Jenson/reader/seb Threesome/pairing Would Literally Be Everything Is About Reader 98% Of The Time (2%

This maybe the daddy issues talking but my god who gave these assholes the right to look this fine 😭😭

My favorite blonde twinks 😋🥸

History teacher Seb:

The history department plans a trip to a museum and he catches you and your friends acting out the birth of Aphrodite, he watches a bit before chuckling and posing you, gripping your chin lightly to get you to look up to him from hooded lashes as your hands lay over your breasts and over your thigh. Hey guys what if i passed out right now? hey what if i actually died dead and passed out because imagine that he has those slutty sunglasses on his head, its Ferarri era Seb with the light scruff, and the sunglasses on his head, softly smiling down at you as you pose lustfully yet demurely for him, melting in his hands as his canines shine. AND WHEN YOUR FRIEND FINALLY TAKES THE PICTURE OF ALL OF YOU HE ASKS TO BE SENT IT, MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH YOU AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!

𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋 – 𝐒𝐕𝟓

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

-> pairing: sebastian vettel x reader

-> word count: 4.2k

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

sv5 masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

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

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

His innate desire to win. At whatever the cost.

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

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

And that included Lance VS Seb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you weren’t sure he was joking anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was entirely unlike him. And you loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

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

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

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

END

Tag list: @welld0nebaku @oneafterdark @yeolsbubbles @byunniebaekhyunnie

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

TAKE ME

parings: mick schumacher x vettel!reader

request: hiya could u do a mick x vettel! reader (seb’s niece or smth) where they attend an autosport award show together w seb and he just couldn’t keep his eyes of her bc of the low back/high slit of the gorgeous dress he tries not to be touchy bc seb is there but succumbs to a quickie in the bathroom while seb is claiming his award really im in desperate need of some mick content 😫

authors note: oh my god my first smut with mick 🫣 idk what to put here 🤷‍♀️

warnings: (+18) smut, minors dni!

✩. . . masterlist !

Y/N knew it was a bad idea to wear the dress her secret boyfriend had picked out for her. It was a stunning gown with a high slit and a low back, revealing almost her entire back. She thought it was perfect for the occasion, a Formula 1 gala dinner with her favorite uncle, Sebastian Vettel.

But she hadn't anticipated how her boyfriend would react to her in the dress. Mick Schumacher and Y/N Vettel had been secretly dating for six months, keeping their relationship hidden from almost everyone. Well, everyone except for Toto Wolff, who had caught them kissing at a race. Mick had decided to ditch his role as Toto's apprentice that day and sneak off with Y/N for a quick make-out session in the tire warehouse. The memory still made her blush with embarrassment.

It had been a few weeks since they had seen each other, and now, at the Autosport Award show, Y/N found herself watching Mick's every move from across the room. Was it her imagination, or had Mick gained a few more muscles since they last met?

"Vettel!" Toto greeted the older man standing beside him, and Y/N felt her cheeks flush with a rosy hue. She tried to focus on the conversation, but her attention kept drifting back to Mick.

Seb glanced at her and then followed her gaze to where Mick was standing. He raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile, causing Y/N to turn even redder. She had a feeling her uncle was onto something, and it made her want to sink into the floor.

As the evening went on, Mick's eyes seemed to be constantly drawn to her. He was talking to people, engaging in conversations, but his gaze kept finding its way back to her. She tried her best to act natural, chatting with the people around her, but her heart raced every time she caught Mick looking at her.

Eventually, Mick excused himself from his conversation and made his way over to her. His smile was both charming and mischievous as he approached her.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and intimate. "You look absolutely stunning tonight."

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up again as she replied, "Thank you. You clean up pretty well too."

He chuckled softly, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Couldn't take my eyes off you, honestly. That dress is... wow."

She bit her lip, trying to suppress her own grin. "You like it?"

Mick leaned in a little closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. "I more than like it. But you're making it really hard for me to behave."

She felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, her heart skipping a beat. Mick had always been a charmer, but tonight, he was particularly irresistible.

"Behave?" she teased, her voice barely a whisper.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto hers. "Yeah, you know... not get touchy when your uncle's around."

Y/N laughed softly, the sound tinged with nervous excitement. "Right, right. We wouldn't want to give Seb a heart attack."

Mick grinned and took her hand, his thumb caressing the back of her palm. "But seriously, after this event, how about we go somewhere a little more private?"

