THIS HAD ME BLUSHING AND GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET

We need no. 8 and 143 for Sebastian Vettel x reader 😍

8 - "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while,"

143 - "Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?"

SEB REQ SEB REQ SEB REQ!! Very excited about this one because I ADORE Seb and I was secretly worried no one would want to hear about him. Entirely based on Seb's flirting with anything that moves era

Also, this is my 100th post on this blog woo

Warnings: Yeah this is getting smutty. NSFW!

Prompt night info and list for requesting your own ficlet/HCs here!

Also entered an entire crisis over picking a gif because Seb is a YES for me in all of his eras

"Looks like we'll be trapped for a while," you sighed, slumping back against the elevator and sinking to the floor.

Only you could get yourself stuck in an elevator in the middle of the track stadium with Sebastian fucking Vettel. Sebastian was very calm about the whole thing. Thank god, you thought, that the race had finished and it was only post-race interviews left. If you'd held up the race you would have had to change your identity and move to Peru out of embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry," you apologised again, because it was the only thing you could think of doing. Sebastian gave you a fairly blank look from where he was examining the control panel, trying to kick start the buttons to life.

"Not your fault," it wasn't the first time he'd said that either.

"I shouldn't have jammed the buttons," you were running late. You were still new to the whole journalism thing, and if you were being honest you'd been late because you'd gotten stuck in your tech belt with a wire crossed where it definitely shouldn't and you couldn't get it undone alone. You'd rushed into the elevator and repeatedly stabbed the button for the floor you were supposed to be on in your rush. He shrugged simply, giving the blank buttons another slap.

"I don't think it's the buttons, we called for help before they died," he was right; the elevator had started moving before it had ground to a halt, and you'd been able to get through to the help desk, which was entirely unhelpful and had promised help wouldn't be able to get to you until after the interviews when security would be able to safely clear the mechanics for entry.

"In an arena full of mechanics?" Sebastian had questioned, sounding almost amused at the situation. But apparently being able to build a supercar and fix an elevator required two entirely different skillsets.

Sebastian, as it turned out, was an incredibly nice person. You'd crossed paths with him twice before, both for interviews lasting only a couple of minutes long. He'd remembered you, and the second the elevator had shuddered he was more concerned about making sure that you didn't start to panic than anything else. He gave up trying to spark some life into the button panel and sank down opposite you.

"I knew I should have brought my flask," you mumbled because not being sober in this situation sounded a whole lot better. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at you, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

"Do you normally drink before interviewing us? Are we that scary?" He was teasing you, but you could see there was a genuine interest in the way his blue eyes held yours.

"No, but a shot or two for dutch courage sometimes helps," he broke out into a toothy grin, nodding along in understanding.

"Yes well, some of these young drivers are very attractive. It must be distracting," was he teasing you?

"Not really my type," you said without thinking, your response bluntly honest. Sebastian didn't miss a trick, a gleam in his eye letting you know he was keeping hold of that piece of information.

"So you like the older guys?" There was nothing but simple curiosity in his tone, even so, you couldn't quite look him in the eye when you gave your next answer.

"Well, not total grandpas," you said. Your age you meant. More experienced, sensible, mature, but still young enough to have a sense of humour, to know how to show you a good time. You liked gentlemen. "Aren't I supposed to be interviewing you anyway?"

"Ha, please," he opened his hand in invitation and you mimed a microphone in the air, asking him a few stupid questions about the race and his performance, to which he answered with equally silly responses.

Seb, as you learnt he liked to be called by friends, was fascinating. Even his silly answers gave a little bit of himself to you. Every look he gave you was charged, every raise of his eyebrow or quirk of his lips perfectly calculated. And it was working, because you knew it wasn't just the confined space that was making the German increasingly more attractive.

An hour had passed. There was no phone service, you still couldn't get through to the help desk, and even your pocket radio wouldn't tune in. It was like you were stuck in a void. You groaned in frustration as the batteries on your radio stuttered out.

"This stupid thing," you grumbled as you pulled at the random straps and attachments in attempt to free yourself from the equipment. How Ted Kravitz was happy to walk around all day in his was beyond you. Seb was watching you struggle and slowly got to his feet, stepping closer to you.

"Hey, let me," he was very softly spoken as he stilled you.

