Mick Schumacher's Hands Appreciation Post?

King of my heart | Mick Schumacher

Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that's why, for the first time in forever, he threw carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

Warnings: explicit language, smut, alcohol, angst, and so on, please check each chapter's warnings before reading.

Pairing: Mick Schumacher x Hamilton!reader (she/her)

Soundtrack: here

Series status: complete

A/n: I do not permit my work to be reposted on a different platform. This is my only account, if you see my work somewhere else, please let me know!

Psa. The pics from the social media chapter are not mine.

CHAPTERS

01. siblings or dating (smau)

02. cookies and free rides (smau)

03. breakfast dates and shared clothes (smau)

04. the first time they met (regular c.)

05. shoulder and sugar to lean on (regular c.)

06. paris fashion week and china gp (smau)

07. sharing playlists and history (regular c.)

08. sightseeing and race-week-dump (smau)

09. sharing is caring (regular c.)

10. privacy sign at the door (regular c.)

11. he's got a girlfriend (smau)

12. gathering the fam (smau)

13. spotted and discovered (smau)

14. the past comes to say hello (smau)

15. our love is a secret I'm trying to keep (regular c.)

16. closing doors (regular c.)

17. tulips, just like in Switzerland (smau)

18. red carnations and home (regular c.)

19. not alone tonight (smau)

20. closure, and packing (regular c.)

21. through their eyes (smau)

22. jealousy, jealousy (regular c.)

23. the most beautiful time of the year (smau)

24. king of my heart (regular c.)

DRABBLES & HEADCANONS & EXTRAS

creating a shared playlist

meeting Corinna and Gina

telling Lewis about Mick

Mick defending Yn from a mean journalist

slow mornings together

to build a home ✷

getting matching tattoos

💌 texts between mick and yn

oklahoma, memes, and pov

drivers room's nap, and tis the damn season

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work.

Heyyy hope you have a good day, i come bearing new thots

Credit where credit’s due, the idea is an old and deleted roger Taylor fic and not from me.

HOWEVER. Im now obsessed with this scenario with either lando or oscar (ill let you choose <3)

Roommate!AU !!!

Imagine you’re friends and roommates with lando or oscar and he has to study for his upcoming biology exam at uni. The topic? Female reproductive organs🤭

He just genuinely struggles with understanding the anatomy of a vagina and that picture in his damn book is absolutely not recognisable.

And since him and reader are friends and she doesn’t think thoughts all the way through she offers him to look at hers. I mean hes seen her shirtless a million times its nbd.

And staring at her beautiful pussy really does help him - to an extend. Hes so into his studies he doesn’t really process that he asked her „can i touch it??“ and she just goes along with it bc it’s already lowkey awkward and theres no turning back now.

She tries to not make it more awkward by suppressing her moans when his finger brush over her clit all while hes just identifying parts with his thoughts oblivious to what he does to her.

And she cant keep in the moan when he pushes his fingern in and suddenly he realises what hes doing. But he sneakily keeps going until she cums and hes trying his best to keep up the ignorant act bc shes js too hot like that😩

Got damn it i need a full length version of this fic again 😭

-🫀

i want to write a full length version omfg this is incredible!!! pictured oscar immediately. kinda set in like the early 2000s in my head bc i wanted to mention dvd rentals One Time and that's not a thing anymore but that's the world i grew up in LMAO

sorry i like got too into this at first and forgot i made plans to game with my friend and rushed the ending im sorry. added read more bc it's just over 1k <3 i think i like this a lot other than the ending idk . lmk what u think i hope it meets the expectations set by the original

reader thinks oscar's an innocent idiot but he just probably shouldn't be in medical school because while he can find the clit, he certainly doesn't know the name of it.

Her roommate has been staring at the same page for half an hour, they're seated on opposite ends of the couch, leaning against the arms and facing each other. She has a Stephen King novel leaned on her propped up knees and Oscar has an open textbook balanced on one thigh and a notebook open to a blank page on the other. After another frustrated sigh leaves him, she drops her book on the coffee table and leans over to see what he's looking at. She almost laughs when she sees the miniature sketch of a vagina, "You know, the DVD rental place down the street has rated X movies."

Oscar snorts, "I'm trying to work, leave me alone. I'm supposed to learn all the anatomical names of a vagina, but the only drawing I have is in this stupid book."

She leans in further to the diagram and hums, "That's a horrible diagram, no wonder you're getting nothing done. How old is that that textbook?" He shrugs and stretches back over the arm of the couch, "Probably like thirty, the professor wrote it himself and he's ancient."