Her heart raced at the suggestion, and she nodded, unable to hide her own playful smile. "I'd like that."

Seb's voice cut through the conversation, and Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, but she instantly felt her cheeks heat up under his gaze.

"Hey, Mick, Y/N," Seb greeted, his grin playful as he looked between them. "Am I interrupting something here?"

Mick's grip on her hand tightened slightly, but he managed to keep his composure. "Nah, just having a chat."

Seb raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just a chat, huh? Well, don't let me stop you. Carry on."

Y/N felt her embarrassment intensify under Seb's teasing, and she bit her lip, unable to meet his gaze. "Hi, Uncle Seb."

"Hi, Y/N," he replied with a knowing smile. "Having a good time?"

She nodded, still feeling a little flustered. "Yeah, it's been great."

Seb chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "Well, don't let me keep you from enjoying the party. I'll catch up with you two later."

As he walked away, Y/N let out a nervous breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Mick squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Don't worry, he's just messing with us," he said with a wink.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, her nerves easing a bit. "I know, but it's still embarrassing."

Mick leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "I think you look even more adorable when you're embarrassed."

Her cheeks flushed again, and she playfully swatted his arm. "Stop it, Mick."

He grinned, his fingers intertwining with hers. "You know I can't resist."

Just as Y/N was about to respond, a waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses brushed past her, and before she knew it, she felt a cold splash against her dress. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh no," she murmured, her gaze dropping to the champagne stain on her dress.

Mick's eyes followed her gaze, and he quickly took in the situation. "Hey, it's alright. Accidents happen."

Y/N felt a mixture of frustration and embarrassment, and she glanced around, trying to figure out what to do. "I need to clean this up before it sets."

Mick nodded, his expression understanding. "I'll come with you."

She gave him a grateful smile as they made their way towards the restroom. Once inside, Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, feeling a little defeated.

"Great, just what I needed," she muttered, dabbing at the stain with a paper towel.

Mick stepped closer, his fingers gently brushing hers as he took the paper towel from her hand. "Let me help."

As he carefully worked to clean the stain, Y/N's heart raced. She couldn't help but be struck by how considerate and caring Mick was, even in such a simple moment.

"Thank you," she said softly, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

He smiled, his eyes warm. "Anytime."

As the stain faded, Y/N realized how close they were standing. The air seemed to buzz with a newfound tension, and she found herself holding her breath.

"Mick," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He met her gaze, his eyes searching for something. Without a word, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a gentle kiss. It was slow and sweet, a promise of things to come.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N's heart was racing, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Mick grinned, his fingers tangling with hers.

"I think champagne stains might be my new favorite thing," he teased.

N laughed softly, the tension that had been building between them now palpable in the air. "Well, it's certainly one way to make an event memorable."

Mick's gaze was intense as he looked at her, and she felt her breath catch. "Do you trust me?"

Her heart skipped a beat, and she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes."

Mick's lips found hers once again, but this time the kiss was anything but gentle. It was fiery and urgent, a hunger that had been building between them finally unleashed. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor, their bodies pressed close.

As their kisses deepened, Mick's hands roamed over her body, igniting sparks of desire with every touch. He backed her towards the bathroom counter, his lips never leaving hers. With a swift movement, he lifted her up onto the counter, his hands gripping her waist possessively.

Y/N's head was spinning, her senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her skin. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even closer. Mick's kisses trailed down her jawline, his breath hot against her skin, before he found the sensitive spot on her neck that made her gasp.

"Mick," she moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He responded by pressing his body against hers, the friction between them igniting a fire deep within her. Mick's lips found hers once more, a demanding kiss that left them both breathless.

Desire pulsed between them, the urgency of their need pushing them to the edge. He pulled away just long enough to catch his breath, his eyes dark with want as he looked at her.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice husky.

Y/N nodded, her own desire mirroring his. "More than sure."

Their kisses reignited with a renewed intensity, their bodies pressed together in a dance of passion. Mick's hands roamed over her, his touch setting her skin on fire.

As their desire escalated, Y/N's fingers worked to undo the buttons of his shirt, her touch eager and hungry. Mick's own urgency mirrored hers as he kissed her fiercely, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with an intoxicating mix of tenderness and hunger.

Their mouths met in a series of heated kisses, each one leaving them both craving more. Mick's lips trailed down her neck, his breath hot against her skin, igniting a trail of fire wherever he touched. Y/N's fingers found their way to his hair, pulling him closer as a soft moan escaped her lips.

