How Drivers (+Toto Wolff) Would React Coming Home From A Race To Find You’d Fallen Asleep On The Sofa

throat training thoughts tonight. ♡︎ fictional man forcing his fat cock down your throat until your little nose is in his pubes and he’s taking up every single one of your senses.

Teacher's Pet

Summary: It's your first time being a TA, but you're pretty sure some of the areas your professor needs help with are not in the job description. 

Pairing: professor Toto Wolff x TA fem!reader

W/C: 3.1k

Rating: +18, age gap, dom/sub, exhibitionism, creampie, oral sex, praise kink, aftercare

A/N: Filth. Pure filth. Absolute filth. As always on my smut - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME. 

Masterlist | List of tags

By this time in the year, you knew the students' habits and schedule well enough to know what you did and didn't have time to do between lectures. Sometimes you had enough time to go the library to do research for your dissertation, sometimes just enough to barely make a fresh cup of tea, and sometimes - like right now - you had enough time to get absolutely railed by the professor you were under - both literally and figuratively.

You were sure that by now there had to be at least some rumors, but none reached your ears. Although there was no way that there were none, considering all the times the door to his classroom or office was magically closed when you were there together (mechanical failure of course, it was an old building after all). And if on top of that, you added the smudges in the exact shade of your lipstick ending up on few papers he graded, the fact that (at least in your mind) the scent of sex clung to you all the time, and all the hickeys and bitemarks taking deeper color over the course of a single lecture, meaning that they were fresh... There was just no way no one connected the dots yet. But officially, you were never caught, and with every time you got away with it, you got even more brazen.

That's why today he waited just a little bit longer to grab your wrist, turn you around and push your face into the pile of papers because the thrill of finishing closer to the start of the next class was too enticing. He quickly pulled down the panties you were wearing, let them fall to the floor, and threw the hem of your sundress over your waist, so he could see everything. Without saying a word, he placed a soft kiss on your left ass cheek, a complete contrast to what he was about to do. He run two fingers in between your folds, while his other hand was unbuttoning his pants and freeing the already hard cock. Both of you were expecting this to happen since the day started, you just weren't sure exactly when it would happen. So, every time your eyes crossed, every time you accidentally touched each other, every time you said each other’s names, it was almost like edging, but on a completely different and surreal level.

Sure, he could prepare you more, but he knew you loved that moment when the burn disappeared and suddenly there was only pleasure consuming your body, that's why he run his cock between your folds just enough to lubricate himself and slammed all the way in one swift move. You didn't have time to mentally prepare yourself for the familiar sensation, even though it was seared in your brain forever by now. He didn't wait at all before setting a brutal pace and pushing your hips into the edge of the desk, while you tried to hold onto the crumbs of balance you had left in your body, so you wouldn’t become a ragdoll in his hands.

His fingers were painfully digging into the skin on your hips and pulling you deeper onto his cock with every push, causing your whole body to jolt across the desk and making an absolute mess of the exams the previous group finished taking about 15 minutes ago, but that was the last think on your mind. He knew your body like the back of his hand by now, which came useful in moments like this because he knew exactly what he needed to do, to make you cum as fast as possible; when to thrust, what pace you enjoyed the most, what angles made your toes curl, and he was making use of it all, trying to force a whole goddamn opera of moans from your throat. And if not the fact, that you could already hear the students gathering in front of the door, you would have let him. But instead, you reached back for one of his hands and moved it to your mouth to at least try to muffle the whines you weren't able to stop.

What you weren't expecting was him putting more pressure and pulling you closer by your head, so you were standing up, flush against his torso, with his hips still hammering against yours, the material of his trousers and your dress preventing loud slapping from completely filling up the room. He moved the hand that was still on your hip to the neckline of your sundress and pulled it down, freeing your breasts. He gave each of them a squeeze, which made you throw your head back and rest it on his shoulder. With just your nose to breathe through, you were slowly getting a little lightheaded, so when he rolled your nipple in between his fingers and squeezed it tightly, your eyes almost instantly rolled back. You were so close, yet so far, but the hum of a small crowd gathering outside made it harder for you to lose yourself in the sensation of... him. Him inside you, him surrounding you... He was everywhere, haunting every atom of your body and your every thought, and you were helpless against the power he held over you.

