you said biting jacques but dear g-d this man bites as well. lots of marks anywhere he can put them, getting as close as possible to where he knows your shirt collar sits

and, well, if one pokes out above your collar then he just looks pleased with himself. asshole!!

however. he makes the Prettiest noises when you bite him

tilts his head back, tendons straining under that muscular neck

gasps when you dig your teeth in and whines when you run your tongue over the mark

mr "told off for bringing down the image of the sport" does not Care where you leave marks on HIM. he'll show them off!!

it's harder for you to bite him during a position like missionary

(that's when he tends to bite you, pressing his mouth to the junction between shoulder and neck as he hoists your legs higher up his waist to fuck into you Deeper)

(you do the same to him when you fuck him, whether that's with a strap or cock, so fair is fair. you probably made him cum untouched like that once by biting his nipple as you fucked him)

but when you're riding him? oh Yes

make him sit up so you're chest to chest, tangle your fingers in that bleached hair, and Pull as u bite his neck

honestly just make this man whimper. make him Fall Apart. he's such a smug little shit who probably looks at you like he's had a religious experience once you take him down a notch

Jacques Villeneuve being hot

You thought you were just sharing some Fernando hcs but it was actually a "Spell That Makes You Summon Nandofuckers"

Also facesitting + any of your fave classic F1 drivers <3

RIGHT. THERES SO MANY. ilu all but DAMN!! fhsdfksdg i struggled to narrow down my Faves, and the lengths do vary. but i loved this req so thank u!!

facesitting hcs ahoy! not telling u the drivers in advance. its a surprise 😇

jacques villeneuve

brat. loves when you sit on his face, but never fucking admits it. you mostly sit on it to shut him up.

not precise, but so enthusiastic it doesn't matter

wet, obscene noises - his chin is drenched with you and he's pulling you down on his face like he can't get enough (he can't).

pussydrunk. wants to stay there forever. moans while he eats you out.

could probably cum in his pants doing it, and probably has done so.

make him do it with his nerd glasses still on and watch them get all fogged up

elio de angelis

firstly: elio 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

we love him because you think, oh, he is nice and gentle and probably pretty submissive (:

but no. he's an aries. and italian. and also the 1981 black flag meltdown. and him trying to strangle ayrton senna when they were teammates. Yeah.

therefore, when you ask to sit on his face, warmth flushing high on your cheeks, you're also expecting him to be shyer about it

you aren't expecting his arms to wrap around your thighs, immediately pulling you down from your apprehensive hovering just over his mouth

you gasp his name in shock, a high-pitched squeak of "elio--!!" and you feel him laugh against your pussy

damon hill

dilf! dilf! dilf! dilf!

i am not immune to hilleneuve and would firstly like to float the idea of damon telling you to sit on jacques' face and bossing you both around a bit 👁 that is all on the hillneuve front. thank u.

otherwise, he's the one who suggests it

softly encouraging - doesn't pull you down like elio, but nudges and guides you with his hands on your hips

snarky (affectionate) comments about how he races an F1 car, you won't hurt him by doing this

slow and intimate, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips as you sigh out his name

tells you how well you did and how proud he is after you come on his face 🥰

i am gonna Need your thoughts on senna. because all those pics of him in the speedo have me thinking boat sex and phew

ANON U REACHED DIRECTLY INTO MY BRAIN THANK U. @diorleclerc i think this anon has read our DMs :/// also, here's the full version of my profile pic, since it is Beautifully relevant to this ask 🥰 first ayrton ask of the blog!!

afab reader, mostly gn but one fem gendered term used in portuguese

while i would personally lean towards Pool Sex as a concept, boat sex is also vvvv good, this man was on boats a LOT?

you're trying to enjoy the hot brazilian summer weather, lounging out on the yacht in the harbour, maybe reading, or just sunbathing in your bikini

ayrton's in the sea, as usual. insane water baby moments for the aries fire sign.

you smile over at him as he climbs back onto the boat - until he starts flicking the cold water off his body onto you, shaking his head right above you to shower you in the water falling from his hair

and when you squeal out "ayrton--!" amidst laughter and try to move away from the water, he manhandles you up in his arms and flicks more water onto you

afterwards, you're practically sat in his lap, a shiver crossing your body both from the cold water and the way his large hands circle your waist as he smirks at you

"are you cold, gatinha?" he murmurs, his thumbs dipping below the elastic of your bikini bottoms, chuckling when you nod back at him, breathless. "let's warm you up, hm?"

