Divine Figures — Luke Castellan + Reader : Nothing Could Steer Luke Off His Path To God Now, Until
divine figures — luke castellan + reader : nothing could steer luke off his path to god now, until you came along.
tags : southern setting au, small town setting, loser!luke, idolization, christian religious references & imagery, religious inconsistencies, church sex, religious guilt, body worship, sex but poetic, cannibalistic imagery…………..
a/n : heavily inspired by the lovely @murdrdocs!!
luke castellan was never one to follow a religion, well, not at first he wasn’t. he thought it was all bullshit, to put your all into someone nobody is sure even exists, it’s bullshit. but then his mom began insisting that he went, that he needed to find god, they both did, so he went.
luke lacked a father figure, so when he stared up at the statue perched at the apse of the church, he found the man he always lacked in his life, no matter how much the statue ignored his gaze, never bothering to look his way. he was quick to read the bible like it was a drug he just couldn’t get enough of, he sat straight with his eyes forward during each sermon, he kept himself pure.
and he stuck true to that, until you came.
he never really noticed you at first, but you were always there.
always looking over your shoulder to his place in the pew, always smiling at him when he accidentally glances your way, always passing by his house on your bike on hot summer days in hopes of seeing him outside, shirtless and working on his mother’s car.
you hadn’t mustered up the proper courage to speak to him, not until your parents have tugged you over to where he stood with his mother in the nave. your mother and father immediately sparked up conversation with his mother, leaving you to awkwardly look around the church in hopes of finding something worthy of speaking of. nothing, there was nothing. so you just mumbled out a, “hey.”
he hesitates for a second, “hi.”
“did you like the sermon?” your southern drawl, along with your sugar coated smile, luke can feel the thumping of his heart against his knit sweater.
“‘course,” he smiles shyly, “i always do— um.. did you?”
you nod at him, your ability to hold eye contact so well had him feeling nervous, constantly breaking it to glance around the room, “are you excited for easter?”
luke’s lips curve to a brighter smile, one that proves that he hopes that with jesus’ return, there will be a proper savior for him, his prayers will finally be listened to, maybe for once the statue on the wall will glance his way.
jesus molded everything about luke, at this point, if he couldn’t believe in his father, jesus was going to take that place— and he did, luke was taught everything by the bible, all he ever relied on was the words of the lord, everything he ever did was a representation of what lied in those scriptures. he never worshipped another god, never said the lord’s name in vain, always remembered sabbath day, as well as honored his mother and… father.
he didn’t commit adultery, in fact, he never spoke to women, really. his mother kept him sheltered, he was only allowed to speak to the women at church, not any of the women who rode on their bikes past his house, or smiled at him in the library. he just stared at them for a minute and looked away, contemplating how different things would be if he was able to speak to them.
at the thought of women, luke’s mind races back to you, who is currently blinking at him and thinking he didn’t hear you. “i am excited— for easter, will you be at— the um.. the church that day?”
another nod, then an awkward silence as you find nothing more to say, and neither does he. the church was a beautiful place, decorated with swirls of gold and dark wood, colorful stained glass windows that painted pictures of jesus, or virgin mary. if luke could move out of his home and live somewhere he genuinely enjoyed, it would be the church.
there was something so comforting about it, maybe the faint music that played in the background, or the way it smelled of old books and floral perfumes, or the fact that it was just a place where so many people went to put their faith into someone. god was just so important, if luke didn’t know any better, he’d envy him.
“you should come on sabbath days,” you interject his thoughts, leaning in to his vision.
he blinks, eyes refocusing on your face, and he awkwardly chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “i thought they were for relaxation?”
“and worship,” you correct, and he crystalizes the memory of how each word sounds on your tongue, how it flows out so well, how it makes him swallow.
“right, right,” he wets his lips nervously, “i’ll just— ask my mom. mama?”
as soon as he asks his mom, she’s all smiles at him, nodding and even shaking your hand, thanking you for urging him to go to church more.
“i’ll see you there,” is the last thing you say to luke that day.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
luke would be a liar to say he wasn’t riddled with visions of you in the darkest parts of the night, they started from the day you first spoke to him, and never left him since. he hated how much it plagued him, because it tempted him so well. it was like you were eve, offering him, adam, the apple. you reassure him that it’s sweet, that there’s no harm in taking a bite, and luke is parting his lips, ready to taste it, when he finally wakes up.
the heat of the room is beating down on him, even in the cool of the night. his skin is sticky from sweat, and all he can ever think about is you. it should be a crime, really, how much you had consumed his every waking thought. for once, he wasn’t thinking of the bible verses he would be reading that day, what prayer he would be saying.
luke didn’t know one thing about women, but the way you spoke to him, the way you smiled at him, the glints in your eyes, it had him wondering how he could make your face twist up in pleasure— fuck. he shouldn’t be thinking like this, it’s unholy, it’s weird, but he’s already in too deep.
he’s already fed the memory of how pink your lips are, how soft they look, they probably feel the same. is it a sin to wonder how well you kiss? would you be all - consuming? or slow, sweet? luke doesn’t know why he prefers if you’d be hungry, if you’d bite and nip at him like you’re hungry, like he’s the last supper.
his boxers feel tight on his skin, dick twitching in the confines of them. luke hardly knows this feeling well, he wasn’t one to allow himself to get hard, nor was he one to properly take care of it. but something about the idea of your teeth clashing against his when you kiss him, pushing your tongue into his mouth to taste him properly— it had his fingers pushing underneath the waistband of his underwear.
when his fingertips graze his cock, he immediately shudders, lashes fluttering. every time luke touched himself, it felt like the first time, only now it felt.. better. better because he was thinking of you. luke had never watched porn, he hardly knows what it is, so the idea of what sex would be like is.. a gray area for him.
but he works with what his mind is capable of, which is dry humping. the first setting that comes to mind is the church, which leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, but he goes with it. it comes to vividly, you on his lap, wet patch evident on his jeans from where your hips push down, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. when you moan, he does, when you whimper, he does, when you roll your hips, he does.
everything was in sync, and it was all so sinful. masturbation itself wasn’t a sin, unless you thought of someone, and for the longest time, luke never thought of anyone, but you were a parasite he couldn’t shake, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
luke wonders how much the priest will judge him when he utters these thoughts, these events in the confessional tomorrow. he has only ever uttered small, pitiful confessions, i didn’t help my mom with dinner, i turned in a book to the library late, i forgot to pray. he’s never had to confess anything larger.
heat bubbles in luke’s stomach, it’s pleasant, sweet, but it curls, and curls until it’s suffocating, until his wrist is hurting from the fast pumps of his cock, sweat glistening on his skin, cheeks flushed. he can feel a whine scratching up his throat, in the confines of his mind, something is screaming at him, telling him to stop, but it’s too late, he can barely hear it over the blood pumping in his ears.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
when luke comes into the church the next day, it’s a saturday, a sabbath day. typically on these days, he would be spending his time lounging around his house, reading some piece of classical literature that he has hidden from his mother, wishing to keep the inked pictures of statues reeking of desire for one another a secret.
but he was here, and so, he prayed.