Her eyes get pulled to his hips as he reaches behind his head and groans, his shirt lifting the slightest to reveal soft skin before he drops his arms back down. She licks her lips as she directs her gaze up to his face, "I could show you mine, if you want." The swift inhale Oscar makes is audible, he keeps his gaze locked on the books in his lap as he says, "Really?" Instead of verbally agreeing, she just scoots back to where she was leaning moments before on the arm of the couch and shimmies her shorts down before she can think twice. She giggles at the look on Oscar's face as she kicks the shorts off her ankles and he takes in the sight of her panties, lacy and red. "Are you sure?"

She shrugs and teases, "Well it's not like they have 3D models. I'm sure, I wouldn't have offered otherwise. Are you sure?" He nods slowly and she tugs her panties down her thighs and smirks at the blush that creeps up his cheeks as she drops them on his lap. She doesn't know where the sudden confidence has come from, but she feels no shame as she opens her legs to him. She drops one foot to the floor and the other lifts to rest on the back of the couch. Oscar holds her eye for a moment before she watches his gaze drift down her body and he starts to lean in before pausing, "Can I get closer?" She nods at his question and answers, "As close as you want." Oscar lurches forwards, knocking the forgotten textbook to the floor as he fumbles to grab his pen and notebook to take notes.

She can't read his chicken scratch handwriting, so whatever he's scrawling about her pussy is undecipherable to her as she watches him analyze her. She's trying not to think about how this could be weird, how it is weird to offer to let your roommate use you as an anatomy dummy. It's not really the first time. He's done other things, like when he needed to practice IVs so she let him give her a banana bag the next time she was hungover. She liked teasing him about it, calling him Doctor Piastri when she let him listen to her heart with his stethoscope. Or when she comes down with a cold and she calls him into her room to diagnose and treat her, and he brings her cold medicine and soup from the deli down the street.

She's pulled out of her thoughts when he clears his throat and she meets his eyes before she hums quizzically. The pink tint that had spattered his cheeks turns into a bright red as he asks, "Can I touch you?"

She almost thinks she didn't hear him correctly, but there's no way he could have said anything else, so she tries to joke, "So you're a hands on learner, then?"

Oscar quickly counters, "Yeah, do you mind?"

It's her turn to lose her breath as she stupidly nods and blushes as she takes in the realization that he's about to touch her pussy. In the name of science, she agrees, "No, go ahead." Then, his hand is on her pussy and his focus is entirely on the space between her legs as he spreads her lips apart and she has to close her eyes and force her mind to other places as he tilts his had interestedly. She wishes she could stop her body from reacting to his touch, but she can't. Not when he pulls back the hood of her clit, she hears him writing something, then there's a soft pressure on her clit and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to not react. She tells herself not to make any sounds so it won't be weird, he's just trying to study, he's not doing anything to her really.

She can feel the wetness build under his fingers as he slips them down to her entrance and back up. She hears Oscar mutter something but she can't make it out over the blood rushing through her head as he presses his fingers back against her clit. "Is this... The labia?" The laugh she lets out is half a moan, "That's the- clit. Labia are the lips." He dips his fingers down and pinches one lightly, "This?"

She's somehow endeared by the curiosity, and sighs, "Yeah. That. Minora. The outer one is majora."

Oscar lets out a little huff, "How do you know the names? You're not even taking anatomy." His fingers find her clit again, this time lightly pinching it, and her thighs tense as he mumbles, "Clit." She hears his pen scratching across his paper and then dips his finger down to her entrance and presses inside. She wonders what he's thinking as he slowly thrusts his finger in and out of her, his other hand still writing on the paper. It's not until he slips a second finger inside of her and curls them as he suddenly presses his thumb to her clit that she breaks her silence, a whimper falling from her lips as the unexpected pleasure hits her. She somehow doesn't realize then that this isn't his first time like she thought when she saw the surprised look on her face. Then she flutters her eyes open and immediately realizes it because he's already looking up at her, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. She gasps, "You- you didn't really need help, did you?"

He shrugs innocently, "I still don't know the names, could you remind me?" She can't tell if he's being serious or not as he quickens his thumb on her clit and she's saved from responding as he pushes up her body and presses his lips to hers hungrily.

i would kill for a jack & joe jr x reader smut at palm beach !! something to the tune of sibling rivalry ,,

What The Boys Will Do

synopsis: two kennedy brothers, a smoldering rivalry, and a girl who knows exactly how to stir the pot at palm beach. it’s all a game of who gets to win... until they realize they’re both playing for the same prize.

word count: 4.8k

pairing: john f. kennedy x reader, joe kennedy jr. x reader

rating: 18+; includes explicit sexual acts

author's note: for that one other anon who requested joe jr smut, this is for you as well!