your hands holding onto his biceps, steadying yourself as he presses two fingers shallowly into your pussy before dragging the wetness to your clit and rubbing small circles

one hand playing with your clit, making you drop your head to his freckled shoulder and whine his name

the other arm circling your waist and pulling you closer, to the point you can feel his hardening cock pressing against you

patronisingly coos at you as you whimper, pleading for more, your hips beginning to rock against his hand in a steady rhythm

your sounds grow in volume as you edge closer to your orgasm, and ayrton leans down to muffle them in a devouring kiss, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip

pulls away from your clit just as you're on the edge, and you whine a protest into his mouth

though it's immediately turned into a high-pitched moan at the back of your throat as he slides two fingers inside your wet cunt, curling them upwards and finger-fucking you to the orgasm you hoped for

you're brought back to earth by the sensation of being flipped onto your back, ayrton pulling your bikini bottoms off and hooking your legs around his waist with a grin

even after the first orgasm, the stretch as he pushes his cock into you is delicious, and you know you'll leave crescent-moon indents in his arms and shoulders where you're holding onto him

the pace he sets is immediately relentless, a bruising grip on your hips to match how your nails are digging into him

occasional words and half-phrases in portuguese, amidst his grunts and moans as his damp hair falls into his face

leans in as he nears his own orgasm, and you think he's going to kiss you - no, he's placing a bite to the crux of your neck, one that you know will flower into rich purples and reds

watches his cum drip out of you, all smug. he likes marking his territory.

okay I'll say it car sex with mark in one of those porsches of his :/

U ARE SO CONSISTENTLY BIG BRAINED!! stupid sexy man and his stupid sexy porsche...

afab fem reader (desc. as wearing a dress and panties, use of 'good girl'). do not use this as an example of safe driving!!

his hand grazing higher and higher up your thigh as you're in the passenger seat next to him, wearing that little black dress he loves

smug bastard, you see the smirk flicker across his face every time he inches closer to the heat between your thighs and your breath hitches in your chest

every time he gets closer, he pulls his hand away, going back to teasing, trailing touches up and down your thigh

and despite this teasing, i don't think he's fully expecting just how wet he's gotten you when his hand finally reaches your panties

his knuckles pressing against your clit through the damp patch of the fabric - his jaw clenching as you give a long, shaky exhale and nearly melt into the expensive car seat.

you don't notice the detour until the lights of the main road disappear, and you realise your surroundings have changed to a quiet, dark, country track

the very moment you realise that, mark's mouth is on you, large hand cupping the back of your head as the other undoes your seatbelt

(you vaguely realise that he's already undone his, the eager bastard)

your leg catches on the handbrake as he manoeuvres you into his lap, and you can't help but giggle, breaking the kiss as you do so, mark unable to stop his own chuckle as well

"you're such a tease," you tell him, leaning in to kiss him again, catching his bottom lip between your teeth and feeling warmth bloom in your abdomen at his answering groan

"is that a complaint?" he responds, tilting his head. "you seem to like it."

to prove his point, he settles his hands on your hips, pulling you down against the bulge in his pants as he rocks his own hips upwards into you

your head lolls backwards as you whine out someone suspiciously similar to "mark--", and he takes the opportunity to lean forward and attack your neck with bites and sucking kisses, soothing the red marks with his tongue afterwards

when you fumble with the fly of his trousers, he replaces your hands with his own to get them open, groaning again when you rock your hips against his his exposed underwear before you pull his cock out

it'll be a stretch - it is even when you've had preparation, when mark's taken you apart with three of his fingers spreading you out and a firm hand on your abdomen holding you down - but you need him, and you think you might go insane if you wait any longer

so you pull your panties to the side, dragging the swollen head of mark's cocks through your wet folds before you begin to sink onto him

he's rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs on your hipbones, pressing softer kisses to your neck and mumbling a gentle commentary of praise against the skin there

"always take me so well, what a good girl, so fucking tight, such a perfect cunt"

and when he bottoms out, your hips knocking against his one more, he pulls you in for another kiss before rolling his hips up into you to hear the way you moan

(and if one hand of his moves to press on your abdomen, hoping to feel the telltale bulge of his cock inside you, that's between him and G-d, he decides)

it's not so much you riding him as mark fucking up into you, holding you down on his cock to hit as deep as possible and hear you squeal his name against his lips

and when he cums inside you, he pulls your panties back into place, and smirks as you squirm the rest of the drive home, feeling him leaking out of you

you wear white (and I’ll wear out the words I love you)

{sebastian vettel x fem!reader}

in which sebastian insists on following some wedding rules before you get married.

written for the kiss challenge - 🤍 milestone / wedding kiss; i also couldn’t let seb’s birthday pass without a fic!

warning: fem!receiving oral, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight hints of squirting.

He’s not supposed to see you in your wedding dress, so he wears a bandana over his eyes - one he repurposes from his racing days. It’s knotted securely at the back, sitting squarely atop his curls that have been somewhat tamed for the occasion. He knocks gently on the door, and peeks his head in, making you giggle.

“Seb,” you chide, “you’re not supposed to see me now. It’s bad luck.”

He points to his bandana, waving his hands haphazardly as if to illustrate his point. “I’m not seeing you, liebe. But I wanted to check in to see if you’re okay. That you’ve not run away. Again.”

You laugh, drawing him into the room by his sleeve. “When have I ever run away from you, Seb?”

He holds up fingers as he counts. “Well the first time I asked you to marry me, you turned the brightest shade of red and took off running in the opposite direction-”

You click your tongue at him lightly. “We were six. And you did it in front of the whole damn class - I wanted to die, Seb.”