the sun had barely risen over the horizon (courtesy of daylight savings), yet the candles in the church were lit, leaving an orange hue to project around the empty room.
luke felt gross, corrupt, unholy.
for once, luke feels as though the statue above is glaring down on him, and he tries his best to not shrink into himself under the piercing gaze. he knows. his mouth is dry with each prayer, fingers sweaty around the rosary, but he wouldn’t allow himself to falter once more.
as soon as he starts his fifth prayer, he hears the creak of the floorboards that he knows all too well, eyes fluttering open so he can look back to see who was there, hoping they hadn’t heard his last confessions in his prayers.
you. his mind is tugged to a halt, every prayer he had rehearsed on his way to the church, completely forgotten. it was all just.. you. you seared on his skin, burned him until he was nothing but smoke. your gaze softens on him, a stark contrast to jesus’ pointed glares, “i didn’t think you’d come.”
his voice is coarse from the nonstop prayers, “of course i would.”
all he can think about is you underneath him, his own skin bitten and scratched, decorated in mulberry and deep pinks, he’s practically salivating at the idea. he wonders if, behind the confines of the church walls, would anyone hear you? would the priests dare to look for whoever is letting out such unholy noises?
luke feels frozen the second he comes back to reality, dick hardening underneath the fabric beyond his control, his mind is tearing itself apart before he can even realize you’re speaking to him.
“— wondering if you’d like to sit next to me tomorrow,” you pose, seemingly unaware of the bulge in luke’s pants that he is desperately trying to naturally cover with his hands. but you knew, you knew the effect you had on him, and he had the same effect on you.
is it so cruel to only tease him harder?
luke swallows the remaining saliva in his drying mouth, quickly moving to a stand, rosary bringing more attention to his covered crotch, “sure, yes— um.. i need to— go.”
before you can even say anything, he is pushing past you, hand moving only to chastly grab your waist for a mere second as he passes, an instinct of trying to keep you stable, but it only makes a heat between your legs grow.
desires go both ways, and it’s only a matter of time before they snap.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
easter was once luke’s most anticipated day of the year, but now it was the day of his nightmares. he barely slept last night, kept himself awake with chores, prayers, and reading the bible until it made him sick. he couldn’t have another dream, he couldn’t let you get to him anymore. he thought it would be easy to avoid you today, but he was cursed with his own mistakes as you sat down next to him in the pew.
the worst part wasn’t that you sat down next to it, it’s that his mind was riddled with disgusting thoughts as soon as he saw how your dress brushed up your thighs, it was so simple, such a small act, but it just made him think the worst possible things.
you bent over the pew, the bottom of your dress tugged up to show your panties, his hands are gripping your hips like his life depends on it, crotch pressed to your clothed pussy from behind.
luke blinks back with his cheeks hot, noticing the bible in your hands. when he speaks, he doesn’t even realize what he’s saying, it’s like he’s possessed, “what verse are you reading?”
“luke 22:40,” you say it so simply, a smile barely teasing your lips.
on reaching the place,
he said to them, “pray that you
will not fall into temptation.”
the saliva on luke’s tongue is sour, near poisonous, his lips were stained maroon from the skin of the apple. luke 22:40 was the exact line he had been reciting to himself, luke was his name. the serpent was squeezing him tight, his breath felt swiped away from his lungs.
luke is quiet for the rest of the evening, even through the sermon, when he should be smiling when everyone else is, clapping when everyone else is— he is just silent, blank - faced.
you can’t decipher what he’s feeling until everyone has gone off to eat after the sermon, and he’s tugging you back into the pew once it’s vacant, fingers forming a tight grip around your wrist, “why are you doing this?”
he’s out of breath, and no matter how tough he tries to seem, he sounds pathetic, his voice a near whimper, like he’s pleading with you.
“doing what?” you blink up at him, doe eyes making his teeth press together.
“you’re tempting me— this, this isn’t fair, why?” his breath is shaky when he exhales.
“i’m not doing anything, luke.”
“you’re making me think— making me imagine things.. sinful things.”
“what exactly are you thinking?” your voice is softer, and the heat of the sun is seeping into the church.
“i..” how can he explain himself? every image that he wants to communicate is all too disgusting, a mixture of hunger and desire, it seemed luke wanted you to eat him alive, “you know what i’m thinking.”
“why don’t you show it to me?”
absolution;
formal release from guilt,
obligation, or punishment.
or..
an ecclesiastical declaration
of forgiveness of sins.
morals trickle down luke’s back when he kisses you, he knows it’s all wrong, he knows he could just leave it at a kiss, but he didn’t want to be haunted with these visions any longer, maybe if he made them a reality, they would just leave. he could be himself again, the picture - perfect religious boy he was always supposed to be. the kiss is small at first, the hesitant movement of lips, the adjusting to the feeling, but it quickly grows into something hungry.
luke didn’t know how to properly kiss, so he just followed your lead, and soon enough, he was kissing you like a starving man. from tongues clashing, to his hand mindlessly moving to your hip, body pressing against yours, it was everything he saw in the pictures printed in those books he read.
when luke falls back into his seat on the pew, you had pulled away from him, admiring how flushed his lips are. when your hand meets his jaw, luke forgets who his god is supposed to be, all he can think about is you, even on the day dedicated to the man he has spent all of his life worshiping.
“please,” it’s barely even audible, only made out by the slight flick of his tongue from the l.
“tell me what you want.”
it felt like luke was sitting in the confessional, admitting all of his nastiest desires when his lips part, finally being able to say his thoughts out loud, “can you— ride me? or.. if you don’t want to— that’s okay.” does luke know what riding is? only from the overheard gossip of other men, but he was told it was something he had to try, when he got married, of course.
“i want to,” it’s as if you aren’t in a church, as if nobody could just walk in and see how you’re moving onto his lap, moving his hands to your ass, letting his desperate fingers tug your dress up. his purity bracelet brushes against your skin when you move to guide his hands to your ass, watching the nervous look in his eyes when he squeezes the flesh.
he has no idea what he’s doing, he just wants to please you, to make you feel as good as he made himself feel to the idea of you the other night. maybe, at this point, luke isn’t praying to jesus, maybe he never was, because you were always in the back of his mind. no matter how guilty it made him feel, how many times he had squeezed his tear - ridden eyes shut and wished he was different, wished he wasn’t so easy to fall for temptation.
god is watching, is what his mind tells him, but your eyes tell him to keep going, watching as he moves his hands to unbuckle his belt, the sound of metal clinging being so improper for the walls ridden with crosses, but it just felt so right. he sucks in a sharp breath when he pulls out his dick, the cool air searing his delicate skin, pupils blown wide when they watch your lips slightly part at the sight.
“you’re so big,” is all you can manage out.
luke’s lips twitch around a small smile, “is that a good thing?”