- Either you're cumming in the next 10 seconds, or you're not cumming at all. - he whispered straight into your ear, just as there was a sound of a bell coming from down the hall. You lowkey expected him to start counting down, but he just added - I know what I'm choosing... - after which he sunk his teeth into the place where your neck met your shoulder, and that was the missing puzzle piece that finally completed a full picture of you falling apart in his arms. But you didn't get to enjoy that feeling for long, because he quickly pulled out after finishing deep inside you, pulled up his trousers, and put your panties that were currently on the floor in his pocket, while you were still trying to catch a breath, leaning on the desk in front of you.

With your walls spasming and clenching around nothing, you didn't even realize when he forcefully guided you to your usual seat in the first row, sat you down, and pulled the neckline of your sundress back up to hide your breasts behind the patterned material. Before he moved away, he placed one last hungry kiss on your lips and wiped the smudged lipstick from around your mouth. You should really consider stopping wearing it because it was leaving marks everywhere...

At first, you didn't even register the other students slowly filling up the room after Toto opened the door for them because your mind was still frozen in that moment of blinding pleasure. Even though your body was no longer uncontrollably twitching, your breath was still quick and shallow, your cheeks were flushed, and you were sure anyone who looked at you would be able to tell that you just got absolutely railed, but you underestimated under-slept and under-caffeinated students, who worried more about their grades and exams, than the insignificant TA.

Only about ten minutes into the lecture, your brain started comprehending reality once again, and what brought it back was a quiet question from one of the students you became friendly with over the last eight months.

- Sorry, could you repeat that...? - you whispered after quietly clearing your throat.

- Is everything ok...? - she asked. You couldn't tell her the truth, so instead you gave her a confusing look. - You look a little bit sick... Maybe you should take a day off or something? - she proposed, and you prayed for the floor under you to open up and swallow you whole. She meant well though.

- I'm fine... I just can't handle this heat well. - you lied, hoping that your words would be enough to convince her because the almost-summer temperatures were abysmal lately.

- Do you want some water? I have iced one... - she offered and the look of relief on your face told her more than your words because she bent down and took a thermal bottle covered in stickers from her bag and passed it to you. - You can keep it till the end of the lecture. - she added quietly and went back to making notes.

- Thank you... - you replied, opened the bottle, and took a big sip. It was colder than you expected, but it was your savior, allowing you to calm your body once again. You took smaller sips over the next few minutes, but then you just had to look at Toto, and you almost choked seeing how he looked at you. You didn't, but a little bit of water still dripped from the corner of your mouth, and down your cleavage summoning goosebumps over your skin.

He stopped mid-sentence for a moment, his eyes drilling into yours, but he quickly regained his composure and continued the lecture. You couldn't comprehend how he could look this put together after fucking you so hard, his giant, heavy desk was currently on a slight angle. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on his shirt, not a stain on his crotch. And then you felt it...

You were no longer wearing underwear. And he came inside you. It's not like it was the first time he did, but he never did that in the middle of the day, when there was no chance of plugging you or for you to clean up. You clenched up, trying your best not to let any of it leak out and stain first your dress, and eventually the chair under you. The panic and fear of finally being caught slowly coiled around your thoughts, but when you looked at him again... You realized that was exactly what he planned. He took his phone out of his pocket, and you just knew that the phone call he was taking was a complete and utter sham.

- I apologize, I have to take this. Y/n, could you please introduce the group to the concept of homo economicus...? - he asked, moving the microphone away from his mouth, his face all worried. He should get an Oscar for that performance. And you would have to work hard on yours because currently, your mouth was drier than sandpaper. You quickly nodded, took a sip from the bottle, and stood up, while Toto was leaving the room.