He grins, as if cherishing the memory. “Oh but I knew then, didn’t I? Six year old me was gunning for us even then. Or… okay, what about that time you hid in my closet and refused to come out?”

You squeak, feeling the mortification creep back in. “Your parents weren’t supposed to be home! Christ. I swear they knew though. I had to climb out through the back window. Almost broke a leg because you thought it was a good idea to leave school early and make out in your bedroom.”

He chuckles, and comes closer now, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “Or what about last night, hm?” His voice dips low, and your skin tingles from the slight rasp you can hear in it. “Was trying to make you feel good, but all you did was squirm away each time.”

Your cheeks flush hot now. Last night had been a whirlwind. You’d been nervous - not nervous to marry him, of course - of that you were so certain. But there was just this profoundly unsettling feeling inside you, this whole stretch of a lifetime commitment that made you want to throw up. You’d second-guessed everything - whether you were too young to marry - too impulsive - whether it was you that Seb really truly wanted, or whether he’d eventually grow bored with you - whether love could really last an entire lifetime, rather than fizzle away like you’d always seen in every other relationship you’d ever known.

Seb had just held your hand and listened. He’d understood entirely. “I don’t care about getting married,” he’d said, with a levity that surprised you.

When you’d raised your eyebrows at him, he’d offered quietly, “it’s just a piece of paper, liebe. It doesn’t change what I feel for you, or how I want you in ways I can’t even explain. Do you understand?” He’d touched your face, brushing your cheek tenderly with his thumb - a gesture so loving that you couldn’t mistake the affection contained within him for you. “I couldn’t… you couldn’t ever be found lacking in my eyes, sweetheart. I love all of you. Every bit. New. Old. The ugly and the beautiful - every part. I love it all.”

It’d been the sweetest thing you’d ever heard, and it made you want to cry even more. Instead you’d kissed him and held his face in your palms, whispering how much you needed him, and wanted him, and he’d given in and growled, rolling on top of you and putting his hands along the delicate parts of you that ached for him.

He was adamant in getting you off, latching his mouth between your legs and keeping his hands on your hips. “So good for me, liebe,” he’d murmured, calling you his favourite term of endearment these days - love - between filthy swipes of his tongue, as you came with the combination of his fingers and mouth working you into a boneless mess. But he wasn’t done yet. He’d continued to suck at your clit, fingers searching inside for your gspot until you’d bucked up into his touch and he’d groaned, as if he were the one that was being catapulted into a second orgasm. You’d called out his name until it’d echoed off the walls, and he’d been pleased with that, pulling his face away. You stared, fascinated by the glistening wetness of his beard, the mischievous, pleased look on his face.

You’d pulled him up to you, wanting to be face to face, but he’d been unrelenting - content to stay between your legs to lick up all the mess you’d made. You’d been so sensitive already, so your thighs shook when his tongue pressed along your slick folds, eventually finding its way inside you again, his thumb circling over your swollen clit and you’d cried out and shifted away, certain that it was too much stimulation, that you couldn’t possibly come again, but he’d known you could take it, of course.

“You still got one more in you, liebe,” he’d said as he kissed your thigh, and brought his mouth back to your cunt, until you were sliding fingers into his hair, wrestling against the feel of how good his mouth was, writhing, begging him please. The third orgasm that hits feels almost blindingly good - you have to shove his face away so that you can recover from the onslaught. You’re rendered speechless, just endless shivers into the sheets and guttural, broken sounds.

He’d let you lay in a boneless heap in the bed, the sheets under you wet. Seb had stood up, adjusted himself in his pants, where he’d been hard, and it looked almost painful. “Seb,” you’d said, reaching for him, “take off your-”

He’d given you a lopsided smile. “Sorry, darling. Heard it’s bad luck to fuck before a wedding.”

You sputter with indignation. “But I… you…” your eyes drag all over the (surely uncomfortable) bulge in his pants. “Seb… I want to-”

He’d merely leaned over for a chaste kiss on your cheek and a wink. “You better rest, liebe. You’re getting married tomorrow, after all.”

The delicious memory of last night is still fresh in your mind, and your heart swells with so much fondness for your groom standing in front of you now, bandana over his eyes. “How are you feeling, sweetheart,” he asks, the worry evident beneath the trace of teasing in his voice.

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, unable to resist taking one of his hands in yours and squeezing it. “No cold feet, I promise.”

Seb’s smile lights up the whole room at your touch, and he looks so perfectly handsome in his suit that you can’t help it - you pull him close until your lips touch his. “I love you, Seb.”

He doesn’t hesitate to murmur it back to you, the words a searing promise of eternity. Seb’s lips are unexpectedly soft, and his surprised noise when you kiss him is everything. He melts into the kiss, his hands slipping from yours so he can hold your face to kiss you even deeper. More than any rings or vows - the kiss feels weighty, binding you to him without end, filling you with an assurance that you’re doing the right thing - that he’s always been the right one for you.

You could kiss him forever, if not for the ceremony awaiting the two of you. He makes a disappointed sound when you pull away, not willing to ruin your lipstick.

