Good Afternoon To Toto’s Forearm

accidentally referencing them as "my" with max please!

what are we doing here? - MV1

The only clear thing between you and Max is that neither of you knew what you were.

Friends? Very close friends? Situationship? Love each other but afraid to make a move?

So many ways to describe it, but still moving between blurred lines, where you snuck out of his hotel room before someone came knocking on the door to wake him up or brief him as he got ready to leave, going out with your friends to a bar where you'd start acting as close friends, but as alcohol started burning your throats and clouding your judgement, his arm found home around your shoulders and your head nuzzled on his neck, loving how he shivered and smiled whenever your lips curled up at something you said or left a quick kiss on his neck.

Everybody knew there was something going on, and no, your friends knew it wasn't just kissing and sneaking around, it was deeper, something that neither you nor Max were willing to accept and act on it.

Months went by and it didn't change. You were exclusive, the thought of looking at someone else didn't cross your mind, but the mere idea of Max sharing time and space with beautiful women from all around the world, it was mind boggling for you.

Unbeknownst to you, Max felt the same rush of blood to his head whenever someone in the paddock started a conversation with you, standing a little too close for his liking, knowing his male equals enough to be sure they wanted to have you to themselves, and he couldn't do anything to stop that.

Well, he could do one thing, but for him it wasn't even a possibility, not wanting to leave the small paradise you had created, with no problems, no labels, no feelings... he'd be damned if he vocalized that it was a problem not having you to himself every day with no excuse, just calling you by your name like he was any other man in your life, and if he expressed his feelings were beyond a simple friendship, he wanted it all.

And so did you, you wanted to walk hand in hand with Max and it being familiar, not getting surprised looks. you wanted for him to claim you just like he had claimed your heart and body. you craved for him to look for you after a race, holding his helmet and symbolically kissing his lips in front of every camera, every screen who was watching.

All those thoughts were wandering as the both of you were talking before the race, with his fireproofs hanging low on his waist and you trying to fix a loose strand of hair, not caring that it was futile since he'd be putting on his helmet in no time.

Then, a woman you had barely crossed paths with came along, giving Max a tight hug and wishing him good luck, telling him to not go too crazy on the track for the sake of her husband.

Huh.

"Oh, i have seen you so many times before and we haven't been introduced! Max what are you waiting for?" Geri Halliwell, beautiful and elegant as ever, asked Max who was caught off guard.

The words left Max's lips without a second thought, a worry, and it felt so natural: "This is (Y/N), she's my girl,"

My girl.

He didn't even flinch, placing his hand on your waist as Geri kept commenting you were such a good looking couple, complemented each other so well, that you must be so proud, and you really were, everyone could see it.

"I'll leave you both, but I'll find you sweetheart on the garage when the race starts and the boys go do their thing, okay?" Geri said to you, leaving you a bit dumbfounded but agreeing to what she said, leaving you and Max.

His hand didn't leave you waist, it only changed its position as you turned to face him.

"I'm your girl?" Your head tilted a bit, trying to read his expression.

His cheeks flushed and he was insecure for the first time, his blue eyes avoiding yours, but lovingly accepting when your hand found its place on his cheek. "I like it, how it sounds,"

In the middle of loud noises, screens full of statistics and people calling for Max, you took his hand in yours and left a chaste kiss on his lips before sending him off to get ready and get in the car.

For the first time, Max wanted the race to be over as soon as possible, adrenaline rushing but not because of the vibrations of the car and crowds cheering, but because of what was waiting for him after the finish line.

his girl.

rules for my page

only for viewers over the age of 18

requests are always open

minors dni

prize

{toto wolff x fem!reader x lewis hamilton}

in which toto gifts lewis his most prized possession

warnings: smut with no plot in sight, threesome sex, free-use/sharing, blowjobs/intense deep throating with some references to light gagging + choking / hand over throat and swallowing, voyeurism/exhibitionism with m!masturbation, fingering, unprotected + risky/irresponsible sex, some vague dom/sub controlling dynamics with use of “sir” + “good girl”, some dirty talk, possessive behaviour and ownership talk that is concerning to feminism.

a/n: sometime last year, I was writing something that was so dirty I wanted to create an entirely new blog so I wouldn’t be associated with it. This is the fic that spurred that impulse. i promise I don’t usually write filth like this, but I was possessed by the need to get this out of my system.

They got you splayed out flat on the huge bed that sits in the middle of the hotel room, your tight skirt hiked up to your hips, legs spread. The taller man stands in front of you, a balled fist under his chin as he contemplates how delicious you look, naked and wet for him and his prized, 7-time (or 8, depending on who you ask) world champion who’s still in disbelief, having come straight from his most recent podium finish.

“See, Lewis,” Toto’s deep voice reverberates through the room, making your skin pebble with awareness of its sensual timbre, “I told you I’d get you a fitting prize for your win today.”

Lewis’ eyes glint with amusement, tongue flicking out to swipe over his bottom lip that’s still sticky with champagne. “She’s so pretty, Toto. She yours?”

“Mmmm.” He nods in agreement, reaching over to slide his hand up the soft curve of your inner thigh, making you shiver with want. His hands are so big and warm as they inch up to cup your pussy between your legs, pressing into you with skilful, familiar hands that have you bucking up into his sensual touch. Those long, elegant fingers stroke between your folds, teasing you until you cry out and beg, “please, Toto!”

He withdraws instantly, and you groan from the loss of his touch. When he speaks, it’s unbearably deep and authoritative. “What did you just call me?”