“if it fits,” you move through a few twists to properly take your panties off, letting them hang off your ankle when you reposition yourself to have your entrance pressing against the tip of his dick, “then yes.”
luke’s lips press together as soon as you start sinking down on him, you’re so slow with it it’s almost torturous. the holy water he had dipped his water in and pressed to his skin, was now scorching him with each inch that filled your velvet walls. when you reached the hilt, it was safe to say you felt stuffed, and luke was making more noise than you.
whimpers, grunts, he tried to hide them all behind the confines of his lips, but they dug their nails into his throat and crawled their way up until it was impossible for him to hold them back. as soon as you began moving, luke was purely fighting for his life against the own noises leaving him to the point of where he had to sit up, pressing his lips to your neck, he was quick to press his lips against the sensitive areas, biting, sucking— he wasn’t even sure if he was doing it properly, but he was just so desperate.
he wanted you to shatter him like fine porcelain, to snap off his glass parts and crush them underneath your fingers with pure ease, to deconstruct every inch of him that he had taken years to build. no matter how empty he would feel in the end, to put himself in your hands, like a lump of clay in the hands of a goddess, he trusted your instincts.
“i want you to ruin me,” he mumbles against the flesh of your neck, barely audible.
“what?” your voice is breathless between moans, walls tightening around his dick with each movement of your hips.
he whimpers out a simple, “sorry.”
you didn’t forget his words, though, in fact, you let your fingers run through his dark curls, tangling through them until you tugged him back from your neck, just so you can take his place, now the one pressing your lips to his neck. he felt small underneath you, but he didn’t hate it, he liked the way that your lips felt on his skin, enough for him to lean his head back to provide you more blank canvas.
you painted him in maroons and mulberries, blooming rose petals on his skin, marking him as your own. no matter how much luke knew he would be praying for forgiveness tonight, in this moment, everything he’s ever stood for has fallen off his broad shoulders. his hair is messy and sticking to his sweaty forehead, skin peppered with bite marks, deep reds, purples, every color in between and beyond.
“‘m gonna—“ luke’s words come out choked, dick pulsing inside of you, “gonna cum—“
luke’s orgasm hits him hard enough to have tears pooling into his eyes, maybe it was the guilt, or the everlasting pleasure, he wasn’t entirely sure, how could he even be? all he could think of was you, now.
“do you still believe in god?” you offer him once you’re off him and he’s putting his belt back on.
he stares at you for a second, hesitating, then his lips part, “yes.”
More Posts from Pleaseultraviolenceme and Others
hello fellow nando fucker. may i humbly request some nando mirror sex. because i know he loves looking at himself <3
hehe ofc u can!! as we know, this man's ego has its own gravitational field
afab gn reader ♥
first of all: mirror foreplay
he's got you between his legs at the end of the bed, the mirrored door of the wardrobe in front of you both
your legs are spread, tangled over the wide muscle of his thighs, and your back is nestled against his broad chest
nando reaching around you to cup your chin between finger and thumb, tipping it up so you make eye contact in the mirror
"want you to watch"
(the 'if you don't watch, i'll stop' is unspoken, but clear)
constant praise, whispered into your ears and against your skin as he covers your shoulders and neck in love bites and bruises
"you look so lovely, so perfect for me, such a pretty pussy, all wet and ready for me already, don't look away, want you to see how lovely you are"
one hand playing with your tits as the other slides towards your pussy, gliding the pads of his fingers thru the wetness gathering there
your eyes flutter shut as he slides two thick fingers inside you, the stretch already delicious, and he rumbles a reminder to you to keep them open
and oh, when you open them -- you already look debauched, red and purple littering your neck, your pussy pink and swollen as fernando fingerfucks you with obscene wet noises
he makes you keep eye contact with him as he adds a third finger and speeds up, bringing his other hand down to circle your clit
"cum for me, want you to watch yourself come, so pretty, so lovely..."
and after he fingers you through that orgasm, and you come back down to earth and stop trembling against him, he manhandles you onto your hands and knees
(even if your arms give out, and you end up kneeling down and presenting your ass to him. which he spanks a few times)
and he makes you watch, maybe tangling a hand in your hair or wrapping a hand around your throat to pull your head up, as he fucks you from behind 😇
summary: [ cs55, cl16, mv1, lh44, fa14, sv5, dr3, mwebber, jb22 x fem!reader ] three major kinks + a couple minor kinks for each driver
word count: 1.8k
content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), pwp; i’m not going to tag all of these bc that would take 5ever BUT 1) everything is consensual & in the setting of a happy, healthy relationship & 2) dm me if you are needing any specific tw’s/cw’s & i’ll be happy to share those!
a/n: it’s been a hot, hot minute since i’ve had the energy to write (i was busy surviving my surgery core rotation at a level 1 trauma center & pediatrics at a major children’s hospital), but i’ve been brewing up a lil something for awhile now! i was stalling out on writing the last part of corsica, so i figured i’d at least give you this to get the juices flowing again! i started this blog about six months ago, & i’m nearly at 500 followers & i wanted to take a moment to thank you all! i love you so much and i hope you enjoy this! these are the kinks i think each of these drivers has! what proof do i have, you ask? absolute fuck-all! enjoy, loves! xx
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lowkey I wanna sit on young mikas face. just smother that pretty face with my pussy
anon ur so right. why do you, as a man, have an INSANE JAWLINE if not to give me a nice seat!!
he loves it. he loves eating you out anyway, but having you sit on his face is on a whole other level for mika
wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull you down onto his mouth, moaning against your pussy when you tangle your hands in his hair
the noises are obscene
your stifled whines, a gentle, constant repetition of "mika, mika mika--" as you roll your hips against his face
the wet, desperate noises from mika pressing his tongue against you, dragging it through your cunt like he can't get enough of the taste of you
the one downside of the position is that he can't finger you like he normally would going down on you - can't fuck you with three fingers while he suckles your clit until you squeal and squirt over his hand
but that's okay (-: he's more than happy pulling you to an orgasm or two with his mouth alone, grabbing handfuls of your ass to knead and spank
sucking on your clit and lavishing the little bundle of nerves with tight circles of his tongue, bringing you closer and closer to the edge
the tipping point is when he pulls away, just enough for his "look at me" to be audible
and he doesn't break eye contact with you once you look down, his baby blue eyes turned dark with lust-blown pupils, the absolute need in his gaze pushing you over the edge as you cum
daddy issues - toto wolff
pairing: toto wolff x horner!reader
warnings: relatively vague and mild spice
summary: maybe asking for “daddy” to pass the salt while at dinner with both your father and boyfriend wasn’t the best idea
Dinner. The word rings in your ears as you fix the final adjustments to your dress. There's a palpable sense of tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. The dinner is with none other than Christian Horner, your father, and your boyfriend, Toto Wolff. A high-stakes encounter as is only fitting for those at the helm of Formula 1.
The chauffeur pulls up at your childhood home, the butterflies residing in your stomach growing more frantic. You take a deep breath, straighten your dress and step out of the car, feeling the gravel crunch beneath your high-heeled shoes.
Your father greets you at the door, a jovial smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s cordial as he guides you inside to the dining room where Toto is already seated. You take your place beside him while your father seats himself across the table.
The first few minutes pass with superficial chatter about weather and trivial matters. It’s an unspoken agreement to not bring up work and motorsports.
As the main course is served, you reach out for the salt shaker. “Please pass the salt, Daddy,” you say, momentarily forgetting your company.
Two hands reach out simultaneously, one from your left, the other from across the table. A silent beat hangs in the air, Christian’s hand freezing midway, his eyes flickering between your face and Toto’s smug grin.