December in Palm Beach meant nothing like the Christmases you'd known before. No snow, no biting wind, just the relentless Florida sun beating down on the Kennedy compound's whitewashed walls, turning everything golden. The Atlantic stretched beyond the garden wall, a glittering blue expanse that seemed to mock the very concept of winter.

You'd been staying with the Kennedys for nearly two weeks now. Ambassador Kennedy and his wife Rose had extended the invitation through your father—business connections, naturally—and you'd accepted with polite enthusiasm that masked your genuine curiosity. The Kennedys were American royalty, after all, and their sprawling Palm Beach estate was the stuff of newspaper photographs and whispered gossip.

What you hadn't counted on was the brothers.

Joe Jr. and Jack Kennedy were studies in contrast. Joe Jr., the eldest, carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who'd never questioned his place in the world. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a square jaw and clear eyes, he moved through rooms like he owned them, which, you supposed, he technically did. His laughter was loud, his opinions firm, his handshake crushing. The golden boy, groomed for greatness from birth.

Jack was... different. Leaner, sharper somehow, with eyes that seemed to catch everything. Where Joe Jr. commanded attention, Jack slipped into it sideways, with a wry comment or an observation that made everyone in earshot suddenly aware of his presence. He was quieter, but no less intense—just more selective about when to deploy his considerable charm.

And both of them watched you.

You first noticed it during tennis matches, when you'd catch Joe Jr.'s gaze lingering a beat too long on your legs as you reached for a backhand. Then at dinner, when Jack would pass you the salt before you'd asked, his fingers brushing yours with deliberate slowness. Small moments, easily dismissed individually, but collectively forming a pattern you couldn't ignore.

Neither brother spoke of it directly. Instead, their rivalry leaked out in a thousand tiny ways: Joe Jr. cutting Jack off mid-story to tell a better one; Jack needling his brother about some Harvard football game he'd fumbled; Joe Jr. casually mentioning his plans to enter politics while looking pointedly at his younger brother's thinner frame, still recovering from some illness.

And always, always, their eyes would flick to you afterward, gauging your reaction.

You weren't naive. You understood the game being played, and rather than shy away, you found yourself leaning into it. A laugh at Joe Jr.'s jokes that lasted a touch too long. Asking Jack to explain something political, your body angled toward his, eyes wide with manufactured fascination. Accepting Joe Jr.'s invitation to swim, then emerging from the water with your bathing suit clinging to every curve. Borrowing one of Jack's books, then returning it with comments that showed you'd actually read it, watching surprise and something hungrier flicker across his face.

It was intoxicating, this power. Dangerous, perhaps, but no more dangerous than the cocktails Ambassador Kennedy mixed himself each evening—strong enough to burn, sweet enough to make you forget the burn until morning.

Today had been particularly charged. A boat trip along the coast, all of you packed into the family's sleek vessel, salt spray and sunshine and too many bodies in too little space. Joe Jr. had insisted on teaching you to steer, his chest pressed against your back, hands covering yours on the wheel. Jack had watched from his seat at the stern, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the tight set of his jaw.

Later, back at the house, Jack had cornered you in the library, ostensibly to show you a first edition of Fitzgerald, but really to stand close enough that you could smell his cologne and count the freckles across his nose.

Dinner had been unbearable—the brothers seated on either side of you, Rose Kennedy oblivious to the tension as she discussed Christmas arrangements, the younger Kennedy children squabbling over dessert. Joe Jr.'s knee pressed against yours under the table; Jack's foot hooked casually around your ankle.

Now, as evening settled over the compound and the family dispersed to their various entertainments, you found yourself needing air. Space to think. The beach called to you—empty, you hoped, and cool with the night breeze.

You slipped out through the garden gate, shoes dangling from your fingers, and made your way down to the shore. The sand was still warm from the day's heat, fine-grained between your toes. You walked until the house lights dimmed behind you, then settled on the sand, knees drawn up to your chest, watching the moonlight dance across the water.

"Thought I might find you here."

Joe Jr.'s voice startled you. He stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his linen trousers, jacket discarded, shirtsleeves rolled up to expose tanned forearms. In the moonlight, his features seemed harder, more defined.

"Did you follow me?" you asked, not moving to make room beside you.

He shrugged, a fluid motion that spoke of absolute confidence. "Maybe. Or maybe I just needed some air too." He settled beside you anyway, close enough that his arm brushed yours. "It's a madhouse in there. Mother's on about Christmas decorations, and Jack's being... Jack."

The way he said his brother's name carried a weight you couldn't quite decipher. Irritation? Jealousy? Both?