"Mick," she whispered, her voice a mixture of need and desire.

He looked at her with eyes darkened by the intensity of their passion, his own longing reflected in his gaze. Without a word, he lifted her off the counter, his lips claiming hers once more as he carried her towards the bathroom door.

As they stumbled out of the bathroom, caught up in the heat of the moment, they didn't notice the figure standing by the entrance. Toto Wolff's surprised expression quickly turned into an amused grin as he cleared his throat, effectively interrupting their heated embrace.

Mick froze mid-step, his eyes widening as he realized they had an audience. Y/N's face turned a shade of red that matched her dress as she buried her face in Mick's chest, her embarrassment palpable.

Toto chuckled, his tone teasing. "Well, I guess I won't be needing that bathroom anytime soon."

Mick cleared his throat, his cheeks tinged with a blush as he awkwardly shifted his weight. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that, Toto."

Y/N peeked up at Toto from behind Mick, her voice muffled. "Hi, Toto."

Toto raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Having a good time, are we?"

Mick let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, you could say that."

Toto grinned, patting Mick on the shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you two to it. Don't let me interrupt."

As Toto walked away, Y/N let out a sigh of relief, her face still flushed. Mick chuckled, his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her closer.

"Well, that was... unexpected," Mick said, his lips brushing against her hair.

Y/N groaned, hiding her face in his chest. "I can't believe he caught us again."

Mick laughed, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "Hey, at least it's a memorable way to be caught."

She rolled her eyes playfully, her embarrassment fading as she looked at him. "You're impossible."

Mick grinned, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "And you're irresistible."

Their lips met in a sweet, tender kiss, the world around them fading as they focused on each other. In that moment, the outside world ceased to matter, and all that existed was the connection between them – a connection that had ignited in a bathroom and had grown into something much deeper and more meaningful.

And as they kissed, all thoughts of being caught or interrupted were replaced by the overwhelming feeling that they had found something truly special in each other's arms.

“remember that night?” - ms47

pairing: mick schumacher x ex!reader

in which they spend one last night together

word count: 2.4k

content warnings: none, lazy writing towards the middle i’m sorry

song: remember that night? by sara kays

masterlist

you don’t know how long it took to get over him the first time, but you remember how hard it was. sleepless nights spent crying and reading old text messages, sad songs made as a soundtrack for each of your memories, endless rants to your friends about how you were so good together and you don’t know what went wrong.

eventually, you found it was easier to just forget about him than to patch up the hole shaped like him in your heart. it worked - you hadn’t thought of him in the weeks since you finally deleted all his photos and messages from your phone. 

his contact was the one thing you didn’t delete though, but even then, when your phone starts ringing on a quiet tuesday night, you never would’ve expected it to be him. 

you start to reach for your phone to mute the call, then pause, waiting to see if it would keep ringing. then the buzzing stops, and it’s just his name sitting as a missed call in your notifications. you contemplate messaging him to see if everything is okay, but quickly decide against it. 

but maybe it’s the sight of the blue heart still next to his name, or the sudden longing you feel at the realisation you were so close to hearing his voice again after so long that it strikes something in your chest and compels you to pick up your phone and dial back his number. 

it rings once, twice, and you’re already anticipating his voice after the third ring. he’s never let it ring more than three times when it comes to you. 

“liebling?” his voice is raspy, like it how it used to be when he was close to falling asleep or had just woken up. the sound of your old nickname masked in the voice you once so ardently loved makes you grip your phone tighter in both hands as you try to stop yourself from saying something stupid. “y/n? are you there?”

“hi, mick,” you finally breathe out. 

“hi. i didn’t think you’d answer.” and you must be imagining it but as his voice starts to clear, you can hear the underlying hints of a smile in his tone. 

“is everything okay?”

“yes. i just… i mean you can hang up if you want.” then he falters. “no, actually. can i pick you up?”

“like… now?” it’s almost 11pm, and while you’re nowhere close to sleeping, it’s sure as hell not a time you go out. 

“yes.”

“you’re in town?”

“yes,” he repeats. 

“why?”

“because why not?” 

you’re tempted to say yes, even though seeing him again would just unravel all the effort you put into getting over him. but he’s always had that effect on you, where because of him, you make stupid decisions. the first was falling in love with him. the next? 