“I’m s-sorry,” you whimper, feeling the shame burn in your cheeks, “p-please… sir.”

He crooks a grin at you, voice still holding traces of his stern discipline. “That’s much better.”

And with that admission, he licks his fingers, already wet with you, so that they’re even slicker so he can push them into you, curling up and rubbing that perfect spot inside you that’s got you arching, undulating against his hand. Toto’s smile widens when he feels your walls clenching around his fingers, endeavouring to slide a third finger inside the tight squeeze of you. He darts a look at Lewis, as if ready to issue orders over a team radio, and Lewis is so quick on the uptake, understandingly perfectly what Toto wants and starts stripping himself from fashionably loose top. He’s beautiful - so muscular and taut everywhere, and deliciously hard where it matters most. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way his fingers - tattooed, long, elegant - peel his clothes away with such a finesse.

“Make him feel so good with your mouth,” comes Toto’s order, his fingers still working you, and you twist up into the pleasurable rhythm of his touch, and the prospect of obeying him, of getting to taste his champion whom you’ve had your eye on for longer than you cared to admit.

Lewis steps forward, not shy in the very least, but you sense his apprehension in crossing this line with you tonight. That, you think, won’t do at all. He needs to know you want this - you’re eager to show him how happy everyone is after his victory - how pleased Toto in particular is.

Toto can be very generous with his gifts when he wants to be. And you never want to disappoint.

Your tongue licks Lewis’ dick from the base all the way to the tip, tracing the vein that runs across his cock so beautifully. He makes such encouraging sounds as you worship him with your mouth, with kisses and long sweeps of your tongue, until he’s fully hard, and he’s got his hands cupped at the back of your head with gentle persuasion.

“Such a good girl. Showing him what your mouth can do, hm?” Toto slides his thumb over your clit, rubbing a sinister, torturous little pattern that makes you moan as you gaze up at Lewis, watching his eyes go half-lidded with desire as you take his cock further into your mouth, swallowing around him. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Toto praises, fuelling your desire to please him and Lewis even more. “That’s my good girl.”

You suck Lewis in your mouth so deep that you have to concentrate to suppress your gag reflex. His lips part, eyes darkening as you reach for his hip and pull him even further inside you, until he’s past the tight squeeze of your throat and you choke slightly, eyes watering from the sensation of him buried in you fully. This blowjob, coupled with Toto’s relentless fingers fucking you, teasing you until you’re mindless, makes you gasp out, making rough noises of struggle as you grow overwhelmed with the sensations they’re building inside you.

Lewis brushes away the stray tears that fall from your eyes, pulling back slightly to ease your discomfort. “You look so fucking pretty like this…” he says, flicking his tongue over his lower lip.

You whimper, pushing back to find that satisfying girth of his cock, the pressing it to the back of your throat again, and this time it makes his dick throb. You gag slightly, the sound making Toto hum encouragingly, and so you take more and hold back the reflex that’s pushing his cock out. You keep Lewis in the squeeze of your throat for long seconds, until he’s swearing, pulling out desperately because it feels too good, and you’ll make him want to come too quickly. You can taste the musky sweetness of his precum all over your tongue when he slides out, his cock a mess with your saliva.

“Fuck.” He says, eyes shiny, staring at you with an incredulity that feels like the best form of flattery.

“Got her all ready for you, Lewis.” Toto withdraws his fingers and, with a wry little smile on his face, draws P1 in your own wetness in the blank canvas of your inner thigh, and Lewis traces it with his own fingers, his face aglow with pride at the memory of his victory.

“On your back, pretty girl,” Lewis says, and you hurry to comply. He gets on top of you, his warmth engulfing you. You tip your head back to watch Toto press his palm over the bulge at his pants, as if to ease the ache there, and you whimper, reaching out for him.

Toto shakes his head, settling into the chair he pulls up next to the bed to watch you two. “You’re all his tonight, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, flushing at the thought of Toto sharing you so freely, especially when he’s ordinarily so possessive. You turn back to look at Lewis, who’s so handsome especially up close, and you wind your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss that’s tentative, sweet - showing Toto exactly what he’s missing out on tonight. Lewis deepens the kiss with a hand cupped to your jaw, and you moan when his tongue slides against yours - you know he can taste himself on your tongue.

At the side of the room, you hear Toto unzip his pants, and when you turn to look, Lewis pulls your face back to him. “Eyes on me,” he says, a tad sharply, and you shiver at the authority you hear in his voice, “you’re mine tonight, remember?”

You swallow, feeling heat rush to your cheeks at the thought of fully surrendering to him. He rubs his nose against yours, and you exhale at the feel of his soft lips coming to kiss you again - this time, it’s this intoxicating, drug-like thing that makes you dizzy with want. “Lewis,” you beg, stroking your hands down his smooth back, feeling the shift of his muscles underneath your touch. “Yes. All yours.”

Lewis pulls back from the kiss - raises his eyebrows. And you bite down on your bottom lip, knowing exactly what he wants.

You take a steadying breath, before telling him, “I’m all yours - sir.”

At the side, you can hear Toto’s hitched breath, as if he finds this transgressive act of you calling Lewis the name you reserve only for Toto so unbearably, ridiculously arousing. Behind that, the sound of his hand coming to stroke his cock with teasing slowness - as if he wants to savour this - to prolong this.