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joe Jr. picked up a handful of sand, let it sift through his fingers. "You know exactly what it means. He's been following you around like a lost puppy for days. It's embarrassing."

"I hadn't noticed," you lied, watching his profile.

He turned to face you then, his expression skeptical. "Sure you haven't. Just like you haven't noticed me watching you either, right?"

Your heart kicked against your ribs. This was it—the thing neither brother had been willing to say out loud, suddenly made explicit in the darkness.

"Joe—"

"Don't," he cut you off. "Don't pretend you don't know what's happening here. Between us. Between you and Jack. All of it."

You swallowed hard. "And what is happening, exactly?"

His laugh was short, almost bitter. "You're playing with us. Both of us. And you're enjoying it."

The accusation should have shamed you. Instead, it sent a thrill down your spine, a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the lingering warmth of the day.

"I'm not playing anything," you said, but your voice betrayed you, coming out husky and low.

Joe Jr. shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours now. "Liar," he said, but there was no anger in it—only a strange sort of admiration. "You've got us both twisted up, and you know it. The question is..." His hand found your waist, fingers splaying wide. "What are you going to do about it?"

You should have pulled away. Should have stood up, brushed the sand from your clothes, walked back to the house and the safety of other people. Instead, you turned toward him, close enough now that you could feel his breath on your face.

"What do you want me to do about it?" you whispered.

Something flashed in his eyes—triumph, maybe, or relief. "I want you to stop pretending you don't want me."

And then his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding, his hand sliding from your waist to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you. There was nothing gentle about the kiss—it was all teeth and tongue and barely restrained hunger, months of watching and wanting compressed into a single, explosive moment.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands finding his shoulders, fingers digging into the solid muscle there. He was so different from Jack—broader, harder, radiating a physical presence that seemed to overwhelm everything else. His kiss tasted like bourbon, and you found yourself responding with equal fervor, as if some dam had broken inside you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. "Tell me to stop," he said, but his hands were already moving, one sliding up your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress.

"Don't stop," you breathed, and something wild flashed across his face.

He pushed you back onto the sand, his body covering yours, mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I've watched you with him," he murmured against your skin. "Seen the way you look at him. The way you laugh at his stupid jokes." His teeth grazed your neck, making you arch against him. "Is this what you want from him too?"

The question sent a jolt through you. "Joe," you gasped, not answering, not needing to.

His hand found the hem of your dress, pushed it up around your hips. The night air was cool against your suddenly exposed skin, but his palm was hot as it slid up your inner thigh.

"Say it," he demanded, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "Say you want me. Not him. Me."

You couldn't speak, could barely think with his weight pressing you into the sand, his touch so close to where you needed it. Instead, you pulled his face down to yours, kissing him with all the pent-up desire of the past weeks.

He groaned into your mouth, his fingers finally slipping past the barrier of silk to find you wet and ready. "Christ," he muttered, forehead pressed against yours. "You're soaked."

The crude observation should have embarrassed you. Instead, it only heightened your arousal, knowing how much he wanted this—wanted you. His fingers moved with expert precision, circling, dipping inside, drawing out your pleasure until you were writhing beneath him, sand sticking to your sweat-dampened skin.

"Joe, please," you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for.

He seemed to know, though. With swift, efficient movements, he unbuckled his belt, shoved his trousers down just enough to free himself. You caught only a glimpse in the moonlight—thick, straining against his palm as he stroked himself once, twice.

"Tell me," he said again, positioning himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against you. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you breathed, and it wasn't a lie, not in this moment with the ocean roaring in your ears and his body hot and hard above yours. "Please, Joe, I want you."

He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, filling you completely, drawing a cry from your lips that he silenced with his mouth. There was nothing gentle about the way he took you—his hips driving forward with a force that sent you sliding in the sand, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider for him.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled against your ear, punctuating each word with a thrust. "All those times you bent over in front of me? Wore those little dresses? This is what you were asking for, wasn't it?"

"Yes," you gasped, because it was easier than explaining the complicated truth—that you'd wanted both of them, differently but equally, in ways you couldn't even articulate to yourself.

He fucked you like he had something to prove, like he could erase any thought of Jack from your mind through sheer physical dominance. And for a while, it worked—your world narrowed to the sensation of him inside you, the weight of him above you, the sound of his labored breathing mixing with the crash of waves.

Your orgasm built quickly, almost violently, spurred by the rough friction and the forbidden thrill of being taken like this—outdoors, where anyone might see, by a man whose brother wanted you just as badly. When it hit, you cried out his name, your nails raking down his back, leaving marks you hoped would still be there tomorrow.

Joe Jr. followed soon after, his rhythm faltering, his face buried in your neck as he groaned his release. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just lay tangled together on the sand, catching your breath.