“yeah,” you say quickly before you can take it back. 

there’s rustling on his side of the call as he makes his way around the house. “i’ll be there in thirty minutes. dress warm, it’s going to rain out.”

you’re about to thank him for the tip when he hangs up, leaving you alone to wonder what the fuck you just got yourself into. just then, it starts to pour. 

—

his car pulls up in front of your house forty minutes later. the driver’s door slams as he gets out, rounding the car to open your door for you. 

“hi.”

“hey,” he grins at you, jacket and beanie engulfing his large frame. he gives you a quick side hug and even through all your layers, every nerve in your body is set off at his touch. 

he waits for you to get in the car and you realise that he put on the seat warmer for you, just how you liked it when it was cold out. 

the gesture warms your body and face. you hadn’t thought he’d remember that about you, but that was only one thing to add to tonight’s list of surprises. 

he’s quiet when he gets in, starts up the car and drives away from the curb, before asking, “how’ve you been?”

“i’m good. i got laid off a while ago, but i start a new job on friday. what about you? i heard you’re a reserve driver for mercedes now?”

he glances over at you, raises a brow. “you still keep up with formula one?”

“i like the drama,” you shrug.

he whistles lowly. “drive to survive fan over here, guys. tell me, what’s drs?”

“no,” you say softly. “someone i used to care about recommended it to me.”

and even though you said used to, he suppresses a smile at the fact that you’ve kept something from your relationship close to you. 

you make small talk for a while - how’s his mother, father? is angie doing well? how’s the past seven months fared you? you fire questions back and forth between each other and for a while, there’s a semblance of normality in whatever is going on between you. 

soon, he notices the way you shiver slightly despite him having run the heater. 

“are you cold? here, take my beanie.” he tugs his beanie off his head before giving it to you to put on. you take it gratefully, slipping it on. 

you both fall silent for a second, and just as you open your mouth to ask him what the hell you’re doing here, he’s blurting out, “why did you call me back?”

you freeze. that hadn’t been what you were expecting. but you reckon if there’s a time for honesty, it’s now. “because i missed you.”

you catch the way he throws his head back in relief, a grin spreading across his face. “why did you call in the first place?” you ask. 

“because i missed you.” he states simply. truthfully. 

it’s like a weight has been taken off your chest at your admission. in that little moment, with him by your side, you feel content. happier than you’ve been in a long time. it’s a brave move when he nudges his hand against yours, but you accept it quickly, placing your palm over his. 

you look out the window as he drives, headlights casting shadows over the rainy streets. through the dim lighting you can make out the familiar scenery. 

the long winding road brings back memories of singing karaoke in the car, conversations with no meaning and driving around with no place to be and nowhere you wanted to go, so long as you were with each other.  

you recognise the path he’s taking - towards the small observation point that overlooks the whole town. you know he’s going to swing by the 24 hour ice cream shop on the way there, and there when you realise he’s taking you out for a night of old traditions. 

the car rolls to the stop and then he pats your thigh with an i’ll be back, running out into the rain to the store before you can even remind him of your order. you doubt he’s forgotten. and in his absence, you can’t help but smile to yourself at his kind words and sweeter gestures, despite knowing better. despite knowing that going with him was stupid and risky and chances are, when you leave him in the morning, you’re going to leave with a broken heart. 

your thoughts are cut off by mick sliding back into his seat, a cup of chocolate chip ice cream in one hand, a cone of strawberry in the other. 

“strawberry, please,” you say and he hands you the cone, watches you take it then wrinkle your nose before grabbing at the choc chip. 

his laughter rings through the car, clear through the pounding rain and you’re sure you’ve never heard something more joyful than in that moment. “you’re so predictable.” 

mick drives you to the lookout so you can watch the views as you eat. you sit in silence at the top, “strawberries & cigarettes” by troye sivan playing softly from the radio. the town is quiet below you too, lit by the starry night sky, only a few stray lights on in the odd night owls’ home. it’s peaceful and calm, and you’re content with mick and for moment all feels right, despite everything about your night being completely wrong. 

and when you’re both done, he turns you, brows furrowing as he realises something. 

his hand cups your chin, guiding you to look at him. “you’ve got a little…” he mutters, thumb gently swiping the ice cream from the corner of your mouth. 

“thank you,” you whisper. his gaze flicks across your face - from your eyes to your mouth then back again. you find yourself mimicking his actions and there’s an intense panging in your chest when your eyes meet his again. 