“Is that allowed?” He grins cheekily, as if there were a wedding rule book that he’d wanted to follow to the letter. “Is this kiss not bad luck as well?”

You laugh, unable to resist tearing off his bandana to look into his beautiful eyes for the first time all day. He blinks, mouth agape in mock horror, unable to resist letting his eyes trail all over the sight of you in your wedding dress. He wants to say something, but he’s struck dumb by how beautiful you look, and so you pull him back for another kiss - wedding rules and all superstitions be damned.

—

I’ve wanted to write a wedding!Seb fic for the longest time and it finally materialised here, and on his birthday too. Thank you @percervall for giving me a chance to write about Seb like this: exploring the anxieties of a lifelong commitment. and of course I couldn’t resist putting in some fem!receiving oral because what else do i write honestly.

In case you didn’t realise - yeah this is still your girl ivy, writing filth. I’ve just changed my @!

love, ives {previously kostasstsimikass} 💛

feel free to send me a request for more kisses! And if you wanna read more of my writing - here’s my masterlist!

give you my wild

{sebastian vettel x fem!reader}

in which you think sebastian might make a really good dad. (inspired by this post and this video.)

warnings: yeah it’s smutty (i mean what else do i write) - unprotected sex with him coming inside her, risky public (semi-public) fucking, hold the moan vibes, slightest dom/sub moments, talk about having kids with each other, dirty talk with begging and some references to breeding / getting knocked up.

He’s busy signing autographs that morning, and it’s not an unusual sight for you to see him doing these trite little media appearances, but this time around - it’s a little different.

A chubby-cheeked baby has been placed on his table, and Sebastian is immediately taken with her, handing her a set of cards which she grabs onto readily. She giggles when he makes a silly face, and in her excitement, tosses around the set of photos of himself that he was supposed to sign. Seb laughs, and hands her another photo, only for her to throw that one away as well, but he grins and ruffles her hair with so much pride and happiness, as if she were doing something so incredibly astounding to him. Your heart squeezes in your chest, watching him play with this baby with such natural ease, you feel a strange longing for something you never even knew you wanted until this point. The last straw, simply, is when he completely abandons the signing of his photo cards altogether, and takes her in his arms to swing her around gently, making her shriek with laughter.

He looks so good already, but with a baby in his arms? You could barely breathe thinking about it.

Later, when he’s reminded that he’s running on a tight schedule, he reluctantly gets back in the seat with the baby in one hand, signing marker in the other. She ends up playing with his collar, and Seb nuzzles her a little while trying to make it through the rest of the photo cards as quickly as he can.

You come over to him just as he’s finished with the last few, and he looks up at you, his eyes all shiny and full of delight as he gestures at the baby who now smiles up at you. “Isn’t she so cute?”

You nod, unable to keep at bay your feelings of tenderness for him. “Looks like you were having a good time, Seb. I’ve never seen you so happy to do photo-card signings.”

“Well, I’ve never had such a good companion until now.” He finishes the last one with a flourish, and sets them aside. He offers to let you carry the baby, but you insist he keeps her in his arms, wanting to prolong the view a little longer of him cuddling her, fussing over her.

He’d be such a good father.

You eventually lean in to whisper to him, “I want one.”

“This one’s already taken, I’m afraid.” He grins, handing the beaming toddler back to her mother and waving goodbye. He reaches for your hand and walks with you towards his next media interview.

You squeeze his hand. “I want one of ours, then.”

His eyes flash with an excitement. “Yeah?”

You lean up to murmur into his ear. “Yeah. Want one, or a couple, maybe.” You pause, gauging his reaction, his smile. You let your voice drop a little lower, your whisper a little softer now so you can say, “Want you, actually, to fill me up so good. Over and over until you put a baby inside me, Seb.”

The swift intake of his breath is so, so sexy. He swallows, stopping at a discreet corner and pulls you in. His hand comes to curl around your waist as he tugs you in closer. “Yeah? You gonna let me fuck you bare?”

You nod, staring at his lips with such longing that he makes a rough noise. You’ve never done that before with him. “Want to feel all of you, Seb.”

You press your hips against him and grind slowly, until his mouth parts and his eyes get that unmistakably dazed look when his brain fogs over with lust. He looks around in a half-protective measure, wanting to see if anyone’s looking. You don’t care, leaning in to land a kiss on the slope of his neck that stretches out before you, and Seb makes a sound of surprise, fingers tightening on you. He likes this, you can tell, from how his pulse races under your mouth.

“Not here,” he groans, a hand unable to stop itself from reaching down to squeeze a handful of your ass. “So naughty, darling. People will see…”

You pull back with a look of determination he knows so well. “Then drag me somewhere now and fuck me… please?”

You watch the flush on his cheeks spread prettily, and you feel an answering throb between your legs. He looks so turned on and your mind’s only focused on having him inside you, now.

The paddock’s swarming with people, but somehow he finds an empty little room with a tiny sofa and the flimsiest lock you’d ever seen, but it’s right beside a media station and you have never been so aware of the fact that you’re doing something so dangerous - so impulsive. But all coherent thoughts instantly vanish when Seb is right there in front of you - looking distinctly impatient to have you.