“I believe she was talking to me, Christian,” Toto says smoothly, his hand closing over yours as he passes the salt shaker. The tension amplifies, the hum of an engine before a race, the calm before the storm.
Your father’s face turns several very unflattering shades of red, his grip tightening on his wine glass. “I see,” he says in barely more than a growl.
“What exactly do you see?” Toto asks, his voice laced with underlying challenge.
“I see that you’re taking advantage of my daughter. Just like you’ve taken advantage of every opportunity in your life!”
“Opportunities are not taken, they’re earned,” Toto retorts, gaze steely. You feel your heart beat loudly in your chest.
“You don’t earn someone’s daughter, Wolff!”
The words hang in the air, a declaration of war. A war between two fathers, two titans of the track.
“And yet here we are,” Toto’s voice is cool, his hand interlacing with yours under the table.
There’s a knock at the door, breaking the tension. “Excuse me,” your father says, standing up and leaving the room.
You look at Toto, noticing how his eyes sparkle with mischief. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you whisper.
He shrugs, a small smile dancing on his lips. “I like challenges. And I believe I’ve just been presented with one.”
“I can’t believe you,” you say, shaking your head, but there’s a smile on your face. It’s a game to Toto and that’s what makes it exciting. The thrill of competition, the high of winning. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.
Your father returns, his demeanor changed. There’s a strained smile on his face, one you’ve seen before. It’s a sign of defeat. A sign of surrender.
“I think it’s time for dessert,” he says, signaling the waitstaff to clear the table.
The rest of the dinner goes smoothly. Dessert is served and eaten in relative silence, the conversation restricted to shallow topics. Toto’s hand, however, doesn’t leave yours.
As you say your goodbyes, you turn to your father. “I love him, Dad,” you say, voice steady. “I need you to accept that.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I may not like it, but I can’t control who you love. Just … promise me you’ll be careful.”
You smile at him, a small reassurance. “I will. I promise.”
And with that, you leave the house, Toto’s arm securely wrapped around your waist. The night may not have been perfect but it was a start. It was the beginning of a new race, and just like every race Toto has ever been a part of, he’s determined to win. And so are you.
The ride home is a silent one, the car gliding smoothly over the asphalt. You rest your head on Toto’s shoulder, his fingers tracing circles on the back of your hand. His heart beats steadily under your ear, a calming rhythm amidst the chaos.
Once you reach your shared home, Toto guides you inside, his hand still never leaving yours. The house is quiet, the only sound being your mutual heartbeats and the soft rustling of clothes. Toto’s eyes are intense, filled with a heat that has nothing to do with the summer night outside.
He leans in to kiss you, his lips warm and inviting. “I must say,” he murmurs between kisses, “I quite enjoyed tonight’s dinner.”
You laugh, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Of course you did. You love drama.”
His eyes sparkle in the dim light, crinkling from a smirk that never fails to make a smile break out across your own face. “Only when it’s with you,” he replies before sweeping you off your feet.
Giggling, you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close. His laughter rings in your ears, a sweet sound that makes your heart flutter.
He takes you to the bedroom, laying you down gently on the bed. His hands are warm and confident, leaving trails of fire wherever they touch. His lips meet yours again, the kiss searing and passionate.
As he pulls away, your heart hammers in your chest, anticipation thrumming in your veins. You look at him, his eyes dark with desire, his breath mingling with yours. “Please,” you whisper, your hand reaching for him, “Daddy.”
The word seems to ignite something within him, his eyes flashing with a primal hunger. A satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he moves to kiss you again, his hands exploring your body with renewed vigor.
His reaction to your whispered plea sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes gleam with an intoxicating mix of triumph and desire. You watch him with a sense of wonderment, realizing this powerful man is entirely yours.
The taste of his lips becomes a craving, your fingers tracing a familiar path down his neck. He matches your pace, his experienced hands inciting a fire within you that only he can quench.
“Daddy,” you say again, your voice echoing in the quiet room. The word takes on a new meaning when it comes from your lips — not one of familial connection but of power, control, and raw unadulterated passion.
His hands on your body are firm yet gentle, commanding yet tender. “Are you sure?” he asks, his gaze filled with concern.
With a nod, you assure him of your trust. This man, who stands tall on the racetracks, is also the one who holds you with utmost care in the darkness of the night.
Together, you explore new heights of passion and pleasure, every sigh and gasp just adding to the bond you share. The rest of the world fades into oblivion as Toto stakes his claim. It’s an intimacy you wouldn’t trade for anything else.
When dawn breaks, he’s there with you — a steadfast presence reminding you of the promise that was made and fulfilled. And in the quiet whispers of the early morning, you realize that this is exactly where you want to be. Not because he is Toto Wolff, the team principal and CEO and billionaire businessman, but because he is simply your Daddy — your lover, your confidant, and your partner. And as the morning sun paints the sky with shades of gold, you wouldn’t want it any other way.
RED DRESS
Kimi Raikkonen x Reader x Sebastian Vettel
“Will you put that red dress on? The one with the really low…” He trailed off, his hand trailing down his chest, referencing your after party dress that you wore in Monaco that left very little to the imagination. Live on air: Sebastian Vettel was hitting on you. Not only was this highly unprofessional, but humiliating as well. Being the only female Formula One presenter had its perks, like the young girls who confided in you their hopes and dreams of being in your shoes one day, but days like this made you wish they never had to experience this form of extreme embarrassment.
Sebastian was a good looking man, no doubt about it, but his cocky personality and his disregard for others overshadowed his looks, and now all you see is a flirt with no sense of shame.
In order to avoid making the situation even worse, you pulled the microphone away from Sebastian and let out a forced giggle, “ok, and it’s time to go! Ladies and gentleman: Sebastian Vettel!” Sebastian walked away, being beckoned by his manager to take part in what you could only assume was another post-race interview. Your cameraman gave you the signal that you were no longer being filmed and you let out a frustrated sigh, “every-time!” you said turning to your co-host. “Every-time I’m forced to interview him, he pulls one of his stunts, embarrasses me, and then leaves with this satisfied smile on his face! It’s like his only goal is to publicly humiliate me!” You begin walking down the grid with your co-host, away from the podium area, and even further away from Sebastian.
“He was just messing with you,” your co-host insisted, trying to lighten the mood and hopefully end the Sebastian-centred conversation. “He’s just finished a physically taxing, almost 2 hour long race, let him have his fun.”
“There’s a difference between fun and embarrassing someone on worldwide television, and if you couldn’t tell already, Sebastian was doing the latter.” You turned around and made your way to the cab you had called earlier to take you back to your hotel, not wanting to continue the conversation, as its forcing you to think about the German driver longer than necessary.
—————
It wasn’t only Sebastian who insisted on giving you a hard time, but his fellow driver and podium sitter, Kimi Raikkonen.