It took all your self-control to keep your voice leveled and steady when gravity was actively working against you while you were speaking on a fortunately familiar topic. You tried to move as little as possible, but you couldn't just stand there motionless, trying to will a large drop of cum from sliding down your thigh, with your mind.

Eventually, it did slip out of you, and you had to make a quick decision, so you started walking around the slightly raised podium, rubbing your thighs together as much as possible and smearing your mixed release all over your skin, just so it wouldn't fall below the hem of your sundress or just straight onto the carpeted floor. The sensation wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was much better than the potential humiliation you would have to face if someone realized what happened. You just hoped that if any of that panic showed in your body language or on your face, the students would assume it was because you were stressing about speaking in front of them.

But finally, Toto came back to the room. He didn't take over straight away, though; he let you finish your thought first, while he attentively watched your every move under the pretense of listening to your words. When you ended your short lecture, he apologized again, and you could finally sit back down, and pray that the heat you felt on your face didn't translate to the redness on your cheeks. You took another sip of water, eternally grateful to the girl who gave it to you, because it was the only thing currently keeping you from bursting into flames. After a very long moment, you were finally able to focus on the stack of exams you were supposed to be grading, and you did just that until the lecture ended. You gave back the bottle to the student and sat still where you were until the last person left the room.

- You're evil... - you mumbled much quieter than you originally intended, and Toto just smiled and walked closer to you.

- And yet, you loved every second of it. - he leaned down to kiss you, and you couldn't even pretend that you were mad at him, because he was absolutely right. Without breaking the kiss, he turned your chair, so he would be able to kneel in front of you, spread your knees, and roll your dress up, so he had free access to your thighs and what was in between them.

- The door... - you said quietly, and he just grinned, pushed your chair a bit further, and followed, so his whole body was hidden by the bench in front.

- No more lectures. And if someone will come for a consult... I trust you will be able to handle it. - he said and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of your knee, and another one a little bit higher. When he got to the mess of his own doing, he dragged his tongue across your skin, cleaning the stickiness that didn't dry out only because you kept your thighs closed since you sat down.

He was slowly getting higher and higher, licking every marked patch of skin, making sure, there was no more cum on your thighs, and leaving the pleasant coldness behind. But then he moved his hands to your hips and pulled you down in the chair, so he would have easier access to your pussy.

- Relax... - he whispered almost directly against your skin and licked the outside of your folds. You didn't have any other choice than to just lean back and enjoy what was happening. You were already turned on, but this... this was different. The intimacy of his actions made you feel all soft and warm, and you slowly run your fingers through his hair, causing him to look up. You wanted to say something, but you couldn't find the right words with his tongue slowly circling your clit and finding its way to your opening from time to time. The mere look of him kneeling in front of you was intoxicating, and the fact that he was slowly summoning another wave of pleasure to wash over you was only adding to the all-consuming intensity you felt toward him.

He didn't stop until he felt your walls clenching around his tongue, and even then, he didn't retreat right away, prolonging that searing pleasure you felt all around your body. Even though your orgasm was less intense than the one he gave you during the break, your legs still felt as if they were made from cotton. You had to grab him strongly by his hair and pull him away from your core, for him to actually stop and let your body process what he just did to it.

You were physically and mentally exhausted, and if not for the fact that you were still in the classroom, you would probably just fall asleep, because the emotional drop that suddenly came over you was strong.

- I need a break... - you whispered, with your fist still clenched around his hair, and it was the only part of your body that had even a sliver of strength left in it. He gently traced his fingers down your forearm to your fingers and untangled them from his hair...

- Come here... - he said quietly and pulled you down from the chair straight onto his lap, changing the positions, so he would be able to sit on the floor with his legs straightened, and you on top of them. - You were perfect today... - he whispered, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you, and you couldn't help but hide your face in his shirt in search of familiar comfort. Sure, you two could do absolutely blasphemous things together, but in the end, he was able to take care of you in any way you needed. And after the whole day of sitting and walking on needles, you needed... this. - Absolutely divine... - he added quietly, placed a soft kiss on your temple, and kept his lips there. He allowed you to process everything that happened today at your own pace, so your brain could slowly catch up with reality and you could feel like yourself in your body again.