Finally, he rolled off you, tucking himself away, straightening his clothes with efficient movements. You did the same, pulling your dress down, running fingers through your sand-streaked hair.

"We should get back," he said, his voice oddly formal now, as if trying to recapture some sense of propriety after what you'd just done. "Before they notice we're both gone."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. He offered his hand, pulled you to your feet, then brushed sand from your back with a touch that lingered just a moment too long.

The walk back to the house was silent, charged with unspoken questions. At the garden gate, he paused, turned to face you.

"This isn't over," he said, and you weren't sure if it was a promise or a warning.

Then he was gone, striding ahead of you toward the house, leaving you to follow in his wake, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, your mind already spinning with the implications of what had just happened.

And what might happen next.

You avoided both Kennedy brothers the next day, pleading a headache and staying in your room until late afternoon. It wasn't entirely a lie—your head did ache, though more from the tangle of thoughts than any physical ailment.

What had happened with Joe Jr. on the beach felt like crossing a line that couldn't be uncrossed. The game you'd been playing had suddenly become very real, with consequences you weren't sure you were prepared to face.

And then there was Jack. The thought of him made your stomach twist with a complicated mix of guilt and anticipation. Did he know? Had Joe Jr. said something? The Kennedy brothers shared many things, but you doubted this would be one of them.

By evening, hunger and boredom drove you from your sanctuary. The house was quieter than usual—Ambassador Kennedy and Rose had taken the younger children to some Christmas event in town, and dinner had been an informal affair that you'd apparently missed entirely.

You wandered the halls, eventually finding yourself at the foot of the grand staircase. The second floor housed the family's private rooms, including your own guest suite at the far end of the corridor. You climbed slowly, trailing your fingers along the polished banister, lost in thought.

At the top of the stairs, you froze. Jack Kennedy leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, a book dangling from his fingers. He looked up as you reached the landing, his expression unreadable.

"There she is," he said. "We thought you might have caught the train back to New York without saying goodbye."

"Just feeling a bit under the weather," you said, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him, of the narrow corridor stretching behind him toward your room.

He studied you, his gaze moving slowly over your face, down to your neck where you knew a faint mark from Joe Jr.'s mouth still lingered, despite your best efforts with makeup. "Better now, I hope?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice. There was something in his eyes—a knowing look that made your skin prickle with awareness.

"Good," he said, pushing off from the wall. "I was hoping to show you something. In the study."

The study was Ambassador Kennedy's domain, a wood-paneled room filled with leather-bound books and the lingering scent of cigars. Jack led you there with a hand hovering just above the small of your back, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat of his palm through your dress.

"Your father won't mind?" you asked as Jack closed the door behind you.

He smiled, a quick flash of teeth. "Dad's not here. And what he doesn't know won't hurt him." He crossed to a cabinet, opened it to reveal a collection of crystal decanters. "Drink?"

You nodded, watching as he poured amber liquid into two tumblers. His movements were precise, economical—so different from Joe Jr.'s broader gestures. Where his brother commanded space, Jack seemed to navigate it with a dancer's awareness of exactly where his body began and ended.

He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours deliberately. "To feeling better," he said, raising his drink in a toast.

The whiskey burned pleasantly going down, warming you from the inside out. Jack watched you over the rim of his glass, his eyes never leaving your face.

"So," he said finally, setting his drink aside. "You and Joe had quite the evening last night."

Your heart stuttered. "I don't know what you mean."

His laugh was soft, almost kind. "Come on now. We both know that's not true." He moved closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "He came back covered in sand. And you..." His finger traced the air just above the mark on your neck, not touching but making you acutely aware of its presence. "Well, let's just say the evidence is fairly compelling."

Heat flooded your face—embarrassment, yes, but also a strange, twisted excitement at being caught. At having both brothers' attention so completely focused on you.

"Jack, I—"

"You don't need to explain," he cut you off, taking the glass from your suddenly nerveless fingers and setting it aside. "I'm not angry. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"What do you mean?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

He smiled again, but this time there was something predatory in it. "I mean that my brother has always had a habit of taking what he wants without thinking about the consequences. Without considering whether what he's taking might be better off in someone else's hands." His own hands came up to frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones with feather-light pressure. "My hands, for instance."

Your breath caught in your throat. This was what you'd been playing with, wasn't it? This rivalry, this tension. And now it was fully in the open, impossible to ignore or deny.

"Jack," you began, but he silenced you with a look.

"Let me ask you something," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Did he make you feel good? Really good? Or was he too busy proving a point to pay attention to what you needed?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Because while what had happened with Joe Jr. had been intense, overwhelming even, there had been a selfishness to it—a sense that your pleasure was secondary to his need to claim you.