“i want you back.” 

your heart plummets - those were the words you’d been dreading to hear. “mick, don’t say that. don’t do that to me.”

he rears back at the sudden sharpness of your tone, and you see the exact moment he begins to disassociate, his composure breaking and demeanour falling. “but i do, i’ve always-”

“mick, can you please not?” you beg. you reach up to hold his face so that his gaze is focused solely on you. “what we had, mick, it was good. but when we ended, it hurt me, because losing you felt like losing air. yes, i miss you but missing you is different to still wanting you. i can’t afford to want you again because it might just kill me this time.”

“liebling-”

“this, right now, is good. so can we please keep it just like this? nothing more.”

it’s as though the light in his eyes dim at your words and he just nods, before turning away and turning the ignition on. his voice is hoarse when he says, “it’s way too late. let me take you back home.”

an apology is at the tip of your tongue - if you take back what you said, what would change between you two? you didn’t want to go back to what you used to be, you just wanted him. but wanting him again is impossible. you don’t know what to do; you just want him to stop frowning. so you reach out for his hand, and he lets your fingers find home in his palm before closing his fist around yours. 

“mick, we’re okay,” you reassure. “but we can’t do this again.” 

he nods again, swallowing deeply. “i understand.” 

and you leave it at that. 

the ride home is silent and tense but not awkward. things are never awkward with mick. he parks in your driveway before getting out of the car to open your door. you step out of the car with a thank you and stop in front of him. it’s still raining heavily, so he goes to pull the beanie he gave you further down your head, but stops halfway to rest his palms on your cheeks. 

“can i have a hug?” 

and with mick’s hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, deep blue eyes staring into yours, you have no choice but to nod, and he practically falls into your hold, arms dropping to wrap around your waist and keep himself steady. “nothing more.”

“then i just need this,” he mumbles into your neck. but you know it’s more than that, so you just hold him. you feel his body loosen as he relaxes, breaths evening out. he emanates warmth and goodness and-

“it’s getting late,” he groans, tearing himself off you. “i have to go.” 

you don’t want him to, you’d much rather stay wrapped up in this moment forever. wrapped up in him forever. but you know better so you just nod. “okay. okay.”

he leans forward as though to kiss you, but you flatten a hand to his chest. “mick…” you warn lowly. 

his eyes soften before he whispers an apology and presses a light, barely there kiss to your cheek. he moves to reach behind you and get your things, then hesitates for a second. 

and then his lips are crashing to yours in a desperate kiss, and he’s telling you every i’m sorry, i love you, it’s okay through it. it’s frantic and passionate and everything you’ve loved about him since you first met him. so you grip onto his jacket, pressing into his body as much as you possibly can, savouring the moment because you know you’re never going to have another like it.

he pulls away first, resting his forehead on yours, before handing you your things, even going so far as to tugging your jacket tighter around your body. so my girl doesn’t get sick. 

even though you’re just in your driveway, two steps away from warmth, you’d stay standing in the pouring rain just to keep his hands on you longer. 

“i’ll see you around, yeah?” his hand is warm in yours when he holds it for the last time, tightening his fingers as though it would meld your bodies together and you’d never have to be separated again. and then mick is pulling away from you one last time, his face unreadable, and his smile never quite reaching his eyes. 

the rain starts to come down harder, soaking you cold to the bone, and you turn around, making a beeline for your front door. you’d never say it out loud but you’re glad it rained - it’s the only thing that keeps you from running right back into his arms. 

it’s harder to move on from him this time. 

months later, no matter how hard you try, that night never slips from your memory. you can recall every brush of his fingertips against yours, the calloused pad of his thumb on your skin, and the heavy weight of his hand on your thigh when you two finally became comfortable again in each other’s presence. the way his voice changed and his laughter erupted whenever you smiled at him is engraved into your brain, and you’re sure the way he kissed you became your lifeline.  

most of all, you remember the way his face fell when you pushed him away again, his dejected sigh as he accepted your decision, blue eyes electric with so many words left unspoken as you turned away one last time. 

but the one thing you desperately try to forget is the way he lingered in the driveway, waiting for you to come back. 