It took you a moment, but he was there to praise you and guide you through that path.

- You're staying with me tonight. And I'm cooking... - he stated, when you were finally able to look at him again, and you knew that disagreeing now would be a bad idea, so you just sheepishly nodded and let him help you up. - Words are still a bit hard...? - you needed a moment to think about the answer, and eventually, you nodded again, but there was no shame or fear behind your eyes.

Technically today wasn't even a hard session, but the sub-drop didn't choose, and all the emotions you were exposed to eventually had to spill over. First denial and anticipation, which already gave him control over you, then the physical overpowering when you weren't able to do anything but submit... And after that, there was fear and humiliation during the lecture, and in the and - he chose to take even more pleasure from your body, and it just became... too much.

You talked extensively about your boundaries, needs, and expectations as soon as you both realized that you wanted to pursue this type of dynamic, so you knew that if you truly wanted to stop, that option was always available. With time he learned you well enough to know what you could and couldn't endure at the moment, just by looking at you, which was both a blessing and a curse because he could push your boundaries further from your comfort zone than you thought possible. And yet, you knew that one word or gesture, and he would immediately stop. You couldn't get that trust, that feeling of safety from anyone or anything else. That's why you welcomed his arms around you; you knew that even though you couldn't find your voice at the moment, he would still be able to hear it. 

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

❪ 小薇 ❫ I’M NOT A BAD MAN : I’M JUST OVERWHELMED

— 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝚑𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝚑𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 .

𝓘ames wilson ੭୧ f! reader ┇ p in v ⋆ somno ⋆ non-con

JAMES WILSON’S larger frame drapes over you, pulling you close in your unconscious state. His warmth envelops you like a blanket of fire, the heat of his body melding into yours in a way that makes your pulse spike before your mind can even catch up. The room is hushed, every sound muted by the gravity of his presence—except for his breaths. Hot and uneven, they tease the shell of your ear, stirring the hair along your temple with a hunger that feels barely leashed. His hand tightens on your hip, fingernails leaving a trail of crescent-shaped imprints into your flesh, as if his very skin demands yours.

His cock stirs, painfully hard beneath the confines of his pants, the dull throb of arousal building into something that demands attention. Each rapid thump of his heart feeds the tension coiling tighter in his core, a steady pulse of white-hot need spreading from the pit of his stomach down to the ache between his legs. He bites down on a groan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, but the sound still claws free anyway—a feeble, borderline pathetic noise that makes him feel as though he's coming undone, thread by thread.

The image of him plunging his cock into your tight little cunt plays on an endless loop in his head, delirious and unrelenting, like the world’s worst porno he can’t turn off. It’s agonizing, this carnal itch he was powerless to soothe, a hunger gnawing at him from the inside out. And it’s your fault—cruel, unknowing, perfect you. Why did you always have to look so devastatingly, effortlessly fuckable? Even now. Even like this. He's supposed to be better than this. He swears he is better than this. Or at least, he was. But you're ruining him, turning him into something base, something unrecognizable—a mutt in heat, panting after scraps of you like his life depended on it.

With trembling hands, he shoves his pants down just enough to free himself, a stinging hitch of breath catching in his throat as the cool air hits his angry, leaking cock. It stands thick and flushed in a mess of brown, slapping against his belly with a humiliating, wet sound that reminds him of how far gone he is—and yet it only spurs him on, the tingling buzz in his ears swelling akin to static, drowning out the last whispers of reason.

His jaw locks as he carefully eases himself between your legs, gliding the slippery head of his shaft over your folds with a slow, surgical precision only a doctor could have. A weak moan betrays him when your entrance flutters helplessly, involuntarily clenching around the aching emptiness he’s yet to fill. It's a maddening kind of torture, one that leaves his knees jittery and his resolve fractured.