The Finnish driver didn’t always irk you as much as he does now, in fact you grew quite close over your shared years in the sport. It wasn’t until Sebastian made the move to Red Bull, that his flirtatious attitude rubbed off on Kimi, tearing a rift in what once was a close friendship. The change wasn’t sudden, but small actions that made you wonder what possessed Kimi to do such things. One of the first comments he made that stood out to you was during an after party, celebrating Kimi and his latest win. Although parties were never your idea of a night well spent, it was practically necessary in order to get into the good graces of certain cold-hearted drivers. Sipping on you martini, huddled up in a booth in the corner of the Monegasque club, your thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
“You look good.” A voice says somewhere behind you, turning around, you see the last person you’d expect to be dishing out compliments. Kimi Raikkonen, in a night club, wearing a suit. It was like looking at a fish out of water. Instead of being visibly uncomfortable, like he usually was in large social gatherings, you noticed something different in his eyes; something darker.
“What?” Although you may have heard the Finn’s kind words the first time around, it was so out of character that you needed reassurance that it wasn’t just something your mind made up to pass time at the after party.
“I said you look good,” repeating his words, Kimi slid into the booth to sit beside you, he smelled of booze and cheap cologne, proving one of your manly assumptions about the driver, that he’s too preoccupied in his own thoughts to indulge in luxuries that he was more than able to afford. Noticing Kimi’s thigh grazing yours, you slid down the booth to create some space, taking note of the slight frown that he now wore. Before you were able to inquire on the sudden change, your co-host called you to the dance floor, insisting that you dance with them and not “sulk in the corner like a loser.”
You looked at Kimi, giving him a sad smile, a way of apologizing and saying goodbye, before being dragged to the clubs centre. You never brought up his actions again, but some part of you still wonders what would have happened if you stayed in that booth a little bit longer.
————
The Finns actions never bothered you, until he, like Sebastian, decided to bring the flirting into the eyes of the public.
Kimi’s second win of the season, interrupting Sebastian’s winning streak, brought out a side of Kimi that had yet to be seen. Proud of not only winning the Italian Grand Prix, but also successfully stopping his rival from rewriting the sports history; Kimi was ecstatic. After getting weighed after the race, he sauntered over to you with a newfound confidence in his step.
“Kimi! Your second win of the season, almost 3 months after your first; how does it feel for your hard work to finally pay off?” You asked with a smile on your face.
“It feels good.”
“Any plans to celebrate your massive win?” You wonder, trying to keep the conversation alive.
“What are your plans?” He asked with a smirk on his face.
Not him too, you thought. Although Sebastian’s incessant flirting was embarrassing, the last thing you needed was another driver who enjoyed seeing you flustered in front of the millions watching at home. Fighting back an annoyed sigh and trying not to sound as flustered as you feel, you answered “ I don’t think I have any plans made,” you said looking over to you co-host, silently begging them to save you from this nightmare.
“That’s good news for me then,” Kimi smirked, “Ill text you” he said walking away as your next driver came over to be interviewed.
————-
You never expected him to actually text you, assuming it was him playing up the flirting for the cameras, until you got back to your hotel. Checking your phone after a long day, you see his name pop up. There was no “hello” or “how are you,” but an address. Quickly typing it into your search engine, your jaw dropped.
It was a nightclub, the most exclusive in all of Monza.
A few minutes passed and you received another text from the Finn. It simply said,
“wear that red dress.”
SOMETHING WAGERED !!! JENSON B. X DRIVER!FEM!READER X SEBASTIAN V. (18+)
summary: she really shouldn't have undermined their abilities to win a bet she off-handedly made.
content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, dom!rbr!seb and dom!mclaren!jenson, threesome, oral sex (m receiving), p in v, spitroast 🥸/trip to paris or sumn, size kink-esque (someone choking reader to feel themselves in reader's- you'll see), praise kink + dumbification, bratty turned cockdrunk!reader
note: what if you have two papers to write but then god said "write a smut?" enjoy xx
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if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out
she shouldn’t have undermined these bastards.
that bet that she made with them was an off-handed comment, anyways. so why did they take it too seriously?
she had a podium streak in comparison to jenson button and sebastian vettel, always finding herself a rank or so above the two. because of her constant p2, her ego got the best of her — telling them that she would let them celebrate with her the next time they landed a place above her.
she seemed to be hesitant at the thought of it at first— but she was more bewildered when her race engineer announced that jenson got p1 and red bull’s sebastian followed after him. she was in p3.
she had known that she had sebastian on her tail before the last lap, but she wondered where she went wrong as they sat in the cooldown room. the two men smirked and gave each other a knowing look, watching the woman as she sat there silently— unable to look at them.
and now, a quick teasing and grinding of hips against the others later, she found herself whining on all fours between the two drivers. jenson’s cock pounding inside her cunt while her cheeks hollowed around sebastian’s length.
her eyes were teary as she took a deep breath, feeling sebastian’s hand wrapped around her neck as he groaned and swore in german.
“scheiße, schatz,” sebastian muttered beneath his breath, feeling her tongue lapping on the underside of his cock. “you suck my cock so well— and i thought driving's the only thing you’re good at.”
sebastian squeezed her throat lightly, groaning deeply when he felt the bulge in her throat as she took his length in. “such a good girl, schatz— i can feel my throat in your cock, baby.”
jenson chuckled breathlessly, driving his hips against her backside as he spoke, “wait ‘til you feel her cunt, mate. she’s so fuckin’ good— you’re such a good fuckin’ girl, no, baby?”
her eyes found sebastian’s as she tried nodding. only to end up choking for a brief moment as she continued to moan around the german’s cock.
her walls were too oversensitive from getting tossed back and forth between the two after each one of them fucked her with their thick fingers. yet jenson was kneeling behind her as if she had more in her system.
because truthfully, she did have more in her system— she just couldn’t explain it anymore. she was too drunk on their cocks that she couldn’t say anything.
sebastian took his hand away from her throat and tapped her face, “he’s asking you a question, liebe.”
she almost cried when sebastian pulled his cock out of her mouth, unable to utter a word besides from, “seb— please- wan’ your cock—“
“but jenson is asking you a question— do you even know what he’s asked, liebe?” sebastian crooned mockingly, making her shake her head in embarrassment and immense pleasure as he laughed, “oh my goodness, are you getting stupid for our cocks?”
“my goodness, gorgeous,” jenson laughed from behind, his thrusts making her moan aloud as he continued to mock her, “us winning must’ve made you dumb, huh? can’t you believe that we get to fuck you like this because you were so bratty before this week?”
“jens— seb— ah,” she babbled, her arms shaking before she held onto sebastian’s hips. she looked up at him once more, eyes glazed with tears as she pleaded, “please… wan’ your cock so bad, seb.”
“i know you do, liebe,” sebastian dipped his head down to peck her lips. “you knew we’d win after that bet of yours that’s why you made it, hm?”
“such an eager girl,” jenson tsked, “you could’ve just begged us to fuck you like a good girl. you didn’t have to come bragging to us about your winning streak.”
the next thing she knew was that her mouth was back to sucking sebastian’s cock, making lewd noises as she devoured his length.
jenson’s cock was sending her to an overdrive, making her moan around sebastian as she whimpered. to make her body shake harder, jenson’s hand snaked around her hips and found its way towards her clit.
“mmh- ah hah,” she tried to let out, but sebastian’s length kept her voice muffled and vibrating as sebastian moaned.