Lewis smiles into your kiss, his hands now gliding across your thigh, guiding you to wrap around his hips so that he can be so close to you - his prize. His cock is so hard against your belly, but he seems content to grind up slowly against you - letting the heat build in torturous laps. You whimper in frustration, pushing back into him, the ache between your legs too much to ignore any longer. “So impatient,” he teases, “are you this whiny with Toto?”

“Worse,” Toto says, the low rumble of his voice an erotic reminder that he’s relinquished you tonight. “She’s always so fucking eager for it.”

Lewis chuckles, letting his hand wander past the slope of your thigh, up to your slick folds that part easily for his fingers. You gasp when he finds your clit, making messy circles as his free hand finds the curve of your breast to cup its weight, tease your nipple into an even stiffer point. You arch your back, bucking into his touch. “So good for me,” he murmurs, glancing over at Toto now, and you follow his gaze, meeting your boyfriend’s eyes and seeing them glazed over with affection, with yearning, with an arousal that you’ve never quite seen before. Toto’s hand’s gripping his cock in twisting, deft strokes. Your belly tightens, jaw going slack as you watch, hypnotised, feeling yourself tip past the point of no return, having Lewis’ fingers on your clit, watching Toto touch himself to this - you come all too easily, melting into the sheets with endless shudders and a wet rush over Lewis’ fingers. You can’t help the mess you make, and judging from the look on Toto and Lewis’s face - they can’t help admiring it.

“Don’t keep her waiting, Lewis,” Toto says, an order that’s clearly for his own benefit too. From the way his breathing’s gone ragged, a flush spreading down the open collar of his button down shirt, you know he wants to come, too.

Lewis nods, keeping his eyes on his boss as he whispers into your ear, “he likes to watch, huh?”

You grin at him. “Turn me over and fuck me, and you’ll find out just how much he likes it.”

Lewis laughs. He’s left the skin along your belly sticky with precum, from where his cock’s been grinding against you, and you feel an answering pull to have him make more of a sticky mess all over you. Inside you.

He turns you over gently in his hands, until you’re on your belly, in direct view of Toto. Facing him.

Toto winks at you, and stills his hand. You lick your lips and gaze at the erection in his lap, already beaded with moisture from the tip. Fuck, you mouth to him, and from the way he smirks, you know he feels the exact way you do now.

Lewis slides a hand in your hair and tugs, making you cry out in surprise. He kisses your cheek, and you wriggle back into his cock, sliding it along the cleft of your ass. Back and forth. Toto spits into his hand and you watch him drag the shiny smear across his cock with fascination. “Need you, sir,” you say, unable to distinguish exactly who you’re talking about - because maybe it’s not just Toto or Lewis - but somehow both, fulfilling exactly what you want. What you need.

Lewis tightens his grip in your hair, guiding his cock with his free hand to the slippery heat he finds between your legs now. You spread your legs for him, unable to keep at bay the shameless wanting you feel - intensified only by the fact that Toto’s watching you two, touching himself to this.

Lewis gazes at Toto with a keen eye, as if needing that final push towards the finish line, an extra injection of assurance and confidence, and all Toto does is to give the most subtle of nods, and to tell him, “go on, Lewis.” He grins in a way that befits his name - teasingly wolfish. “Push, push.”

Lewis hums, “understood.” And he does. Oh he fucking does - pressing thick and hot into you, with a grunt that you echo as well. He feels so solid inside you, and it almost aches to have him fill you up. Your face scrunches up with that ecstasy of feeling all of him and you grip the sheets while you breathe through this new sensation.

Above you, Lewis is pressed against your back, practically vibrating with energy. You clench around him when Toto groans softly, squeezing at the head of his cock until a tantalising drip of precum leaks out. You want to lick it all up, and the look in Toto’s eyes promises you that you can - later.

Lewis sucks in a breath, and starts to move inside you, using the grip he has in your hair as leverage to fuck you deeper, rougher. You cry out with each thrust he makes, keeping your eyes on Toto the whole time, the lines of his face becoming more pronounced when he’s this turned on. “Such a good girl,” he says, and you bask in his praise, tightening around Lewis in a way that makes him groan.

Lewis rewards you with kisses littered along your shoulders, your neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot that makes you melt into the bed as you exhale a trembly breath for him.

“You can bite, too,” Toto chimes in, and your whole body goes taut - he looks so smug, being so thoroughly in tune with your body that he knows what you need even before you need it. You could come like this, to Toto’s open adoration of you and Lewis together, to his orders, to the way Lewis fucks into you with the perfect balance of roughness and tender care. Lewis is no fool - he’ll take every advantage that’s offered by his boss. He snaps up the instruction with ease, sinking his teeth into your nape and sucking at the soreness he leaves. You moan, desperate now because your body feels like it doesn’t belong to you any longer, it’s so molten-hot - pure liquid desire fissioning through you. Toto’s fingers speed up now, and you want him and the rewards he’ll give you later, when Lewis is gone.

“You know he saved it all up for you,” Toto’s voice turns conspiratorial, “he doesn’t fuck before a race.”

You turn to look up at Lewis - his sparkly, pretty eyes, the determination underscored in them, and lean up to kiss him. He deserves this so much - his patience paying off incredibly well. “Don’t stop…” you whisper between the kiss, and Lewis nods, chasing your mouth with his, sucking on your bottom lip. “Don’t stop until you get what you want. What you deserve, sir.”

He pulls back, eyes bright and eager with possibility. He uses that hand in your hair to turn you back to Toto, leaning in to echo the same words Toto issued just moments earlier. “Go on baby,” Lewis whispers, mischievous now, “show him what your mouth can do.”