He hesitates, guilt rising like a bitter, choking weight in his throat. This is wrong—he knows it's wrong. You're asleep for god's sake. Sweet, innocent, and unaware, probably lost in some dream about kittens and puppies with that peaceful smile gracing your lips. But as the shame churns deep in his gut, it's quickly eclipsed by something much worse: the ugly truth—he doesn't care.

However, even at his worst, there is this tenderness in the way he moves that refuses to vanish. He wants to make you feel good—needs to, as if somehow, this could be something you’d never hate him for, no matter how far he falls. It’s a twisted kind of redemption, one that only someone like Wilson can dream about.

Slowly, he grinds into you, inch by torturous inch, flesh to flesh, your slick depths stretching to welcome him in. A shuddering sigh flees his lips as he buries himself to the hilt, reveling in how the gummy walls of your cunt clutches onto his member with an almost suffocating grip, squeezing so tightly it was as if your sleeping body wanted him here in the first place.

"Mmm... holy..." he breathes, the words faltering as they leave his lips, fragile and barely formed. "…'m sorry... I didn't want this... didn't m-mean to..." his confession splinters in the air, equal parts of guilt and lust tumbling out in hoarse murmurs, dissolving into the void with every stuttering thrust of his pelvis. Each stroke feels a perfect contradiction—a prayer answered and a sin committed, tightening his chest and clouding his mind all at once.

And then there’s you—silken, wet, and impossibly tight—wrapping around him like a second skin. Your fleshy insides mold to every pulsating ridge and vein of his cock, sucking him deeper in with the unknowing shifts of your hips. His nerves flare with a sizzling anticipation, the lewd squelch of him violating your cunt eating away at the edges of his crumbling resolve. Still, as futile as it is, he desperately clings onto what’s left of his control behind squeezed eyelids, and it takes everything in him not to spill right there—but the way his dick twitches within the deliciously, spongy muscles of your sex suggests that everything might not be enough.

After all, he's deathly afraid of crossing that final line. But in the hollow, aching pit of his chest, he knows...

He already has.

tenderness // mick schumacher

summary: soft aftercare with mick <3

authors note: first post of 2023 :)) thanks for sticking with me !!

mick has known about his gfs anxiety and vulnerability around sex since the early days of the relationship and they promised to take things slow

he’s always been the sweetest and most attentive lover in and out of the bedroom

so when she starts crying after their bout in the sheets one afternoon, his first instinct is to panic

“what’s wrong, leibling?” he says softly, using his thumb to brush away the tears

“it’s been a weird week. my emotions have been all over the place.”

snuggling into micks side, resting her head on his chest as he kisses the top of her head softly

“and the adrenaline drop isn’t helping.” he said quietly, running his fingertips over her skin

“it’s okay, schatzi. i love you, y/n. and I’ve enjoyed every minute we spent in this bed today.”

he’s flicking in his mind through this little imaginary file deck of things that they usually do together after sex and he’s trying to decide what might relax or cheer her up the most

because he’s not always okay when she’s not okay, especially if there’s nothing he can do about it

“do you want a warm shower, maybe we’ll take angie for a walk afterwards?”

“I’d really like that.” she says, tangling her fingers with his. “if I join you in the shower, do I get a scalp massage?”

warm showers have always been one of micks favourite ways to reconnect after sex

just holding her close, standing skin to skin under the warm water, massaging the aches out of her body

✨scalp massages ✨

massages are one of her absolute favourite things

massages have started many a night of passionate sex, like the afternoon they’d just had, which started with warm massage oil and a stress relieving back massage and had ended with two orgasms

but his all time favourite form of aftercare is a romantic walk with angie and his girlfriend

to him it’s the most intimate thing in the world: something as mundane and normal as walking his dog with the woman that he loves

they dress after the shower, in comfortable clothes and stolen kisses as they let angie into the bedroom

“who’s a good girl?” y/ns face brightens instantly when she sees the dog, kneeling down to scratch angie behind the ears, tail wagging furiously

it’s a perfect way to end the afternoon

walking around genolier holding his lovers hand on one hand and Angie’s leash in the other

it’s so mundane and casual, breath fogging in the air as they buy hot chocolate from a street vendor

he wouldn’t have it any other way

idk man, that vid of seb doing pushups in the am plank video makes my mouth water and pussy clench

mvm monday; bestfriend james Potter with a shyly horny-when-drunk reader!! just imagining him bluescreening n crashing when she mumbles out a gonna go touch myself now jamie, g’night

this post is 18+, minors dni.