“oh gooood~” sebastian groaned, “fucking hell, jenson keep fucking her like that.”
jenson hissed sharply, “god, she’s so fuckin’ tight around me, seb. she’s about to cum. good girl, baby— you are such a good fuckin’ girl for us.”
she nearly screamed, too turned on by jenson and sebastian’s filthy yet praising words as she felt her legs shaking and cunt throbbing.
“mh- ngh~ f…” jenson’s fingers continued to toy with her clit as she murmured around seb, “f- uck—!”
her eyes began to roll back, her vision blurring and turning white as she came around jenson. jenson and sebastian groaned loudly as they both came, with sebastian’s cock twitching inside her mouth and jenson’s coating her walls white.
her body limped for a brief moment, her ears listening to the men’s heavy breathing as they shuffled around the room. she hadn’t even bothered looking up until she saw jenson and sebastian standing in front of her.
“mmm…” she hummed.
“you look so pretty when you’re fucked out like this, doll,” jenson grinned at her, making her smile lazily.
“maybe we should win more often,” sebastian snickered quietly.
“and here i thought the prize money matters more,” she murmured quietly, making the two laugh at her quips.
“not if we get to see you like this every win, darling,” jenson replied with a smirk, “now c’mon. drink up. you’ve promised to ride seb. up you get, sweets.”
she never really should’ve undermined these bastards. especially when she saw how much energy they’ve had left after fucking her for hours.
♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen
♡ moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1
! Merry (late) Christmas !
Your secret santa XoXo - Kimi Raikonnen x Reader
summary: Y/n is Kimi's favorite santa.
warnings: age gap, romance, too cute🫶, Not retired Kimi!! rawdogging(not proofread)
author's 🗒️'s: i haven't had much time for writing so i did a bit of a cutesy christmas fic for the part 2 hope its good w u guyss <33 enjoy loves!!
( Seb nd Kimi arent retired, reader is at AM with Lance!!)
part 1, part 2, ...
______
It's Christmas. Secret santa with the grid and snow. Well not snow because all of us are still in Abu Dhabi. Knowing glances exchanged after the secret santa pulling. If i remember correctly i was pulled by i think Lance. Im not sure if it really was Lance, but the canadian is a pleasure to know and is just perfect at gifts.
I pulled Kimi, the legend, and my best friend. Maybe my best friend. Knowing how he and Seb are. Obviously it's not only platonic feelings with the way he acts around me.
Thinking about presents for Kimi is rather hard, seeing he doesn't really have a thing he likes but doesn't have. I'd say alcohol but do i wanna heed into his alcoholism? A bit, but only if it means i get a gift for him.
-
The tea in front of me was cold, but the weather kept me warm. Sebastian sat opposite of me, asking for advice on what he should get for Oscar.
"What about i buy him, his gift and you buy Kimi's for me." I suggest a deal thinking of all the things i could give Oscar.
"Don't know what to buy your little boyfriend, eh Y/n?" Teasing smirk pulling on his mouth, the german dared me for an answer.
Eyes rolling into the depths of the back of my head, showing clear annoyance yet he still kept talking.
"Maybe you could finally confess to him, he's all over you whenever you're near him anyway" Sassy tone pulling out his german accent, the sentence making my jaw drop lower with every word. Catching my jaw, i shook my head. Trying to act unbothered, sipping from the lemon tea in my hand.
"Are you really this bored, that you're invested in your two best friend's love life ? Old man." I look away as i hear Kimi's voice in the distance. My head turned to see him talking to Mark Webber, possibly an interview with all those cameras around. The signature straight smile from Kimi appeared. Uncomfortable aura around him.
I nodded back to Seb only to see him already looking at me. 'What?' I silently asked him, only getting a knowing look back.
"Let's just buy those gifts before i regret even sitting here."
-
Giddy feeling in my stomach affecting my hold on the wrapped object. Looking at the usual secret santa interviewer making small talk, handing over the gift.
The wrapping contained a letter and an object Seb helped me pick. I feel kind of weird, specifically the fact that i don't know if he will like it is weird.
After half an hour, the interviewer approached me again, cameramen following close by. Small talk exchanged as she got ready for the video.
"Okay! One, two, and three, it's on!" A smiley voice came from her notifying me.
I was handed a gift box and the santa hat. Placing the hat on my head i examined the box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper which had hearts written all over it. All i gathered is that it must be one of my friends. I brought it up to my ears to shake and maybe smell.
The shaking part was unsuccessful since the box made nearly no noise, however the smell was gentle yet slightly familiar. Kimi's cologne. Versace eros eau de toilette. The one you recommended to him, because you liked it. Mint and lemon are dominant over the smell of paper.
"That's Kimi." I looked up knowingly, smiling a bit.
"Smells like him. Unless it's Seb and he's again interested in my business." Rolling my eyes, earning a snicker from the woman handling the microphone.
I start opening the paper gently, since i wanna save the heart on it. As soon as i take the top off, i see what i got. Caramel chocolate and snacks from my home country, paired with a bottle of jägermeister. Underneath these items there's a hoodie, unfolding it i see the embroidery on it.
'No. 7'
Holding it close to my nose, i smell it. Versace.
___
author's 🗒️'s: I kind of left it on a cliffhanger but im traveling 4 hours tomorrow im gonna do the end tomorrowww :PPPPP anyways cuties i hope my writing isnt a disaster im so sleepy rn its an actual nightmare...
taglist: @i-wish-this-was-me , @keii134 , @littlesatanicassholebitch <3
Okay so if it's okay I have a seb (rbr seb to be precise) request. We all know rbr seb was a menace, chaos lover and flirty (we all love him for that) so enemies to lovers (at least one sided because I have no doubt this man while loving by all grid also hated by some) with seb would be amazing... Imagine all the tension 🫣🫣 but happy ending of course because nowadays I need my healthy dosage of fluff with a bit of angst sprinkle 💗🙏🏻
𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞
Lissie note… I am SO happy someone finally requested Seb<3 An enemies to lovers too!!! This prompt is pure gold! Really love the one-sided touch too. Thank you!!!
Things to note
This is set to start in late 2010 and progress from there on (only until Seb’s last year at rbr)
Accuracy to real driver standings will be off due to the reader insert
Michael did not get in any accident here<3
Reader is 22 and Sebastian is 23
Reader is with Mercedes, driving alongside Michael (put him instead of Rosberg because Michael knows Seb better. You’ll get it when you read)
Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Mercedes!Fem!Reader
Warnings: Angst, a little bit of cursing
Word Count: 6.4k+
Playlist Recommendations: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭💔, 𝐒𝐕𝟓
Taglist: @drugged-kitkat , @darleneslane
𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞
A master of your art. That’s what you liked to think of yourself as. You weren’t driven by fame or money. Rather the excitement of the rush. The feeling of hitting each apex just right— you relished in it. If there was one thing you really were driven by, however; it was winning a championship. You’d won a few races in your career and had your national anthem played for everyone to hear, but no more of that. Your sole goal was to receive the title above all other titles.
Your dreams of such were cut short by one Red Bull driver. Sebastian Vettel. You sat there at the prize-giving ceremony, waiting for Formula One racers to be called up. Michael sat next to you with Corinna. She gave you a sympathetic smile, knowing you missed out on the championship and landed 2nd overall.