You gasp. “Holy fuck - yes.”

Toto grins with delight, like Lewis’d just overtaken two cars in a tight corner. He gets up and you don’t waste time obeying - getting what you’d been wanting all evening - taking his cock between your lips now, sucking him in a way that you know he likes. He fills your mouth like no other, and you swallow around him, wanting nothing more than his cum on your tongue, on your face. Lewis doesn’t stop fucking you, hips snapping into yours eagerly, purposefully, and it’s delicious, the dual sensation of being filled at two ends.

Lewis gently eases your head down into Toto’s cock, and you relax your throat, swallowing and breathing slowly until he’s lodged firmly in the tight column. Toto grunts - he likes this, and ordinarily you can’t hold it for too long, but you’re eager to please, to keep this pleasurable for him. For Lewis.

But then Lewis moves his hand from your hair to your throat, and your eyes widen as you realise what he’s doing - trailing fingers along the bulge that Toto’s cock makes in your neck, as if he’s fascinated by how hot it is, how tight your throat must feel, and you start to shake - it’s too much to be touched like this. You pull back instantly, catching your breath, feeling an answering wet rush between your legs.

Your face feels hot when Toto tenderly strokes it, wiping away some of the spit that gathers along your chin, and you nuzzle into his large hand, feeling so comforted. “You liked that,” he observes, and you readily nod.

Lewis grins, wrapping a hand lightly around your throat now. “Can you do it again, sweetheart?”

You make a rough little noise and nod, and this time when you take Toto down your throat again, you know Lewis feels it go in, the same bulge that has you swallowing around, struggling to contain all of Toto’s cock inside you. This feels so hot to you, a challenge that you’re willing to conquer because it gets Toto flustered, that icy control he always has seeming to fracture at the edges when you’re this dirty for him.

Lewis moans, and you tighten around him. He’s going to come. You’re going to come. And Toto… he’s losing control. Fast. Pulling back the slightest before thrusting once into your open mouth now, and-

He swears, and shudders.

The hot spurt of him comes so quick, you’re caught off guard. But you hold him deep inside as much as you can, only pulling back slightly as his cock throbs and he makes this erotically-charged moan when he coats the back of your throat, his eyes never leaving yours as you swallow, suppressing the reflex to gag. He looks so wrecked with ecstasy that you can’t wait to do this again.

Lewis continues to fuck into you, biting your shoulder as if needing to find a distraction, reaching between your legs to drag some of your shared wetness over your clit so he can rub it in messy, desperate circles. You thrash against him as you pull off from Toto’s cock with a satisfying gasp of breath, filling with relief from the ache in your throat and jaw. Lewis murmurs hotly into your skin, “so pretty, fuck… so incredibly good for us,” and you’re shivering now, wanting to having him spill into you with such a savage desire that you push back urgently into him.

“Gonna come,” you warn him, and he groans in return, not stopping for a goddamn moment, letting you ride the momentum you need, that he needs.

Toto cups your face, panting, letting you peer up at him. “God, you’re going to come so hard for him, aren’t you?”

You whine almost pathetically. He’s right. He’s so fucking right.

The orgasm crashes into you with thunderous force, and you cry out hoarsely into Toto’s hands, tears and agonised pleasure written all over your face. The room echoes with your mingled scream of Toto’s name, of Lewis’, with a “sir” and “holy fucking shit” thrown in for good measure. You come and don’t stop coming until Lewis himself is moaning, shoving into you erratically and spilling himself into you. Risky. Reckless. Fucking hot.

You wonder if Toto will make him clean you up, and the thought makes you shiver. You collapse against each other - breathlessly satiated.

The exhaustion that sets in after is profound, but there’s something inherently satisfying in having Lewis pull you over to the centre of the bed, while Toto climbs in at the side, sandwiching you between him and Lewis while he hands you water that you sip at, gratefully, before passing it over to Lewis.

Toto looks so fucking proud of the two of you, as if it’s a shared podium, and he tells you this in the soft kisses he makes at the sore points of your throat and jaw, licking tenderly as if to soothe over the ache. “You did so well,” he murmurs, but there’s no telling if he’s talking only to you, or to Lewis as well. There’s a faint rumble in his chest when you make appreciative noises for his gentle aftercare. His hands stroke over your bare hip, the curve of your waist, and you whimper softly, curling into him. Lewis snuggles in too, spooning you into Toto, sleepily nuzzling his face into your hair, dreaming, you imagine, of future podiums with you and Toto.

—

so happy to purge this fic from my system!! quite a different vibe from the last Lewis & Toto fic I wrote. also yes, I know this wasn’t the threesome that was promised but my Charlos one will be up as soon as I can manage it!

been thinking a lot about threesomes these days if I’m honest. That threesome poll really got me thinking 👀

would love to hear what you thought of this, if you’d be so kind 💛

love ives ✨

masterlist

f1 tropes that I daydream about

a/n: yes, i have d.l.s (dilf lover syndrome)

— dilf!jenson crushing on a younger reader. keeping things appropriate when he’s ripping his skin off inside. reader being this cheeky gal, playing innocent just to push his buttons. (wink) jokes aside, I just know that the tension is pregnant in the air. imagining wearing a dress he loves to a house party, he just needs to whip you out to a bathroom.

— princess treatment everyday from mr. button himself. hands on your waist, rubbing it in circles, keeping your skirt from rolling too high (in public) ‘darling’ just feels to wrong yet so right.