You stand up at precisely 12:00 midnight, three hours into a party that you've drunk yourself silly at. James, who'd been sitting beside you, thigh happily pressed to your own, sends you a questioning glance, reaching out to grab the tips of your fingers as you sway slightly in place.

"Where you goin', love? Think you've had enough to drink." He looks up curiously at you, his own brain slightly fuzzy from booze.

"M'gonna go get in bed," You bend your thumb to squeeze his own fingertips, just barely not holding hands, "Gotta get up early tomorrow, 'n I wanna have enough time to masturbate."

James drops your hand. Then he goes back for it when you try to leave, lunging to catch you before you head upstairs.

"What?" He narrows his eyes, bushy brow scrunched, "What did you say, love?"

He must have misheard you, surely. After all, it's loud, the music is thrumming through his entire body, he's sure he's just mixed up your words.

"I'm horny," You whine, alcohol infecting the words that you'd never say sober, "I always get needy when I drink. So I've gotta touch m'self before I go to sleep, or I'll get all antsy."

"I- Alright..." James nods, dumbfounded. He blinks, once, twice, thrice, then lets your hand go, "Um- goodnight, love. Have a.. good time."

"I will," You giggle, leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, "Hey, Jamie? Do me a favor?"

"Uh," James flounders, not sure what he could possibly ethically offer you at a time like this, "What do you need?"

"Call me pretty," You beg, eyes wide and shiny and imploring, "I want to hear you say it so I can think about it later."

"You," James stammers, heart stuttering in his chest as his hand instinctively reaches for your cheek. He feels like he's taking advantage of you, even though you're the only one benefitting from this, and you've asked for it all.

"Uh, you're pretty. Gorgeous," He murmurs, gaze transfixed on your hazy eyes, "G'night, love."

"Night Jamie," You gush, kissing the pad of his thumb where it hovers by your mouth, and turning to head up the stairs.

Sirius rams into his back a minute later, where James is still trying to comprehend the situation. He's sure he looks possessed, standing stock still and staring at your closed door, but he doesn't care.

"Jesus, Prongs," Sirius scoffs, "Just stand in the walkway, will you?"

"She thinks about me." James informs Sirius, his voice a faraway whisper that barely hits the other man's ears, "She- she thinks about me when she..."

"When she...?" Sirius looks expectantly at James, "Plan on finishing your sentences anytime soon, big guy?"

James finally snaps back to attention, eyes almost comically wide as he looks at Sirius, "I have to go."

"Okay," Sirius chuckles, confused as James rushes for their dorms, "Hey- Hey don't run into those people!"

"What's he on about?" Remus steps up behind Sirius, and the shorter man looks back.

"Dunno," Sirius shrugs, "Mumbling something about Y/N, I think."

"So nothing new," Remus snorts, "Where is she?"

"'Think she went to bed," Sirius nods at your dorm door, still closed, "Probably passed out the second her head hit the pillow, poor thing drunk herself silly."

"James too," Remus scoffs, raising his cup to his lips, "'Guess it's nice they're equally lightweight, means they both crap out at the same time."

There's more similarities between you and James than just that, though. You're mirror images of each other in your rooms, the waistband of your pants and undergarments pressing to your thighs as your hands delve between them. You're twin sinners, each replaying the other's voice in your heads while you touch yourself, 'You're pretty. Gorgeous.' and, 'I want to hear you say it so I can think about it later'.