He presses you against the cold metal of the room’s walls and has his fingers in your hair so he can kiss you with an urgency that’s thrilling. You moan when your hips grind against his, frantic, wanting, feeling him already hard for you and what you’re promising.

“So fucking impatient,” he half-complains, as your fingers stroke over the hard on straining at the front of his jeans. He rolls his hips back into your hand and your eyes dart up back to his, watching him melt into your touch. He doesn’t need to ask for permission when you’re this willing and desperate for him, and so, when he can’t stand your torture any more, he turns you over almost a shade roughly, dragging you over the arm rest of the couch, pressing his hand to the small of your back and bending you over so that he can have you prone for him. You whimper, feeling perfectly at ease in this submissive posture, perfect for being filled up and bred.

He hikes up your skirt, hands grabbing the curve of your ass which he can’t resist touching. “No underwear?” He makes a sound of delighted disbelief.

You turn back and wink at him. “We were running late - remember?” And the way his eyes heat up at the memory of this morning, where he’d been so distracted by you, gets you hot all over. “Besides,” you say as he unzips himself and takes out his cock, stroking it through your dripping cunt and slicking himself up with all of your wetness, “being near you, seeing you here in your element, being so good with kids, with everything you do…” Your breath hitches when the tip of his cock slides against your clit, “you always ruin any pair of panties I wear.”

He chuckles and leans down to put a hand over the back of your neck, stroking the slope of it with his thumb. “No. You deliberately did this to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”

“Me? Never.” You keep your tone light, but there’s anything but innocence in the way you push your hips back to feel more of his cock against you.

Seb exhales sharply and he squeezes your neck in warning, his cock resting obscenely along your folds. “You’re going to get us both in trouble like this.”

You hum, spreading your legs and shifting your hips so that there’s no mistaking what you want. “You like getting in trouble with me, don’t you? Love it when I push you to your limit.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face, but he doesn’t admit this. He leans over you, pushing just the tip of his dick inside you. “You know just how to make me crazy,” he says, kissing your shoulder, and you shiver against him. “Fuck. You feel so good like this.”

He’s right - it feels criminally good to have him bare like this for the first time - everything feels heightened, more sensitive, and you reach back to grab him, to let him know how good that is. He wraps his other arm around your midsection, a slow, deliberate pause before he says coyly, “you better hold on to something, sweetheart.”

Fuck. The sharp jolt of heat skitters down your spine as you wrap your fingers around the arm he’s put around you, squeezing to let him know he’s the one you’re going to want to hold on to, when it gets too much - too intense.

“Please fuck me,” you beg, shifting back impatiently until he grunts. “Seb… please fill me all the way up.”

He nips at your shoulder, “well… because you asked so nicely…”

He thrusts inside you in one smooth stroke, and you both gasp at the new sensation - so much, so good. You clench around him involuntarily, digging your fingers into his arm as he shivers slightly against you. “Oh my god, Seb.”

He grimaces in pained pleasure. “Don’t fucking move. I need a minute.”

The fact that you’ve got him barely able to control himself, that you’re going to be his undoing, sends a surge of heat so fierce, right between your legs. “Thirty seconds. Need to feel you move, please.”

He chuckles, in that agonised sort of way that betrays how much he wants to feel that, too. “This will be over in thirty seconds if you rush me.”

You make a frustrated little sound. “Don’t care… want you, please.”

A switch seems to flip inside him, and the hand at the back of your neck slides into the base of your scalp, threading fingers through your hair until he can drag you back, tugging at the strands until you gasp. “Such a fucking brat,” he murmurs in a low register you don’t hear often - but it’s fucking hot. “Always so whiny.”

Awareness prickles along your skin as he pulls almost all the way out of you, before thrusting back inside fast, hard, making you cry out. “Is that how you want it, hm?” His gruff voice holds a thin measure of patience. “Is this what you want me to do to you?”

“Yes,” you hiss out, feeling wholly consumed by him, by his domineering side taking over. “Seb, please - exactly like that.”

“Good.” He groans. “That’s how I’m going to fuck you. And that’s how I’m going to come inside you.”

He begins to fuck you with a punishing sort of rhythm - deep, hard, but it aches so good, having him so fierce and urgent and almost savage. You grip his arm so tight you’re sure he’s going to bruise, as the obscene sounds of your fucking fill the room. This, you think, will be your undoing. You cry out as he hits this sweet spot inside you that makes you seize up - buck against him, and he has to hush you. “People are going to hear,” he chides, but the tremble in his voice tells you he likes it like that - the danger, the risk. “Be quiet, love.”

But you can’t be quiet - not when he’s thrusting into you with a rhythm that seems designed to make you come way, way too quickly. “Seb,” you shudder, “fuck, you feel too good. I can’t… can’t be quiet.”

He smirks, his smug mouth kissing behind your ear. “I know, sweetheart. But you have to try to be a good girl for me.”

You nod shakily, biting down on your bottom lip. “Always.”