— teenage dirtbag!jenson going to frat parties and ended up crashing at your place. trying to be civilized and give him a proper treatment. while unbuttoning his shirt, he got it the wrong way (very much to your liking- and y’know what happens next 😉)

— dilf jenson, finding his pregnant reader and his dogs cuddling together. (I hate pregnancy trope but gah daium)

— rbr!sebastian being this meanie he always is, treating everyone like a fucking dick except reader. (or it could go another way that he treats reader like a fucking dick until tension explodes and they found themself in a compromising 😉 situation at a party, drunk and intoxicated. room screaming of sex.) long run is, reader felt like a fucking piece of meat, seb running after her to prove her wrong. princess treatment, darling, spoiling, you name it.

— your favorite german brat, being all slutty and flirty to his grid boyfriend (button/jenson) and you get jealous, pulling him for a heated kiss in the cool down room. seb just grinning to the kiss, tugging your hair harder.

— rbr!seb being all obsessed with his younger assistant/manager, can’t take her seriously for fuck’s sake. smiling like a fucking idiot even when she’s mad at him, so she just kiss him stupid to get him into his senses.

— sugardaddy!mark 😔🤭 he’s just your dumb himbo/dilf paying for your attention/happiness (fuck you to who ever say money can’t buy happiness) you got him wrapped around your fingers, girlbossing him all you want. (and he’s happy with it) until you fiddled too much with his patience (in a good way) he finally thinks he has to teach you some lessons and proves who actually wears the pants. 😉

— dilf!webber visiting your family’s house for a bbq. being the aussie he is, got assigned to take care of the grill, while you walk around in your promiscuous little dress. killing him in every way known to man.

— carlos sainz and innocent kink is my favorite McCombo. being a simp for you with his big brown eyes, what ever you say pretty boy. but just so you know that can corrupt you whenever he wants.

feel free to use them, write them, daydream- tag me if you made something 🤭🤭

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slowly lean closer to his ear whispering:

“Can you help me, maxie?”

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

“What?” He mumbles back.

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

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

“Wanna go?”

He nods.

"still?" "always."

Finnick Odair x hijacked!reader who asks what's real or not real [2k words]

summary: a District Thirteen reunion story heavily inspired by the brilliant @ervotica's fic 'a life of our own' & @/ilguna's 'hijacked'! Reader was tortured much like Peeta was into fearing Finnick, finding her playing the game 'real or not real'

CW: fem!reader, discussion of past torture [not described], reader tortured into believing Finnick did abhorrent and disgusting things to her [not described], medical personnel acting as villains sort of, hurt/comfort, hopeful/open ending

Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book that he brought with him to your hospital room every day which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop. 

Routine was a word that came to dictate much of Finnick’s life recently; stability. Ritualized schedules were the norm in District Thirteen. But more importantly, routine, stability, and ritualized schedules were deemed necessary and important to your recovery. 

Thus, Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book - the same paperback book - that he brought with him to your hospital room every day - at the exact same time - which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop. 

He’d been following more or less the same routine ever since you’d been rescued from the Capitol a few weeks ago, though Finnick could admit visiting you felt slightly better now than it had in the beginning. 

The beginning had been nothing short of heartbreaking for him. The beginning had been nothing short of torturous for you. 

There’d been a hunch in place of hard evidence that the lot of you were being tortured in the Capitol, though to what extent no one knew. And absolutely no one was prepared for what awaited them by the time the three of you were safe in District Thirteen.

Peeta had promptly tried to off Katniss which was very off brand of him; Johanna’s head had been shaved, she was emaciated, and had a plethora of evidence of gruesome physical torture, and you…

You weren’t filled with the same loathing, hatred, and disgust that Peeta seemed to carry for Katniss. No, you were completely and utterly terrified. 

Medics had to sedate you when Finnick rushed into the room upon hearing of your arrival because you’d thrown yourself against the wall so violently you’d split your head open, then nearly ripped your nails clean off your fingers in your desperation to open a locked door in an attempt to escape from him. And if that hadn’t been devastating enough, the sounds of your guttural screams and desperate cries caused by him still haunted many of Finnick’s nightmares.

Finnick had been hesitant to return to you after that; he didn’t want to ever cause you that much distress again. 

Haymitch tried to reason with him; Finnick wasn’t the one causing you this much distress, it was the Capitol. The medics tried to reason with him; it was to be considered exposure therapy, they hoped that - over time - as you regained some familiarity and comfort with him and worked through your memories and trauma with the doctors that you’d start to remember.

He reluctantly agreed. So, he was horrified when, the first day he returned, you’d been strapped down to your bed in preparation for his meeting. 

“This is sick!” He’d shouted at the medics as he gestured at your current state. “This isn’t exposure therapy, this is torture!”

“Mr. Odair, the hope is that once she begins to realize there’s no need to fight or run, we’ll be able to take the restraints off.” One of them explained in a bored manner. 

“Fuck whatever you’re hoping for! You’re torturing her; she’s not going to feel any safer here than she did in the Capitol!” 

They’d tried calling after him, but he simply looked over at you and offered a pathetic “I’m sorry, honey” that you probably hadn’t heard over your own desperate wails before he fled.

The next day he returned, you hadn’t been strapped down, but you had been heavily medicated with some kind of sedative before his arrival. He swallowed around the bile in his throat as he took a seat in one of the chairs, pretended to read his book and tried his hardest to ignore the extremely wary and haunted gaze that stayed glued to his side for the entirety of his visit. 