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

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

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

Things to note

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

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

Michael did not get in any accident here<3

Reader is 22 and Sebastian is 23

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

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Mercedes!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a little bit of cursing

Word Count: 6.4k+

Playlist Recommendations: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭💔, 𝐒𝐕𝟓

Taglist: @drugged-kitkat , @darleneslane

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it. You’re drunk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.”

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

Sebastian Vettel was your sworn enemy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?”

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not by you, I can’t.”

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

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

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

“You’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt like something was missing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knew exactly who you had to see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me? What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Us?”

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

“You did?”

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

“Look, that was a long time ago and—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Seb.” You followed suit.

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

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

Sebastian Vettel, I love you.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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

w/ john f. kennedy 18+ sexually explicit content

jack waking you up in the early hours of the morning, four maybe five am; you can feel him before you hear him, tossing in the sheets beside you, turning from that troublesome back of his to his side and then back again, seemingly adjusting and readjusting, more than few times over. you’re not nearly awake enough to care, your body simply takes notice of the divot changes in the bed - with distant awareness, your eyes remain peacefully shut.

eventually he lets out a huff, succumbing to his ache and turning over to your side, his bare body heat entering your space and radiating onto you; as he leans in, heavy and intensely warm is his breath on the hair which curtains your ear. his voice is gritty and sleep ridden, above a whisper and dripping his brahmin accent, “roll on your stomach for me.”

it takes a few fleeting seconds for the words to even register, barely conscious enough to give a hum of acknowledgement even as you oblige; messily moving and twisting in the linens to be on your frontside, stomach and chest meet the plush mattress below. with his eyes holding only a squint in the low - almost no - light room, his large hand surfs easily through all your maneuvering, finding the small of your silk nightgown covered back and following its soft seams to your equally as satiny thighs, guiding your leg to a 90 degree angle, far enough away from your other for him to fit right inbetween them.

the chill from the duvet falling away and off your body sparks your mind to awaken the tiniest bit more, as it now only comforts from your calves and below, a result of jack settling himself on his knees in the middle of your spread; keeping one hand roaming and kneading at your skin as the other sleepily fumbles to pull himself out of his boxers.

his hard-on pulses and springs out of its cotton cage immediately, its sensitivity already on high, causing him to groan in a low octave as he palms and massages the leaking pre-cum around his tip a few times as a lubricant. steadily gaining consciousness, you peer over your shoulder at him, through hooded lids; the sight of him looming large, with tousled hair and no shirt, his hand to his cock and his sleepy contorting-in-need face cause your anticipation to present in an ever so slight arching back to give him better access, and the rush of arousal liquidating in your center.

he slides your negligée up in a smooth motion, exposing all of your glory for his taking. the soft heat of his hand cupping your hip bone is a small, polite comfort, an action he does it with intent - to hold you still, to hold you close, to feel you.

your head has fallen back to the pillow and eyes have closed once again as he aligns himself with your opening; he can’t even bring himself to tease you and your rim, as he usually does, he’s much too tired, with too much of a craving to even consider playing a game. he enters slowly, his cockhead savoring your all encompassing, sleep-hot tightness. it fills your slick center fully, in deliberation, one long drawn out stroke inside that causes an involuntary soft toned-yet complete sighing moan to fall from your lips.

upon entrance, he gives another rumbling base-of-the-throat groan, with a mumble through gritted teeth, “god, that’s it…”

he’s now put both hands on each of your naked and open hips, gripping with pressure that would typically cause you to squirm, but in this moment, is the second most pleasurable sensation being inflicted upon you. he guides your hips, instead of thrusting his own - a testament to his laziness, regardless of how good he makes you feel - extending and conducting them upward, until he’s just a new centimeters from falling completely out of you.

there’s a second of pause; just a beat too long of him holding out, and as you’ve got the taste for him now, there’s a flash idea of simply pushing yourself back on him, but before you can even think it all the way through, he drags you back down, with more vigor than that first, sweet stroke.