—

author’s note: thank youuuu @disneyprincemuke i don’t know how i feel about this but i hope i didnt disappoint

.ೃ࿐𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 . . . | 𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏 |

oscar piastri x fem!reader

plot. your sexual frustration is humiliatingly evident when oscar lets you sit on his lap

wc. 2.2k

warnings. smut 18+, thigh riding, innocent!reader, praise kink, purity rings, osc has a major corruption kink & refers to himself as god (sorry🫣), manhandling, swearing, allusions to heaven, and religious symbolism

A time when the gifted silver band wasn’t laced around your ring finger is not one you remember clearly. At the ripe age of twelve, with a face adorned with baby-like features and an ever-present aura of giddiness, your father had gently placed the circle on your overstretched hand.

“It’s a promise for abstinence,” he’d responded to your furrowed brows, but the foreign word had only deepened your confusion. “Look—here, it says, ‘I will wait for my beloved’. And you will, won’t you?”

Even now, despite his absence, you find yourself nodding at the slightly threatening question as your right hand fiddles with the thin loop. Boredom eating at your mind, your eyes shift to the figure occupying your chair; a smile slowly creeps onto your lips.

Oscar, a man of stubborn chestnut hair and constellations of moles embellishing his toned frame. The gleaming screen of the rectangle illuminates his face harshly, likely stinging his eyes as they dart across his unanswered emails.

A sigh leaves your lips. You fall pliant on your bed, unraveling the tight knots in your shoulders with a roll of your arms and an arch of your spine—an obnoxiously loud noise (a little whiny, in Oscar’s opinion) echoes along the room.

“You need anythin’, baby?” Oscar mumbles, mindlessly tapping at his keyboard.

With an exasperated huff, you lift yourself to sit upright and lean on your arm, your head lolling lazily to the side. Oscar perks up. He rips his eyes away from the rectangle box to crane his neck back and peer down at you through thick lashes— you and that godforsaken circle around your finger.

The small, knowing grin that makes itself home on Oscar's lips almost makes you embarrassed at your obvious search for attention. Almost. Your boyfriend sways his hips lightly to turn the wheely chair toward your peripheral vision.

“C’mere, sit on my lap while I finish?” he muses, patting his right thigh encouragingly. When he registers your giddy smile and hasty advances toward him, Oscar wants to punch himself three times in the gut for not asking you sooner.

“Well, if you’re begging for it,” you shrug sarcastically through a tight-lipped smile, finding solace in the V of his pale thighs before pausing.

Oscar notices your sudden shift in demeanor because, well, when does he not? “What’s wrong?”

You blink dumbly, pointing your index finger at the hem of his loose, cobalt blue shorts. The Australian follows the invisible line shooting out of your finger and frowns; his thighs tense instinctively, your unnerving stare fueling his insecurities more than he would like to admit.

“Y’don’t like them? I went to the mall with Lan last week, and he told me they were nice, so—”

The last of his words are muffled by a hand pressing against his mouth. Guilt shines through your pupils, he notices. “No, no, Osc, t-they’re fine. Fine, just– just short, is all.”

Really, incredibly, stupidly short. They were bunched up to the crease between his inner thighs and crotch, the pure muscle spilling out from the sides, making you curl your fists by your sides.

“Ah.”

Hesitantly, you meet his eyes, and regret swells in your heart almost immediately. “What? Why’re y’looking at me like that?”

Oscar nearly coos at the slight whine in your voice, and he reaches out to wrap his fingers around your forearm. Now, he’s sure he coos when you melt into his lap, his palms gripping the back of your folded knees and pulling you closer into his embrace. 

“M’sorry, sorry, baby,” he laughs, and you hum happily as you bury your forehead into the crook of his neck, Oscar pecking your temple lovingly.

He still sounds like he’s aware of something you have no recollection of but. The warmth that wraps your soul in a blanket each time Oscar touches you returns, and the thought is quickly forgotten.

“S’fine,” you murmur. And you mean it this time.

A hum ripples against his throat and vibrates against your skin; time drifts by unknowingly—fast or slow, ten minutes or hours—but it’s enough for you to shift listlessly in your place. Oscar freezes, his pupils blown wide.

“S–shit, y/n, stop that,” he seethes through gritted teeth, hands flying to your waist and pushing you back slightly.

Your eyebrows furrow, confused wrinkles covering your forehead as you gaze down at him for an explanation, a reason—really, anything to stop your mind from running at a hundred miles per second.

“What?” a pout graces itself on your lips; Oscar wants to kiss it away, but. But if he does, he’s not sure how much self-restraint he can muster around you. “D’I do somethin’? Why don’t you...”

Sighing heavily, Oscar’s tight hold on your waist relocates down to your thighs. “No, no, baby—fuck, no, nothing like that. Just,” he lifts your knee to straddle one of his thighs instead. “Like this... s’better.”