The third visit went much the same, except about halfway through his scheduled ‘visit’, he noticed that your eyes seemed to fall extremely heavy. 

“Are you tired, sweetheart?” He murmured quietly, though you would have thought he’d screamed at you with the way you bodily flinched and your eyes snapped open. 

He just continued watching you as you fought to convince your heart to return to its normal tempo, slowly, cautiously nodding your head yes to his question when you seemed to realize he was earnest in his question. 

“Would you like me to leave so you can get some rest?” 

Your brows furrowed ever so subtly, eyes darting across his face as you searched for any hidden meaning or potential threat. 

You must not have found one. 

“Please.” You whispered, and - though it was still but a whisper -  it was the first time he had heard your voice since the Quarter Quell that wasn’t shrieking and sobbing in fear, causing a lump to form in his throat.

“Okay, honey, I’ll go.” He whispered back, smiling at you through tears as he stood and swiftly left the room, hardly closing the door fully behind him before he let out a sob. 

Over the weeks, you began finding your own routine and schedule outside of the time you spent working with doctors and medics. You were hardly ever seen without your journal on your person, and one of your doctors explained to Finnick that you were beginning to compile notes to differentiate between things you knew, things that you didn’t know, and what was real or not real. Many times, Finnick could find you working in your journal when he arrived, and though you still managed to keep a concerned eye on him at any given point and your body never fully relaxed while he was there, he was grateful you were becoming more or less accustomed to his company. 

And then one day he showed up to your room to find one wall completely transformed into a giant drawing board. The board was divided into two equal sides; one side was labelled REAL and one side was labelled NOT REAL. The only thing that had been written down so far was on the NOT REAL side, which read “Finnick did not set you up and leave you there to die.”

“She’s been struggling to sleep without the aid of sedatives; she wakes up quite violently from nightmares, struggling to differentiate between what is real and what is not, even when we’re standing right there in front of her.” One of the medics told him. “We tried once to have her look through her journal, but she threw it across the room and told us to get away from her. We thought maybe having a very large visualization in front of her in her own writing would be helpful to tether her to reality upon waking.” 

And that seemed all well in good, but Finnick found himself sick over some of the things the Capitol had convinced you he was guilty of more than once. 

But, if this is what you needed, if this was helping you, Finnick would stomach it, no questions asked. 

So, Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book that he brought with him to your hospital room every day which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop. 

He knocked twice gently on your door before stepping inside, watching as you stepped quickly away from the board and hid the marker and eraser behind your back as if you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to, watching Finnick as though you were waiting for him to attack. 

“Hi, honey.” He greeted quietly, nodding politely at you before he pulled out his chair and took his place, flipping his book open to an arbitrary page as he pretended to read. 

You didn’t move; your feet seemed to be glued to the spot as you watched Finnick pretend to not be watching you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had missed your gaze, quite selfishly, and found that while the atmosphere wasn’t exactly relaxed, he was happy enough just to have your eyes on him again. 

Finnick wasn’t sure how much time had passed before you ended up breaking the silence.

“F…Finnick?” You asked, barely above a whisper; question so quiet that Finnick was sure if he hadn’t only been pretending to read, he would have missed it entirely.

You sounded as though you were trying his name out for size, just to see how it felt on your tongue. Finnick missed the days when you used to squeal his name in laughter, or groan his name in frustration, or call his name in excitement. But even though it came out cautious and stilted, he didn’t think he’d ever heard as pretty a sound as the sound of his name falling from your lips. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” He asked eagerly, fighting to keep his tone, face, and body language calm as he saved his ‘place’ with a finger and leaned forward in his chair, resting his knees on his elbows. 

You swallowed thickly and fiddled with the marker in your hands as you stole yourself to speak. “Can I ask you something?” 

He wanted to be an ass; he wanted to say ‘you just asked me two things’, he wanted to whoop and holler at finally having an actual conversation with you after weeks of finally having you back, yet not really having you back at all. 

Instead, all he said was “of course.”

You cleared your throat before gaining the courage to ask what he heard as “you love me; real, or not real?” 

Finnick wasn’t sure an answer had ever come to him so fast. “Real.”

You seemed somewhat surprised by his answer even though it was clearly the answer you’d been expecting. After a few moments, you simply nodded at him before turning back to your drawing board’s REAL side. 

Finnick loved me you wrote, adding bullet points underneath it...

He told me so

He acts like it

Gut feeling

...is what you cited as proof to this revelation. Finnick wanted to weep. A gut feeling; you were still in there, somewhere. There was still a version of you that knew deep down that Finnick loved you.

“It’s not quite right, honey.” He offered softly, fighting the urge to smile when you turned at his interruption, yet didn’t flinch at the sound of his voice as you often did. You simply looked at him in confusion. 

“Do you mind if I make a minor adjustment?” He asked as he carefully placed his book on your empty bed and slowly stood, holding his hands out in ask. 

You looked between him and the marker and eraser in your hands before holding them out for him; an invitation. 

Finnick smiled at you as he slowly walked towards you, hyper focused on remaining as unthreatening as possible as he gently took the items from you, careful not to touch you unnecessarily. 

He moved to the REAL side of the board, using the edge of the eraser to remove the d from the end of loved and replacing it with an s. The sentence now - properly - read Finnick loves me. 

“There, now it’s perfect.” He offered you with another smile as he held the items back out to you, gently placing them in your hands when you held them open for him before he turned back towards his chair, retrieved his book, and sat back down. 