He releases your hair from his firm grip, slipping his fingers into his mouth to wet them as he reaches down to stroke teasing circles around your clit, and this time, you gasp out and squeeze your cunt around him, because it’s indecently good. You can hear people in the next room getting ready, murmuring small talk, and your stomach tightens with awareness.

“Imagine if they heard you getting fucked,” he murmurs, the words an incendiary force to get you even hotter than you thought possible. “Imagine them all knowing you were walking around, no panties, with my cum inside you. Dripping out of you.”

You buck into him, making this keening sound. “Fuck. I need it, Seb. I’m almost…”

Seb’s panting now, feeling you spiral against him, closer and closer to the edge, feeling your wetness coat his fingers. “You gonna come, huh?”

You can only make sounds now, having been reduced to barely incoherent moans, so you whimper, your whole body tensing up - an answer that’s so unmistakeable to him.

“Be quiet when you do,” he warns, and you shake your head, mouth parting already as the sensations he builds inside you grow too much - too overwhelming. He releases your torso just in time to press a hand over your mouth, muffling the scream that you make as you come so hard, against him, you almost push his cock out. It’s him that groans instead, swearing in a mix of German and English, thrusting erratically now that he can feel your cunt tightening, enveloping him like vise.

“Please,” you plead with him, the words coming out almost slurred from how dazed you feel, in the throes of your orgasm. “Seb, knock me up, please.”

And doesn’t that just do it for him.

His breath punches out as he comes, and he swears your name into the sweaty base of your neck, trembling. You can feel each throb, each spurt inside you - and it’s ridiculous how base and animalistic it feels to be satisfied like this - to feel so intimately connected by the way he comes inside you.

He doesn’t pull away immediately, but catches his breath by laving kisses along your sensitive neck, as you moan brokenly against him. His fingers are gentle now, coming up to tip your chin towards him so that he can kiss your mouth with a tenderness that steals your breath, every time.

You could spend all day kissing him, languishing in the afterglow, but you’re mindful that you’ve already stolen him away for way too long, and that soon they’re going to be looking for him.

Even though he protests, you have to be the responsible one, pushing him back from more kisses and dressing him up again, helping him look presentable for the media. His hair’s a lost cause, and the bruises on his arm will definitely look suspicious, but you do the best you can, and send him out with a final, lingering kiss.

Later, as you sit at the back of the interview room, behind rows of journalists and reporters, they ask him, once, about whether he’s ready to be a father, especially given that he was pictured so adorably with a baby earlier on.

A wide grin appears on his face, and he glances not so subtly at you, making you flush from the memory of your escapade with him earlier. “Well, I think… it really doesn’t take too long to make one, does it?”

The room erupts in scattered laughs. That’s your Seb, of course. Always ready with a silly quip.

The journalist probes, referencing his longstanding metaphor of racing for having a family. “So do you think you’re finally ready to come out of free practice?”

The twinkle in his eyes is so endearing to you, but even more touching are the words that come from him, directed straight at you. “Yeah. Definitely ready for that.”

—

I was wondering why I was so crazy these few days and I checked my period app - yep, turns out there’s a reason why my brain has been a non-stop filth factory. It is what it is. Anyone else get like this? I hate it. Don’t ever want kids, but the way this fic poured out of me so readily and quickly is a little concerning.

Please enjoy this unfiltered, very insane fic that i rushed to edit - and yes don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the charlos blindfold fic that was promised!

Hope you liked it! Would love to know what you thought <3

love, ivy

my masterlist

toto and you accidentally calling him daddy and being scared he won’t like it but then he’s like “say it again” and goes feral ☠️ i need to be stopped pls

- 🦕

GRGIRGJI THIS IS SOOO GOOD YES ANON. hes truly One Daddy To Rule Them All.

afab gn reader, warning for daddy kink obvs

he's got you in his lap, his back against the headboard as you ride him

his large hands are on your hips, guiding the way you rise and roll back down onto his thick cock, deep voice rumbling in praise every time you take him to the hilt once more

"that's it, i knew you could do it, always so good"

and that's when it slips out, with your head nestled in the bend between his shoulder and neck

"thank you, daddy"

he freezes, his grip on your waist tightening as you whip your head back to stare at him with rabbit-in-headlight eyes

"i-i'm so sorry, oh my g-" you begin, only for your apology to be silenced by toto's mouth on your own - a deep, hungry kiss, his teeth nipping and pulling your bottom lip

you moan into the kiss, hips subconsciously grinding against his cock once more

when he breaks the kiss, you're both panting for breath, his forehead still pressed against yours as he asks if you're sure

and when you nod in return, a small smile toying at your lips as you reply with a teasing "yes, daddy", you don't understand why the world is suddenly upside down until toto is fucking into you and you realise he's flipped you both other

he hoists your legs up around his waist, pulling your arms above your head and pinning them there with one strong hand

"say it. say it again."

he's fucking growling down at you, and you can't refuse, even if the rough thrusts of his hips are making it hard for you to form words

"d-daddy! fuck! daddy!"

he groans again, a deep, desperate sound at the base of his throat, and releases your wrists to move your legs once more, pulling them up around his shoulders, bending you nearly in half

he's so deep you feel like you can hardly breathe, let alone think

the only thing you can say is your broken litany of "daddy--!", shaped around moans and whines that edge into screams as he presses circles into your clit with his thumb