you yelp, the squelch of his intense re-entering and hitting of your spot just perfectly fills the silent night with a pornographic mist; his breath is shaky and heavy, and though your eyes remain closed and shielded by a mix of hair and cotton from the pillow your face is buried in, you already know he has the most salacious, magnificent, strung out look on his face; knitted scrunched brows, squinting eyes, jaw slack in bliss. jack kennedy is a beautiful man, but never is he more beautiful than when he’s seven and a half inches deep inside you.

his hunger seems to overtake any exhaustion he may be experiencing, as he suddenly, almost rudely, quickens the speed at which he moves you; his fingertips burn into your skin, delightfully possessive, grasping the velvety flesh of your ass. the sensation of his relentless in and out is scorching and so filling you can’t possibly contain the noise that escapes through your mouth and nose; it’s exactly how he likes it, and if you didn’t already know it, his gnashing “c’mon, let me hear you,” is confirmation enough.

“jack,” you sigh out, your forehead digging into the memory foam as your writhe in his hedonism; as he brings you down for a particularly hard and godlike blow, striking your walls to make you see stars, your hand flies from clenching the fitted sheet below you to his hand, which remains firmly planted on your hip. your palm smacks his knuckles and in the same motion, your thumb hooks under his pointer finger, which only just gives way for you; it’s such a small, seemingly insignificant, act of intimacy, but somehow bridges a gap between you both.

“i know,” he answers, panting and moaning - but he doesn’t actually, because truthfully, you don’t know either. saying his name just feels right.

as you tighten the hold of his hand, and he never once falters, you for some reason have the inappropriately timed thought of all the hands that have shook this one - from the greatest political figures of the time to the average american citizen, they’ve all touched it, cradled it, savored it - and yet, none know of it’s perversion and dirtiness, that you are the one to ultimately own it. it’s this hand that shall mark your body time and time again, completely yours.

your hips begin to move on their own, circling as he heaves them up and down, making sure his tip to shaft reaches every bit of you. his head falls back, now in true heaven, and just as you feel yourself reaching a head, he pants out, “baby…”

baby, a name you only ever hear right as he’s about to cum, indicates to keep going as you’ve been - the pace he’s chosen works in perfect harmony with your grinding, “please, jack.”

everything within yourself suddenly pulls to your center and pushes downward as you reach your climax, unapologetic about the obscene sound pouring from you; the knot in at the bottom of your stomach unravels as a rush of pleasure runs up your back and throughout the whole of your body. jack follows immediately after, bucking up into you with fervor, pulsing and twitching inside you while releasing angelic whimpers only you get to hear.

you both remain still for a passing moment, catching your breaths and reveling in the practical porn you just partook in. jack removes himself from you after less than a minute, nothing short of typical for him; you hiss at the feeling, going from full to barren allows the cold to take jack’s place within you. he takes another second-long pause before reaching down and tenderly kissing where his hands have no doubt bruised you - each side of your body gets a drawn out pressing of his lips, nothing short of atypical for him.

he mumbles something that sounds distantly like an i love you, before climbing off the bed entirely, and shuffling to the en-suite bathroom of your shared bedroom. not long after the light has flickered on and the bathroom door has been pushed but not closed entirely, you hear the shower head spurt on and the curtain draw; jack begins his day, leaving you to the tranquility of bed, as he continues to spill out from you in a stream while returning to sleep.

lacy says. hiiiii

do you have that pic of mark and jenson clasping hands but seb’s hand is just… in the middle??? bc i’ve been wracking tumblr trying to find it but i can’t!!!

Anon, I am so honored that you came and asked me 🙏 So I instinctively thought of Singapore 2011 because I remembered Seb standing btwn them, and I really hope this is what you're looking for BECAUSE I'VE NEVER SEEN THIS PIC BEFORE OHMYGODDDDD

I'm staring at this.....the size difference..........I appreciate you asking me this bcs I never even realized that this happened when I was watching this post-race

in another universe, you were a good dad; someone i could be proud of