Michael claimed Sebastian meant no ill will. He was just young and spirited. You begged to differ. The smirk he’d give you after winning a race begged to differ. His whole… shtick… begged to differ.
Alonso was called on stage to receive his award for landing 3rd, which meant that you had to be ready to receive yours too. You brushed down the sides of your dress, asking Corrina if you looked okay. She seemed surprised you’d even ask such a question but reassured you with a smile and a nod.
When your name was called, a thump in your heart reached the base of your throat. Podium celebrations were one thing, but the prize-giving was an entirely different thing altogether.
Although it was supposed to be a celebration, all you saw was a sea of pitiful glances. Most people knew of your unfortunate position, though many were too afraid to comment on it.
“Sebastian Vettel” Oh the great Sebastian Vettel! World’s youngest champion yet! That could’ve been you. Easily. You hated the thought of not being there on the highest step. The young German gave you a wink before he received his massive trophy. You were in front of hundreds of people and the ceremony was being taped, so you did nothing but smile and seem grateful.
Sure, you were actually grateful for receiving anything at all, but it all seemed like pity. All that was left was to throw your own pity party with a pint of Pinot and a sad romance movie.
The interviews were a nightmare. Every single one of them kept trying to sell you their act. All the while the questions surrounded your relationship with Sebastian. One of undoubted hate for one another. At least on your side.
You didn’t even bother going back to the hotel. The after-party was the one thing you actually looked forward to. The booze, mainly. Anything to drown out your sorrows, really. Oh, how you despised all the small gestures people did for you as an act of congratulating you. Your mixed feelings nearly slapped the vodka shot out of a waitress’ hand. You were a menace in this state.
“Easy on those shots, you came here alone. Wouldn’t want to go home too wasted.” A voice came up behind you.
“Well, that’s a little too late, Hamilton.” His look was that of genuine concern. He knew what you were doing. He knew exactly what that vodka was for.
“You’ll get him next time. At least you’re on the podium, right?” Great. Even one of your closest friends started to pity you.
“Fuck off, would you?” Luckily, he was very understanding and didn’t take any of your words to heart. He got out of your way and went to socialize. That’s when the coin fell. You were alone. He was right. You had no means of getting home. Taxis were rare in that part of town, and your hotel was far away. You were really in a pile of shit.
“Whatever,” you mumbled to yourself and one-shotted a sipping whiskey. It burned your throat with vigour and surged through your body like a pest.
Completely wasted, you felt extremely hot. It didn’t cross your mind to take a breather outside. No, instead, you slowly pulled the sleeve of your dress down. With your shoulder exposed, you could only chase that relief of cool air.
That attempt? Cut short. By none other than Sebastian Vettel. Perhaps a championship in interference would serve him well. He stopped you and pulled your sleeve back up. It felt like an insult. Another jab that he wanted to throw your way.
“Fuck off and let me do my thing,” you kept aimlessly pulling at your sleeve. The feat was just as great as your races against him.
“Stop it. You’re drunk.”
“Wow, I hadn’t noticed. You want another trophy for that discovery?” The friction against the soft satin of your dress eventually made it tear. Both of you froze before you got up and b-lined towards the exit. Anything to get away from him. You pushed through the masses of people in the club and eventually got outside.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rip your dress.” Much to your misfortune, the constant bother had followed you outside.
“You’ve already ruined more than just my dress. Must you ruin the rest of my night too?” You looked him deep in the eyes. You didn’t even have to act like you’d given up— because you most definitely had. No question.
“I’m about to make your night bearable if you’ll let me.” He took off his blazer and wrapped it around you, so you wouldn’t catch a cold in your skimpy dress. You hated the sentiment. You hated his whole “holier than thou” personality. Why? Because it was for show. He was nothing but a monster. He was behind many of your crashes and never gave you any space. You resented him for his quirky little stunts.
“Whatever, youngest world champion.” You couldn’t help but scoff at the title. He had played foul to win it. That title should’ve been yours, but no. Sebastian Vettel stole your glory.
“Come on, don’t be like that. At least value your own well-being. Let’s just get you a coffee to sober up with. You can curse me out as much as you want in the morning.” He tried to guide you forward, but you hunched over and up came all of your vodka shots. He held your hair back as you emptied out the contents of your stomach. It was revolting. You felt disgusting.
“I sure hope I won’t see you in the morning— let alone tomorrow.” Not exactly the toughest thing to say when you’re coughing for your life.
“You won’t even remember this, you know?”
“Makes it better. Then I don’t have to remember how I actually spent more than 10 minutes alone with you.” You were still hunched over, but the snarkiness in your voice triumphed that.
“You really dislike me, don’t you?” He chuckled.
“Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.”
The Red Bull champion ended up being right. You had completely forgotten about the exchange. Someone had hailed you a taxi and you’d drunkenly gotten yourself to your hotel room. That’s how you remembered it. You were still bitter about the ceremony and Sebastian’s selfish attitude. Sure, you’d expect nothing less from a racer, especially in Formula One, but he was a different kind of heartless. He mocked you. He didn’t care if he hurt you on track. That was your own fault.
Sebastian Vettel was your sworn enemy.
The media had become desensitized to your drama with him, as something always happened at every race. It was impossible to not argue with the guy. All he cared about was winning and he wasn’t in the sport to make friends. It was almost as if he wanted to be hated. You simply couldn’t understand how he and Lewis managed to get along. They somehow managed to separate their work from their friendship. You had that relationship with most of the grid, but Sebastian was too unsportsmanlike for your taste. Michael always tried to reason with you, often softening the blow of some of Vettel’s words, saying he “didn’t mean it” or was “just worked up”. You looked up to Michael, but you could never back that. It was bull. Sebastian had no redeeming qualities. He was overly flirtatious and aggressive. You hated that.
Every interview he had with a woman was met with his flirty remarks and his devious smile. You always had to sit there and soak in his gloating. He was insufferable.
“I really don’t see what the problem is. He’s just really obsessed with his career, no?” You had invited your friend out for brunch before your plane. The first race of the season was in Australia. Mark Webber’s home race. A challenge for Sebastian. Mark was tired of his teammate. Much like yourself. You could smell a possible truce. Although that’d be foul play. Unsportsmanlike of you. Were you going to be the bigger person? Of course. You were mature.
“He makes me want to crash my car into his. I should definitely do that in Australia.” You were not mature.
“You don’t mean that. Besides, it’s not even that deep. You don’t have to make something big out of the rush he gets from being in the moment. Don’t you also cuss at your engineer from time to time?” She had a valid point, but it went into one ear and straight out the other. You loved her to death, but she was spewing nonsense.
“Sebastian is an asshole. That’s the bottom line. Whose side are you on anyway?!” You scolded. She twirled her fork in the pasta and let out a faint chuckle.
“Of course, I’m on your side… but you can’t lie. Sebastian is cute.” It was official. Your friend was possessed.
“In what world? I told you about his dirty tricks. How is he still cute?” He was the devil in disguise. Some drivers were able to see it, but most were gullible enough to even befriend him. Your hatred didn’t come from a place of jealousy. It came from a place of being cast aside because of him. Time and time again. It was tiring, and you couldn’t do anything about it. The Mercedes car wasn’t nearly as fast as Red Bull. You desperately wanted it to be.