"that's right, so good for me -- cum for me, cum for daddy, yes?"

and you can't deny him, you can never deny toto, not when he coos into your ear like that and rolls his hips so deep you think he's ruined you for all other men, forever

afterwards, he cleans you up, holding you against his chest with strong arms

"so you're uh... into that?"

he grumbles something suspiciously similar to "don't push your luck", and you laugh

Fernando fucking you in your childhood bedroom? Fernando wanting you to call him daddy the whole entire time? Fernando whispering in your ear that he wants to breed you? I- besties thoughts have been thunk and literally I cannot think of anything else. Head empty, only daddy fernando wanting to corrupt you. Thank y’all SO MUCH for this🥵

Daddy Fernando wont leave our thoughts either! Hope you enjoy some more thoughtssss:

He would so nice and respectful in front of everyone else, acting like the perfect gentleman to win everyone over, and he would. Your family would absolutely love him.

When no-ones looking, he'd run his hand a little lower down your back, making you look up at him as he stands there with an innocent smile on his face. At dinner, he'd casually put his hand on your thigh, making sure no one could see as he draws it up higher whilst talking with everyone normally. Fully expecting you to keep quiet like a good girl for him as he has his fun.

After you've said goodnight to everyone, he'd take some time to walk around your room, teasing you slightly for the things you have in it as you sit there desperately worked up from earlier. He knows though. He can see how much you want him and he takes his time.

He'd eventually come over to you, pushing you gently down onto the bed and telling you that if you're good and quiet for him he will fuck you properly, just like you need.

He would slip his hand down into your pyjamas, capturing your mouth with his to stifle your moans. He'd tell you how wet you are for him, laughing gently as he kisses you.

"What do you want?" He'd ask. He loves making you ask for it, to beg for him, to say it for him.

"Please, I need you to fuck me, I need you inside me." You breathe out.

"I think you're forgetting something, no?"

You'd realise what he wants straight away and you look up at his cocky little grin.

"Fernando." You'd whine, not quite sure what you're trying to say.

"No. Say it."

"They're right next door." You'd try and protest and he grins down at you.

"Whisper it then baby."

He'd tease you with his fingers, waiting for you to say it before he slips them inside you.

"Daddy please." You'd manage.

"Thats my good girl. Shhh. Be quiet and let daddy take care of you."

He'd take his time with you, doing everything he can to make you cry out for him and getting his kicks in knowing you can’t this time. Knowing you have to be quiet but can’t help the small noises coming out of you.

He'd whisper filth to you constantly, asking you who owns your pussy, who can fuck you like you need, whose cock do you crave. You can do nothing but cling to him and whisper 'You daddy.'

"Yeah, thats right baby. You're daddy's perfect little slut. Taking me so well. Keeping so quiet. Letting me breed your tight little pussy. Keeping all quiet for me so no one hears."

You moan a little too loud at his words as he thrusts deeply into you and he grins. "You're going to have to be quieter than that if you want my come inside you."

God do you want it. So you'd keep quiet, just whispering daddy over and over as he uses you.

After, when he pulls out he'd spread your legs to watch some of his come drip out of you onto your childhood bed, smiling at your cheeks colouring as it does.

He'd run his fingers over you, catching it and fucking it back inside you, pulling up your pyjamas and pressing your back into his chest as he holds you knowing you're dripping with his come inside of you.

~

Also have a little fantasy of Nando fingering you under a blanket whilst your friends are in the room that I'm debating writing up because apparently I would let this insane criminal old man do anything to me ~🐝

I think this might’ve been the perfect Nando ask, but feel free to prove me wrong ~🐻

hi!! first of all I love your blog and as a jew I wholeheartedly support super jewish Lance fic (your girl NEEDS it)

also I loved the Fernando hcs (old man fuckers are deprived unfortunately) and was wondering if you could write anything else about him (for example elaborate on that last sentence)? thanks!!💕

aaaah thank u anon!! knowing there's an audience for Shabbos Sex ft. lance is a great motivator for me to start writing it hehe.

and yes, that last sentence from the last nando piece.... this mf Absolutely has a daddy kink!!!! as usual, afab!reader but no gendered terms (i.e. no 'good girl') <3. and, ofc, daddy kink and unnegotiated kink.

it starts as a joke, on your end

you're both aware of the age gap between you, even if it's primarily unspoken - so when he gets a bit too bossy, one day, you grin, and roll your eyes, and cheekily say

"whatever, daddy"

and this man FREEZES. staring at you like an incredibly horny rabbit caught in the headlights of a kink he didn't know he had.

you both sidestep the issue that day, but you both certainly remember it

the next time he's teasing you, he's got you riding his thigh, your head buried in the warm crook of his neck as you sigh pretty little noise

"please, fernando, need more-- it's not enough, need you"

and when his answer is a bruising-tight grip on your hips with strong hands and a growl of

"you know what to call me"

there's no hesitation as your voice jumps in pitch and you whine out a desperate "please, daddy"

actually. imagine calling him PAPI. he'd lose his mind. instantly flips you over under him and starts devouring you

"more, papi, please, need you to fuck me"

and ugh, when you finally get him inside you

his strokes aren't rushed or hurried - they're brutal and precise and deep, practically knocking the breath out of you with each thrust

he loves how you choke out little cries of "d-daddy! fuck!"

so much praise. so much!