Jack read your silence correctly. His smile widened, turned knowing. "That's what I thought." His hands slid from your face to your shoulders, down your arms to capture your wrists. "Let me show you the difference."

He backed you against the Ambassador's massive desk, his body caging yours without quite touching it. Unlike his brother's forceful approach, Jack's was measured, deliberate—a slow burn rather than a conflagration.

His mouth, when it finally met yours, was gentle at first, almost teasing. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring a fine wine rather than gulping it down. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking permission rather than demanding entry.

You opened for him with a soft sigh, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. Through the fine fabric of his shirt, you could feel his heart beating, steady and strong. He deepened the kiss gradually, one hand sliding into your hair, angling your head to give him better access.

Where Joe Jr. had been all urgent heat and barely restrained power, Jack was precision and patience. He kissed you until your lips felt swollen, until your body was melting against his, until you were making small, needy sounds in the back of your throat.

Only then did his hands begin to wander, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hip. He found the zipper of your dress, drew it down with agonizing slowness, his mouth never leaving yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, echoing his brother's words from the night before, but with a different inflection—less a challenge than a genuine offer.

Your answer was the same. "Don't stop."

He smiled against your mouth, then stepped back just enough to help you out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet.

"Beautiful," he said simply, and somehow that single word affected you more deeply than all of Joe Jr.'s heated declarations.

Jack's hands skimmed over the silk of your slip, learning the contours of your body with careful attention. When they finally slipped beneath the hem, sliding up your thighs, you were already trembling with anticipation.

"Sit on the desk," he instructed, his voice low but firm.

You obeyed, perching on the edge of the massive oak surface. Jack stepped between your knees, spreading them wider with gentle pressure. Then, to your surprise, he sank to his knees before you.

"Jack, what—"

"Shh," he silenced you, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "Let me show you what my brother should have done last night."

Your slip rucked up around your hips as he pushed it higher, exposing you completely to his gaze. Unlike the darkness of the beach, here in the warm lamplight of the study, you felt suddenly, acutely vulnerable.

Jack seemed to sense your discomfort. He looked up at you, his eyes serious now. "You are exquisite," he said. "Every inch of you. Let me worship you properly."

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you, his tongue tracing a path that made your head fall back, a gasp escaping your lips. Where Joe Jr. had been efficient but hurried in his attentions, Jack was thorough to the point of torture, alternating between broad strokes and focused circles, bringing you to the edge only to back away, building your pleasure in careful, deliberate increments.

Your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, urging him closer. He hummed against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for his mouth, his tongue delving inside you before returning to the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars.

"Jack, please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for, only knowing that you needed more, needed release from the exquisite tension he was building.

He looked up at you, his mouth glistening. "Not yet," he said, and the command in his voice was all the more powerful for its softness. "Think about it. Think about how different this is. How much better."

And it was different—not necessarily better or worse, but a completely different experience. Where Joe Jr. had taken you with raw passion, Jack was dismantling you piece by piece, with surgical precision and devastating attention to detail.

When your orgasm finally hit, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced—a wave that seemed to go on and on, Jack's mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony to draw out every last tremor of pleasure until you were gasping his name, your body boneless and liquid.

He rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression one of pure masculine satisfaction. "Now," he said, unbuckling his belt with unhurried movements, "I'm going to fuck you on my father's desk, and you're going to remember every second of it."

The crude language, so at odds with his usual polish, sent another jolt of arousal through you. You watched, still dazed from your orgasm, as he freed himself from his trousers, stroking his length with the same deliberate pace he'd applied to pleasuring you.

He was different from Joe Jr. here too—not quite as thick, but longer, curved slightly in a way that promised to hit places his brother hadn't reached. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, hard and ready.

"Turn around," he instructed, helping you off the desk. "Bend over."

You complied, bracing your hands on the polished wood surface. Jack moved behind you, his hands sliding up your sides, pushing your slip higher until it bunched around your waist. You felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against you, teasing your entrance.

"Ask me for it," he said, his voice tight with restraint. "Tell me what you want."

"You," you breathed, pushing back against him. "I want you, Jack. Please."

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch and burn of him. By the time he was fully seated, you were both panting, your forehead pressed against the cool wood of the desk.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "So tight. So perfect."

He began to move, setting a rhythm that was neither as frantic as Joe Jr.'s nor as slow as you might have expected. Each thrust was calculated for maximum impact, angled to hit the spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, echoing his brother's words from the night before, but with a different inflection—curious rather than accusatory. "All those times you looked at me across the dinner table? When you borrowed my books and returned them with your scent on the pages?"