Your eyes stayed glued on the correction he made to your board as the marker and eraser hovered uselessly midair; moments dragging on before your arms finally lowered to your sides. 

Finnick didn’t bother pretending to read, so when you turned to look at him - face full of confusion, curiosity, concern, and what looked to be devastation - you found him already looking at you. 

“Still?” You asked, voice cracking painfully as a heavy tear fell down your face. 

And if Finnick thought that no answer had ever come faster to him before, he was sorely mistaken. 

“Always.” He promised.

Someone please tell me how I can clone 2013 Seb and proceed to marry him

Oh She's Mine - Max Verstappen

Summary: Max finds himself with a crush on his substitute race engineer but will she shake his form or keep him on track with his trajectory, or maybe they'll be the most cohesive race engineer and driver pairing so far.

Themes: slightly-mean!Max followed by obsessive!Max

Edit: No part 2 requests please

Initially Max wasn't eager for GP to be replaced if only for a couple weekends due to GP needing some time off due to some matters to do with his family. But when he was introduced to her on Wednesday, the young woman was familiar. He'd seen her around the factory and even seen her which GP.

"So you're going to help me win a race?" Max questions once they're left in each others company and she doesn't miss the doubt in his tone about her abilities.

"You think they're trust me with this job if they thought I couldn't?" Y/n shoots back but she's visibly flustered over it. Upset or embarrassed Max can't quite tell.

"I think you need to prove it." Max shrugs earning a thick swallow before she turns and tries to actually handle this as she figures is the right way. Just get on with the job, do what a race engineer does.

Max continued to find no end of entertainment through watching her stutter and stumble through talking to him. There's been exchange glances between the other engineers and mechanics noticing Max's slightly unhinged approach to speaking to the substitute race engineer.

But when the time comes for her to really step up onto the pitfall for FP1, a test to see if she can handle the role. Max almost finds himself shocked at the difference of her confidence and tone.

He does decide to keep his slightly flirtier and more non-f1 related comments off of the radio channel.

But once he's out there do a debrief and then once they step out y/n finds herself almost cornered by the champion.

"You surprised me." Max admits watching her face contort to a frown.

"I'm not so terrible at my job that you have to keep declaring you won't listen to me?" Y/n questions crossing her eyes but avoiding looking him directly in the eye. "We have to go over some things before FP2."

"Please, lead the way." Max smirks back to his usual persona that he's grown to have with the young woman.

Y/n tries to keep herself from losing focus when it comes to Max standing so close to her as they speak that he is actually completed pressed to her side. She wishes she was doing a better job at hiding her smile when he makes certain comments but there's something about his presence which is stopping her from feeling so uncomfortable. Even if he's not the nicest man on the planet to her.

Her reprieve comes in the form of FP2.

"You two seem to have hit things off." Hugh comments as she moves up onto the pit wall for the practice.

"Well I think FP1 seemed to prove to him that I'm not as useless as he wanted to think I am." Y/n states then swallowing thickly. "It's quite nice working with him."

"Good." Hugh nods with a small smile.

-

Y/n sighs ahead of the race as she talks with Max as they stand on the grid. Making sure he knows his stuff, which he obviously does but she doesn't want to be the reason that Max loses.

"It's alright, y/n. If I'm not first, we know you aren't needed again." Max smiles patting her shoulder watching her face drop and she looks like she's about to be sick and he realises how badly timed. "I am joking."

"I knew that." Y/n groans then finding herself pulled into a hug as Max chuckles and rubs her back.

"Do not worry. You are ok." Max assures her while she smiles nervously. "We will win this and you will come up on the podium."

"No-"

"Yes." Max cuts in still holding her in a hug which she is very aware of being caught on camera.

"Alright, Max." Y/n states sucking in a breath and patting his back in gesture.

Max eventually disappears for the national anthem then returning to climb in his car with y/n being gestured at to come closer. Turns out he just wants to ask about the initial first corner plan which is really no different to usual.

They all walk to the pit wall leaving ahead of the formation lap.

-

As predicted, Max wins and he does actually force y/n to climb over the barrier with his aid when he sees that she had tried to avoid being the one up on the podium up with him.

The rest of the team encouraged her too and she found herself actually being tugged with Max.

"You were great, you deserve to be up here." Max states as they walk up to the cool down room.

"I don't-Hi." Y/n greets when she sees the two McLaren drivers already there. "Congratulations, you guys did amazing."

Always so polite and kind as they both seem intrigued by the new face.

"Y/n is filling in for GP temporarily so I said she should come up on the podium." Max explains then moving to put his stuff down, picking up the cap with a bottle of water as they begin to discuss the race as they watch some clips.

Y/n is almost grateful she falls by the wayside. Then eventually they're called for the podium.

"You'll go out last, after me." Max explains as they call for Oscar to go out first. "Move over to the little podium on the far side."

Y/n nods swallowing thickly, trying to ignore Lando's smirk from the side of her eye when she feels one of Max's hands holding her waist and rubbing it slightly. Annoyingly it does work to ease her nerves.

Lando goes out next followed by Max and she follows a couple seconds afterwards, once she is on, she gets shot a smile from Max before moving onto the podium.

Being given the trophy she does admittedly almost drop it, not expecting the weight of it or for it to be so hard to hold in one hand.

When the champagne spraying occurs, she finds herself very much targeted by the Dutchman and she's definitely surprised by the cold temperature.