His deft hands made short work of your belt. He carefully unplugged wires and removed clips and placed them slowly, one by one onto the floor beside you. Your mic and radio pack were the last things removed, so you thought Seb would step away but his hands were back on your waist. His hands were constantly brushing at the skin of your waist, only covered by the thin fabric of the summery dress you'd decided to wear that day. He undid the final buckle, his hands feather-light as he leant around behind you and you could feel his fingers drag across every centimetre of your skin as he finally pulled the belt off you.

Sebastian dropped the belt, but his blue eyes were fixed on yours as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. You weren't sure if you were breathing or not.

"Are you trying to turn me on, or are you really that oblivious?" The words rushed from you in a breathless whisper. You froze for a moment, the fear that you'd made a mistake and were about to make the next god-knows-how-long incredibly awkward. Sebastian was painfully neutral in his expression as he regarded you, but he still hadn't stepped back and the smell of his cologne was fogging your mind,

"Oh, I'm trying," how he sounded so casual, just a hint of playfulness about him. You had no idea how to respond, was he teasing you? This man was a world champion, he could do whatever he wanted. There was an edge to that, the idea of the power he held, he was almost untouchable in the paddock. And it wasn't like he was a golden boy who kept himself out of trouble, Vettel had been handed his fair share of fines over the years.

"Right," you could see his back in the mirror opposite you, he was taller than you, shoulders stretching the fabric of his own polo. You looked helpless, backed up against the wall by him. He was looking at you now, eyes a little darker, trained more on your chest than your face.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No,"

The second the word left your lips Seb stepped forward, his body pressing against yours as he pinned you against the second mirrored wall. One hand was gripping your hip, with enough pressure to hold you in place. His other hand was already tangled in your hair, pulling you towards him as he captured you in a searing kiss.

Whatever kind, sweet, gentle nature you thought Seb had when he was interviewed had completely vanished. The man in front of you was kissing you like the world was ending. There was nothing gentle about him as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down. The was nothing gentle about the way his hands were roaming and grabbing at your body as if he was trying to mould you to his shape. There was certainly nothing gentle about the way he was rolling his hips against your thigh.

"Jesus," he managed to hiss as your mouth fell off his and you started attacking his neck, careful to toe the line just before you'd leave a mark on his skin. You decided to throw caution to the wind, because how many times do you find yourself stuck in a lift with a sporting legend, let alone such a handsome one? And besides, part of you wanted to be in that special club of people who'd known him like this.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, your dress providing a perfect view of your cleavage as you made quick work of unbuttoning the shorts he was wearing.

Sebastian groaned loudly as you took him in your mouth, the feeling alone enough to go straight through you. His hand tangled through your hair again, but he let you control the rhythm as he simply watched you bob your head through the mirror. The noises he made were addictive, and hearing him cursing in German was enough to make you want to finish him off like this.

But he was calling your name and asking you to wait so you pulled back oh so slowly, earning yourself another heavy hiss as you released him.

"I have to fuck you in that dress,"

It wasn't a request. But you didn't mind, you liked being told what to do. He pushed you back against the mirror again, lifting your legs and encouraging you to wrap them around his waist. Seb wasn't particularly tall but you always forgot just how strong the drivers were. He held you like you didn't weigh a thing.

His pace was bruising, and you were actually glad you were trapped in the elevator because there was nothing you could do to stop the near-constant stream of noise slipping from you, and he was equally loud. It was almost, almost, embarrassing at how quickly you were approaching your orgasm, but when Seb, oh so confident, let go of you with one hand and slipped it between you to start toying with your clit you were done.

"Seb-" you whined, his name so natural in your mouth. He was moving at a relentless pace, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

"You can do it," he forced the words out through gritted teeth as he watched you scream, your head falling back against the glass as your hips moved forcefully with him, your walls clenching deliciously around him as wave after wave of pleasure shot through you. You felt him twitch and he bit down on your shoulder as he came with a shudder of his own.

You stayed in his arms for a second, the pair of you breathing raggedly and trying to recover when something crackled behind you making you jump. The buttons on the panel were glowing again.

"Hi, it's reception, can you guys hear me? We're sending someone up now,"

Romantic Gateway // F.D.

Summary: Felipe has a different idea of romance than his girlfriend 

Warnings: None

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And then u are always late Kakashi!😡😠😠😾

Charles Leclerc, Ferrari F1 development driver, watches testing from a grandstand at the Circuit de Barcelona Catalunya, Spain (7 March 2017) 📸 Zak Mauger

Thank you everyone who got me to 50 reblogs!🥺🥺🥺🧡

I miss writing but there are so many things happening in my life I cannot sit and write 😭

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