"Yes," you gasped, because it was true—you had wanted this, wanted him, from the moment you'd first seen him lounging by the pool, his lean body golden in the sunlight, his eyes following you with quiet intensity.

He reached around, his fingers finding the sensitive bud at the apex of your thighs, circling it in time with his thrusts. "And my brother?" he asked, his voice strained now. "Did you want him too?"

The question should have shocked you, but in the haze of pleasure, it only heightened your arousal—this acknowledgment of the triangle you'd been navigating. "Yes," you admitted, and felt him thrust harder in response.

"Both of us," he said, not a question now but a statement of fact. "You greedy thing."

His pace increased, his control slipping as his own pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, spurred by his fingers and the relentless drag of his cock inside you.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough now, his rhythm faltering. "Come for me while I'm inside you. Let me feel it."

Your body obeyed, clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you for the second time. Jack groaned, his fingers digging into your hip as he followed you over the edge, his release hot inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just stayed joined together, catching your breath. Then Jack pulled away carefully, helping you stand, turning you to face him. Jack took his time—straightening your slip, retrieving your dress from the floor, helping you back into it with gentle hands. He zipped you up, pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, then turned you to face him again.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he said, but there was no judgment in his tone—only a kind of rueful admiration. "With both of us."

You met his gaze steadily. "I know."

He studied you for a moment, then nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "Well, then," he said, stepping back, "may the best man win."

Later that night, you stood before the mirror in your room, examining the evidence of the past two days—the faint mark on your neck from Joe Jr.'s mouth, the slight bruise on your hip from Jack's fingers. Your body felt pleasantly sore, used in the best possible way.

From downstairs came the sound of raised voices—Joe Jr. and Jack, their words indistinct but their tones unmistakable. Arguing, as they so often did, but with a new edge that you recognized all too well.

You smoothed your hands down the front of your dress, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. You could end this if you wanted to. Choose one brother over the other. Draw a line under the whole affair and return to New York with a scandalous memory to keep you warm through the winter.

But as you listened to their voices rise and fall, each trying to assert dominance over the other, you knew you wouldn't. Not yet, anyway.

I wanna date the cool House.

The House that's funny and sarcastic. Never fails to bring a smile to your face with a cheesy pick up line or a terrible joke.

The House that wears rock band shirts and checks you out when you steal one but has to physically pry it off you to have it back.

The House that's silly and plays on his imaginary guitar (cane) while jamming to a random song to make you laugh.

The House that picks you up from places in affectionally humiliating ways. Stopping his motorcycle right in front of you and saying a made up thing in an unnecessarily loud voice so everyone can hear, leaving you desperately trying to explain to people that, no, you don't have an abnormally hairy right big toe, nor have you created an account on a dating site to search for a sugar daddy.

The House that takes you on late night rides on his motorcycle when you're in a bad mood and buys you a pizza while he's at it.

The House that actually buys you (or already has two) the same band shirt he has so you're matching.

The House that sits with you in an empty bathtub, just eating, laughing, and talking. Spending time with you.

The House that, despite the pain in his leg, tries dancing with you to a song playing so loud he gets a noise complaint just because he wants to see you happy.

The House that happily and proudly wears the matching bracelet you made, shoving it in everyone's faces.

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

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

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

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

main thot of the day: seb the type to fuck her in front of a mirror

his hands would be touching you everywhere, watching every miniscule reaction of yours in the reflection. your body was bent over, barely righted if not for his strong arms keeping you in place. your eyes were glazed over, breath coming out in short puffs— trying to breath through the lacy red material sebastian had gone feral with moments before.

"what a pretty girl," he whispers lips grazing the side of your ear, mirth dancing at his expression, eyes drinking in the sight of you like he couldn't get enough; barely sated and darkened with filthy promises. "look at you. look what i do to you." he grunts, snapping his hips with enough force that sent your body into overdrive.

he fucks you with wild abandon. he fucks you like he hates your guts, cooing so condescendingly at the tears that's running down your cheeks. "what's wrong, baby? tell me what you want." he whispers amid your muffled whines and unrestrained moans. "am i being mean? am i hurting you? poor girl." sebastian tuts, gripping your hips just a touch away from being hurtful.

"so fucking tight though," he groans, "tight fuckin snatch," you yelped at the feel of his cock just kissing the tip of your cervix, clawing at his hand, digging your fingers at his strong arm as your eyes basically rolled back from the combined feeling of his ministrations and his.. oh his fucking mouth. what a bitch. if you had known sebastian vettel fucks like he's running out of pussy, you'd have stayed away from the german.

he's going to ruin you for everybody else.