Then they tap bottles all exchanging congratulations before the podium group photo before they jump down, Max taking both bottles after watching y/n struggling to carry the trophy in one hand.

"I don't have any other clothes." Y/n states looking very much with a grimace while Max laughs lightly and pats her back lightly as they get down to the team again.

"We will find you some clean clothes." Max laughs, while guiding her in front of himself.

-

"You should just come with me." Max states as they walk out of the debrief.

"I should?" Y/n laughs nervously, having predicted this and seen it coming really.

"Yes, you should."

"Wouldn't be very appropriate." Y/n mumbles swallowing thickly while Max frowns at her words. "Max..."

"Don't do that. Don't be stupid." Max instructs making her force her eyes up to look at him. "-Not stupid, but you know what I mean. You haven't actually said no."

Because in all honestly there's two reasons she's denying this is because he was a bit of a dick and because dating a driver given her choice of career seems like a questionable move.

"You should just say yes." Max shrugs since she's already moving to walk with her.

"You didn't actually ask a question for me to say yes or no to." Y/n shrugs earning a small smile from the driver.

"It wasn't really a question, more of a demand." Max shoots back without a moment of hesitation. "I'm just saying you should."

Y/n sighs before she bites her lip a little before tilting her head then sighing softly as she slides her hand into his hand. Her silent way of complying with his demand but she'd be lying if she said it didn't feel quite nice to walk out of there with him.

-

GP isn't back for the following weekend which means y/n is in the hot seat on the pitwall again.

"We have y/n as Max's race engineer and honestly for anyone listening to his radio and onboard, you can hearing them getting quite bickery with each other. It's certainly making for some brilliant entertainment." Ted states with a small laugh as he's brought in on the broadcast. "Max and GP sometimes have their moments but it's almost as if Max is purposely trying to annoy y/n."

"Well we all know the rumours between them two." Crofty chuckles since it has been going around with Max's continuous touching and slightly possessive looks to any other man who seems to dare to speak to y/n.

"Max, box." Y/n instructs sternly.

"Pit confirm." Max responds almost sounding like he's giggling.

"Dick." Y/n mutters making sure it's not on radio while others on the pitwall looks at her in amusement.

Usually there would be a zero tolerance for such behaviour between two employees, but it's not actually effecting Max's performance and y/n isn't going to be Max's engineer beyond this weekend because GP will be back. Though everyone certain Max is going to make a request that she take on a more active role on his side of the garage.

They decide to go for a race simulation, wanting to figure out the right set up and balance. So he's fuelled up and sent out.

"You don't have to glare at me from the pit wall." Max states over the radio after he's driven out the garage.

"I don't have to, but I want to." Y/n smiles, or so he assumes, he feels like he can hear a smile in her tone. "Warm up, push lap, please."

"So polite." Max chuckles over the radio smirking to himself as he hears literally radio silence.

The rest of the warm up lap she's silent and in the hot lap, they do get back into actually working with her giving him instructions for engine mode changes, figuring out what works best for him and eventually after a few more rounds, a couple stops to try different tyres.

After the practice is over y/n heads over to the garage where Max is climbing out the car.

"That felt good."

"Well you got P1 in the session with those first hot laps." Y/n sighs then swallowing thickly as she feelings Max gently playing with a few strands of her hair. "Qualifying later. Then sprint shootout and sprint race tomorrow...do you think you'll manage to not give me a headache?"

"No."

"Right, perfect." Y/n grumbles while Max grins and manages to steal a kiss making a mechanic whistle as she tries to nudge him away, with little success. "Thank you for that."

"You can be sarcastic but I know you aren't really upset." Max smirks while she rolls her eyes at him, but her flustered body language just gives away that she's feeling nervous about it.

"Let's go. We need to go over some of the data." Y/n mutters feeling Max link his hand to her own allowing her to lead them from the garage out to the unit.

-

"Max, amazing efforts in the sprint and now in the race. You win yet again. Do you have any celebrations with a certain race engineer that we do hope to see sometimes following this?"

"There will be celebrations with the whole team." Max confirms clearly not having any intentions to directly inform the world of his relationship.

"I see. Well, I think speak for everyone when I say congratulations and a very big well done to your race engineer for helping you through her second race weekend. It does sound like her patience may have been tested but you both did amazingly."

"Thank you." Max nods still not swaying before he's allow to leave.

When he gets back to the unit y/n is talking with some other engineers who see Max and seem to clear off pretty quickly.

"I've been told we need to celebrate properly." Max states coming up behind her and holding her waist as he speaks into her ear. "We should go celebrate."

"Another demand, not a question."

"You can say no." But you won't.

She can just hear the ending of the sentence that he utters out.

"Let's go." Y/n nods almost eager for them to get out of there and have a more private celebration of such a successful weekend and possibly the continuation of quite a nice start to a relationship.

Meanwhile Max is pretty eager to make sure y/n really finishes this weekend knowing how much he wants to keep her around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mind is stuck on challengers sauna scene ..... art's thighs are so fucking sexy, so thick and sweaty and the way he's bouncing his leg? oh lord give me five minutes with him. just imagine his hands on your waist and his sweet, encouraging words as you sit on his wet skin and grind your even wetter cunt onto it. and he bounces it, gently hitting your clit in the right angle and it feels so good. i am going to combust. and you're like crying because while it feels good, you're just so so needy and want to feel him inside you but he thinks you look so sexy like this, he tells you to keep going just for a little bit more then he'll reward you for being good and listening to him.