Half instead of whole, and.

And Osc would cross the world twice, delving into each volcano and marching up the tallest mountains, to reassure you that you did nothing wrong in particular. It was him. Him and the blood rushing to his balls from you practically humping your clothed pussy against his dick.

Okay, maybe ‘humping’ is a bit of an exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like one.

Unbeknownst to Oscar, however, the relieved pressure on his end only slipped through the cracks of his skin and into yours. But he, God bless him, thinks nothing of the tension that’s boiling in your shoulders or the hitch of your breath. Blaming it on the lingering effects of his sudden repositioning, Oscar gently pulls you down with two massive hands on the swell of your ass.

Flush against his thigh. His thigh, Jesus fuck—a quiet forgive me, Lord, echoes around the walls of your mind.

“Osc,” you gasp quietly, the constant pressure against your privates shooting unfamiliar spikes of something down to your stomach—something you needed more of.

He hums dismissively; you want to cry. It doesn’t take you long, though, to fully grasp his attention when Oscar registers the heartbeat pressing between your squished pussy and his thigh.

The Australian's mind short circuits. “Y/n?”

“Osc, I-” you roll your hips experimentally, slapping a hand over your mouth and flushed cheeks when it parts around an unrestrained whimper.

Your boyfriend, seemingly snapping out of his bewildered daze, dips down to dust his lips over your reddening cheeks, chuckling fondly. “Enjoying y’self, baby?”

And that. That is what pulled you away from the edge of logical thinking and onto its’ center, halting movement in every bone in your body. Wrong—this—it’s all wrong, isn’t it? ‘I will wait for my beloved’ is etched into your skin, engraved onto your heart, and yet.

Yet, you can’t help but wonder: Is Oscar not your beloved?

“Y/n,” his assertiveness grounds you, pulls you back to the surface of his honey-filled eyes—just as he had intended. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready…”

Oscar's hand leaves the curve of your waist and reaches behind his neck to clasp onto your palm, bringing the cool metal of your purity ring against his mouth as he murmurs, “But don’t stop on my account.”

The ring burns through your skin and falls to the ground; you hope it cracks into a million little pieces of stupid promises. And anyway, Osc’s giddy smile when you allow him to—do what, you’re not really sure—is too precious to deny.

Nibbling on your raw bottom lip, you slowly shake your head. “No, I– I want this, Osc. Want you.”

He does not disappoint; his eyes crinkle through that grin you’d pay to see a hundred times over. Oscar taps the side of your thigh twice, signaling you to stand up, so you do. Your hands lay helplessly by your sides as he smoothed over the contours of your body until—

You let out a little gasp. “Osc!”

A soft, harmless tug at the hem of your shorts widens your eyes.

“Y/n,” he calls, and you can’t bother fighting the urge to rub your thighs together. “Y’want me to touch you, right? Make y’pussy feel better?”

The amount of self-restraint needed to block the guffaw from slipping past your lips does not fit into a number. Or a word. In any language.

Nonetheless, you find yourself bashfully nodding.

“Words, Y/n.”

You gulp, embarrassment apparent on your crimson cheeks. “Want you to—to make m’feel better.”

Oscar heaves out a laugh at your refusal to say those objectively filthy words; you almost want to commit murder, but it hurts. It hurts, and you can’t help but sigh happily when his hands swiftly pull both your shorts and panties down, manhandling your ankles out of the pool of clothing by your feet.

And only then, being ogled at by his mesmerized eyes and hands sliding down the sides of your body, does your mind grasp the fact that you were standing in front of Oscar. Half naked. His for the taking. The shame you'd expected to feel never came, and when Osc pulls you to straddle his thigh, you knew it never would.

“There we go,” he praises when you shift your weight fully onto him, rewarding you with a bounce of the leg you were resting on.

Choking through a loud gasp, your hands fly to his shoulders to brace yourself. “Oh, Osc, oh my—”

“Yeah? Y’like that?” Oscar grins almost cockily, repeating the sharp movement of his legs and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Mm, fuck, baby, can feel you all ov’me.”

The humiliating amount of slick your pussy’s gushing out should make you ashamed, but, well. When you grind against his thigh, the glide is much smoother than when you were fully clothed, so you silently thank your desperation instead.