Thinking about being at a family party with dad!mick and he holds your toddler on his hip and a bottle of water on the other.

dad!mick who insisted on not drinking so he could drive you and your baby home at a reasonable hour.

dad!mick whose toddler doesn’t want anyone but their daddy and sleeps on his shoulder while he looks over the hamburgers on the barbecue.

dad!mick who puts the baby to sleep in his sister's bedroom and sneaks into his with you because he just can’t help himself when you’re wearing his favorite sundress and you’re sharing yet another secret: you’re pregnant again.

dad!mick that will eventually tell everyone you’ll have a second child, but meanwhile he’s basking in the feeling of the first few days after discovering.

dad!mick who’s ready for a football-team-sized family and is keen on convicing you to go for it.

Kk! So I absolutely loved your last piece about Carlos and the heiress!reader, and I have to agree I really really love those blended fics. Something about them just hits different ya know? And then I saw this post https://www.tumblr.com/monzabee/729167936518012928 and was like god I wish someone still wrote for kimi. And then off I’m scrolling through your blog and I see that ask were apparently you do?? Like holy shit bestie! This is like the greatest day ever! So all of that to say will you please please right something that involves the video from that post?? Pretty please??

MELTING THE ICEMAN

parings: kimi räikkönen x wife!reader

author 🗒️’s: my heart melted writing this, I hope it turned out as you want, love

summary: the one where you see your husband taking care of your son and feel that you couldn’t be happier as you are.

✩. . . masterlist !

Kimi Räikkönen, the Iceman of Formula 1, had always been known for his stoic and unemotional demeanor on the race track. But at home, in the quiet moments, he transformed into a different person entirely. There was a side of him that very few people got to see, a side that was incredibly warm, loving, and tender.

One sunny afternoon, the two of you sat in the cozy living room, surrounded by the soft laughter and gurgles of your 6-month-old son, Jake. Kimi held the baby in his arms, cradling him gently as he made funny faces to elicit the most delightful giggles from your little one.

Kimi leaned down, his lips brushing against Jake's plump, rosy cheeks. "Who's the happiest baby in the world, huh?" he cooed, his Finnish accent making it all the more endearing.

Jake's response was a chorus of delighted baby laughter, a sound that could melt the coldest of hearts. You watched in awe as your husband continued to play with Jake, making silly noises and pretending to nibble on his tiny fingers. It was a side of Kimi that you fell in love with all over again, a side that he reserved for his family.

"Kimi," you whispered, unable to contain your fondness, "you are the best dad in the world."

Kimi looked up from Jake's little face, his azure eyes meeting yours. A small, warm smile graced his lips, a rare sight for the world but a daily occurrence in the privacy of your home. "I learned from the best," he said softly, referring to you.

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment. Kimi's transformation into a devoted father had surprised you, but it had also filled your heart with an indescribable joy. His dedication and love for Jake were unmistakable, and you couldn't have asked for a better partner to share parenthood with.

As the day continued, you both took turns caring for Jake, feeding him, changing his diapers, and watching him drift off to sleep in his crib. Every moment felt like a cherished memory in the making, and you couldn't help but daydream about the future.

When Kimi returned to the living room after putting Jake down for his nap, he found you deep in thought. You looked up at him with a dreamy smile, and he knew you were up to something.

"Darling, what's on your mind?" he asked, settling beside you on the couch.

You took his hand and interlaced your fingers. "Kimi, I was just thinking about how wonderful this is—our little family. I love watching you with Jake, and I can't help but wonder… I want more of these moments. I want more children with you."

Kimi's typically cool exterior cracked, and he looked at you with a mix of surprise and delight. "More children?" he repeated, as if the idea had never occurred to him before. But the spark of warmth in his eyes revealed that he was just as excited by the prospect.

You nodded, your heart pounding with anticipation. "Yes, more children. I want to see you as a father again and again, to have more of these beautiful moments with you."

A slow, genuine smile spread across Kimi's face, and he pulled you into a loving embrace. "I'd love that," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you, and I love our family. Let's make more beautiful memories together."

The two of you sat there, lost in the prospect of a larger, even more joyful family. Kimi held you close, and you knew that your dreams were aligned. It was a beautiful day of laughter, love, and dreams for the future, all in the gentle embrace of your husband and your precious son, Jake. The Iceman had certainly melted, and you couldn't have been happier about it.

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

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

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

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

it starts as a joke, on your end

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

"whatever, daddy"

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

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

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

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

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

"you know what to call me"

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

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

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

and ugh, when you finally get him inside you

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

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

so much praise. so much!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"fill me up, daddy"

and. well. this man has a breeding kink.

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

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