"so good, so well behaved for daddy, such a pretty tight pussy, so fucking wet, all for your papi"

as he gets closer to his orgasm he starts muttering and growling in spanish, words you don't fully understand but you can hear in his voice how utterly filthy they must be

he reaches down to press rough circles against your clit, needing to feel you cum around his cock, and matches them with harder, faster thrusts

you're getting louder and louder, words slurring more as they blur with the moans and sobs that are also escaping you as you reach your orgasm

squealing out "daddy, fu-uck!" as you cum

nando leaning forward to bite and kiss at your neck, marking up his territory as he gets closer to his edge

but what finally pushes him over the edge is when you come back to lucidity

and you tangle your hands in his hair and pull his face away from your neck so you can see each others faces, then moan out-

"fill me up, daddy"

and. well. this man has a breeding kink.

that one line pushes him over the precipice, as he fucks deep into you and pushes his face back into your neck, muffling his loud moan by biting hard onto your neck

then holds you against his chest after cleaning you both up, rubbing soothing circles onto your hips as he makes sure he wasn't too rough, until you fall asleep against him 😌😌

hello fellow nando fucker. may i humbly request some nando mirror sex. because i know he loves looking at himself <3

hehe ofc u can!! as we know, this man's ego has its own gravitational field

afab gn reader ♥

first of all: mirror foreplay

he's got you between his legs at the end of the bed, the mirrored door of the wardrobe in front of you both

your legs are spread, tangled over the wide muscle of his thighs, and your back is nestled against his broad chest

nando reaching around you to cup your chin between finger and thumb, tipping it up so you make eye contact in the mirror

"want you to watch"

(the 'if you don't watch, i'll stop' is unspoken, but clear)

constant praise, whispered into your ears and against your skin as he covers your shoulders and neck in love bites and bruises

"you look so lovely, so perfect for me, such a pretty pussy, all wet and ready for me already, don't look away, want you to see how lovely you are"

one hand playing with your tits as the other slides towards your pussy, gliding the pads of his fingers thru the wetness gathering there

your eyes flutter shut as he slides two thick fingers inside you, the stretch already delicious, and he rumbles a reminder to you to keep them open

and oh, when you open them -- you already look debauched, red and purple littering your neck, your pussy pink and swollen as fernando fingerfucks you with obscene wet noises

he makes you keep eye contact with him as he adds a third finger and speeds up, bringing his other hand down to circle your clit

"cum for me, want you to watch yourself come, so pretty, so lovely..."

and after he fingers you through that orgasm, and you come back down to earth and stop trembling against him, he manhandles you onto your hands and knees

(even if your arms give out, and you end up kneeling down and presenting your ass to him. which he spanks a few times)

and he makes you watch, maybe tangling a hand in your hair or wrapping a hand around your throat to pull your head up, as he fucks you from behind 😇

insane thoughts hours but i really can't stop thinking about being in the middle of a lewis + fernando sandwich... what do you think

it's insanely competitive - the moment they get you back to a hotel room, though you're not sure whose of theirs it is, you get the sense this might be more about a silent set of mind games between the two of them, and less about you.

the position keeps changing and it's hard to keep up with who's where, with whose hands are doing what to you. you don't really understand what the goal of this is, until lewis takes you apart on his tongue and fingers, sucking on your clit as you orgasm with his name moaned around fernando's cock.

it's like a switch has been flicked, then. fernando manhandling you so you're on his lap, your back to lewis (and fernando grins at his glare), sliding three, even four fingers into you and setting a relentless pace until you're biting down a scream into the thick muscle of his neck and squirting all over his hand.

you don't get to recover before lewis is pulling you back towards him, positioning you on your hands and knees before burying himself to the hilt in your oversensitive cunt, telling you to keep looking at fernando, baby as you gasp for breath with how fucking deep he is inside you. that's what this game is -- one upping each other with your body, showing off who is better.

(and, of course, if fernando makes you squirt, lewis needs to match it, beat it.)

fernando pulls you under him and hoists your legs to his shoulders after lewis makes you orgasm again, soaking the sheets one more, sobbing his name and digging your nails into his biceps. nando is equally merciless, slowly rolling his hips deep, your thighs pressed up to your chest, before setting a brutal pace.

when you cum again, you're limp on the bed, moaned names collapsing into incoherent moans and whines. when lewis slides his fingers into your cum-slicked pussy once again, you faintly register how deliciously, painfully long this night is going to be.

it is a glorious sunrise - f.alonso

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: Fernando Alonso x fem!reader

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

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

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

There is happiness

In our history

Across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is happiness

I want Fernando Alonso to **** ** **** * **** *** *** ******* *** **** ****** ******