“C’mon, baby, y’can do better than that,” he urges, hands resting on the globes of your ass and grinding your pussy against his slick-ridden thigh. “Y’ve been waiting so long for this, haven’t you?”

He coos at your frantic nods and refrains from groaning at the sight of you tilting your head back in pleasure; using him—his fucking thigh—to get off. The sound of your little, whiny moans leaves him feeling like an inexperienced teenager all over again; he wants more. Wants to have your pretty sounds made into a song to play on loop whenever he needs to.

With Oscar’s forceful hands dragging you up and down his muscular thighs, tensing them occasionally, and lips mouthing at your collarbone, you don’t think a sin should ever feel this good. You don’t think it could feel any better than it does, but.

The urgency in your movements almost has your legs aching, your jaw parted around a permanent ‘o’; the whimper that slips past your lips when his fingers graze your folds, not pushing but they’re there, and Oscar fucking moans when he feels your hole clench against them; the stutter of your hips when he dips down to your tits, tongue licking over the tight, thin fabric covering the hard nubs.

“Osc, ohmygod, ohm—” Your wail echoes around the entire flat, you’re sure, and if you had even a sliver of dignity left, you’d quiet down.

But. Oscar seems to have that effect on you; really, you don’t mind.

“Yeah, baby, I’m your god, huh?” He huffs out, muffled by his sucking on your nipples like they’d disappear tomorrow—like he is the one being taken apart on someone’s lap. “Humping my thigh—fuck, so fucking desperate, look at you.”

Your mouth parts around a moan, and you quickly put your face into the crook of his neck to, hopefully, contain your embarrassing noises. It does fuck all. Oscar lets out a disapproving noise at the separation of your little, swollen nipples and his pursed lips.

“Oscar, Oscar, Oscar,” you sob out like a prayer. “I feel, ah, I think I'm—Oh, yes, feels s’good, so.”

When Oscar slides a hand up to your hair to tug your head up to his face, he looks nearly as fucked out as you feel. And when his eyes dart to your lips, visibly contemplating whether or not he should kiss you, you make the decision for him.

His soft lips meet the fuse of the boiling pleasure in your stomach, forcing your spine to arch and painting your eyes a shade of white you had only imagined would be in heaven—smiling hazily and foggy-brained, you can’t imagine this not being heaven. 

A sharp cry dances between your mouths, and you swear you can feel a few tears trickle down your face, but your mind only processes the last few moments before you collapse onto his chest.

Oscar gently slides the silver band out of your ring finger, tucking it into his pockets, and placing a soft kiss on your temple as he murmurs, “No use f’this, now, is there?”

Even when on the brink of passing out, you find yourself nodding; Oscar thinks you’ll be the death of him. Or, more specifically, his dick.

authors notes this is an apology to @lifeboredme for ignoring the poll n writing the max fic hehe hope u enjoy 🫶 + thank you to @cafekitsune as always for the dividers mwah.

plot what plot??? porn without plot🗣️🗣️🗣️ very much hate this fic but i also hate every fic of mine so. en e wayz im sorry in advance for my inactivity the next few weeks i have sm shit going on. writing grind comes after march 6 istg🙏

also, thank you so much to everyone who waited for this fic and im so sorry for the delay!! i got hit by a mountains load of stress but yeah <3

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🥕

taglist in separate posts again el oh el . . . i tagged everyone who interacted w/ my original post bcs i was too lazy to make an actual post dedicated to tags

p.s REBLOGS and likes are always appreciated 🧡🧡

summary: [ cs55, cl16, mv1, lh44, fa14, sv5, dr3, mwebber, jb22 x fem!reader ] three major kinks + a couple minor kinks for each driver

word count: 1.8k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), pwp; i’m not going to tag all of these bc that would take 5ever BUT 1) everything is consensual & in the setting of a happy, healthy relationship & 2) dm me if you are needing any specific tw’s/cw’s & i’ll be happy to share those!

a/n: it’s been a hot, hot minute since i’ve had the energy to write (i was busy surviving my surgery core rotation at a level 1 trauma center & pediatrics at a major children’s hospital), but i’ve been brewing up a lil something for awhile now! i was stalling out on writing the last part of corsica, so i figured i’d at least give you this to get the juices flowing again! i started this blog about six months ago, & i’m nearly at 500 followers & i wanted to take a moment to thank you all! i love you so much and i hope you enjoy this! these are the kinks i think each of these drivers has! what proof do i have, you ask? absolute fuck-all! enjoy, loves! xx

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