“Whatever. What I’m saying is, maybe he’s not all that bad off-track.” Oh, but he was. His flirtatious behaviour off-track was nearly as bad as his insufferable one on track. You couldn’t stand it.
“He is. I don’t know what to tell you.”
Your friend drove you to the jet and the two of you exchanged a few hugs and whatnot. She wished you good luck before you got on.
Inside, you saw many familiar faces. Michael being one of them. He pointed to the seat across from his own and signalled for you to sit. When you did, he leaned forward and you could already tell he was going to talk about your least favourite driver again. For whatever reason, he was set on trying to change your mind. “Seb is not a bad person”, “He’s just young and hot-headed”, and “He doesn’t know any better”… all of those excuses meant nothing to you. Sebastian was just that; a dirty driver.
“So, let’s find a way to beat him this year, yes?” You were taken aback. He never said something like that. Sure, he’d console you and help you through your sorrows of finishing behind Vettel, but he was always neutral. Never on either “side”. Though he did tend to seem like he was on Sebastian’s.
“We’re in a Mercedes. I don’t see any way for us. It’s just straight down on the charts. I mean, will I even be able to land a podium this year? I heard McLaren have been pulling their weight for this year. Like… a lot.” Michael contemplated what to say for a moment, but tried to console you nonetheless. He was a father, so he’d gotten quite good at that.
“We can still put up a good fight, right?”
“I suppose.” You could only hope for a miracle. Christian Horner was unrelenting with his new golden boy, Sebastian. The Red Bulls were unstoppable. You had no other choice but to follow Michael’s spirit. Just put up a good fight.
Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.
It was practice day. You were getting ready, suiting up, and seating yourself in the car. Your heart was beating fast. It had been a while since you last sat in a real car. You’d done your fair share of sim racing whilst on break, but it was nothing compared to the real deal.
“Good luck,” your engineer clapped your helmet before you were released. The car felt surprisingly great. It was smooth and you felt like it synced well with your driving style.
Then came Sebastian. Again. He sped past you. Although you couldn’t see him, you just knew he was smirking behind that helmet of his. He relished in your mental torment. It was his source of amusement.
You finished P3. Lewis finished P2 and Sebastian, yet again, finished P1. It was only the first round of practice though. You promised yourself that you’d do everything in your power to finish P1 in the qualifying session.
You didn’t keep your promise. You fell short and landed a finishing spot at P2. Devastating, but your team was happy you got a front-row start anyway. Whenever the interviews finished, you tried to find Michael. Only to see him chatting with him. They were having a laugh— joking around. The sight made you furious. Again, not in jealousy, but the sheer thought that Michael fell for Sebastian’s shtick.
“Hey, Michael. Could we talk? There’s something about the car.” The interjection was abrupt and one might even call it rude, but did you care? Absolutely not. You had no reason to whatsoever. It was Vettel after all.
“Actually, I was just saying goodbye to Sebastian. Corinna is waiting for me outside. How about you tell me tomorrow? Maybe talk to the engineers too. Anyways, see you guys!” Just great. You sighed as you watched your teammate leave.
“That’s some rejection,” said the German standing next to you. Ugh. Wrong German.
“What do you want?”
“Let’s grab coffee sometime soon.” What? You were used to his flirty remarks being directed at the interviewers and whatnot… but this?
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Unbelievable. He was unbelievable. You scoffed and put your hand in front of his face before walking off. Giving him the satisfaction of an answer wasn’t exactly your style, and it wouldn’t ever be.
“You didn’t say no!” He yelled from behind you. Ignoring him, you made a turn so that you’d disappear from his sight. His presence was exhausting and downright draining.
Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.
“Box box,” said your engineer. You were on hards and chasing Sebastian who was on hards as well. It made no sense to pit after a mere 23 laps.
“Are you sure? I’ve got a good chance here. I don’t think it’s time. We didn’t discuss this.” The original plan was to pit when Sebastian would, and it seemed like he was going to do a one-stop.
“We’re sure. You need to get on mediums. We just switched Michael too. Get in.” You sighed and got ready to slow down in the pit lane. It was painful to see Sebastian take the win like that. P1 felt like a distant dream for you at that point.
“This better work. I swear, this better fucking work.” You were beyond frustrated about your current position in P8. The pit stop had taken longer than expected, making you lag a few places behind. Oh, how you couldn’t stand the idea of Sebastian rubbing his victory in your face. His first victory of the season.
You upped your game, completing smooth overtake after smooth overtake. All the way up until you regained your position right behind the Red Bull. There was a slight problem though. The car was starting to feel unusually hot. Sweat trickled down your face and the visor looked as if it was raining. You weren’t going to report rain though, as you knew your team would if there was any.
“Fuck, guys, it’s too hot!” You yelled over the radio. As expected, all your engineer replied with was a simple “copy”. It was swift communication, you knew that, but it sure as hell was frustrating. It felt like you weren’t getting any attention at all.
Your team performed pit stops rather quickly, which was a plus whereas everything else was a minus. It didn’t cancel out, but at least it helped combat some of the other problems your car had.
As most had predicted though, you were unable to overtake Sebastian or his new nickname “the finger”, and were stuck in P2. You couldn’t even enjoy the podium celebration. Sure, you sprayed some champagne and chugged a bit, but did you enjoy it? Not particularly. Michael had told you to not worry and just give it your all, but it was hard to forget when Vettel was in the way. His smug grin as he held his trophy and stuck his pointer in the air… you wanted to crush his ego. So bad. You were going to relish in the moment when Sebastian would lose out on a championship. It was going to be an unforgettable moment to be sure.
“You can’t be satisfied, can you?” Sebastian came up to you after the celebration. He was the last person you wanted to see at that moment, but his gloating was inevitable. Might as well get it over with.
“Not by you, I can’t.”
“You must know how that sounds.” Yeah, you were going to lose your mind. He successfully pulled off a tasteless and baseless trap. You walked straight into it like an insect stuck in a spiderweb.
“Whatever.” You took off your race suit, leaving on the fireproof suit to cover your body for the time being. It was already hot enough as is.
“Cute.” You’d gotten used to his little flirty remarks and comments. It was basically white noise.
“You’re not.”
“I was referring to you, you know.” He was quite literally impossible.
“Must you really make me suffer with your presence any longer? Isn’t winning and doing your little finger thing enough?!” When you started raising your voice, it grabbed people’s attention, so the young Red Bull driver pulled you with him to his motorhome.
“Did I not just enlighten you about my discomfort in your presence or did I daydream that?” You scoffed at him and pulled your arm from his grip.
“Look, I’m done trying to ignore your contempt for me. Do you seriously think that I will apologize for winning? This isn’t grade school. I was driving, I was faster, I won. Simple as that. If you can’t accept it and take the loss, then you really shouldn’t be racing.” Your heart sank to the bottom of your chest. Each sentence was like a dagger to the chest. You felt every little soul-crushing word in your gut.
“Wow… you really are more of an asshole than I thought. I don’t care that you won. I care that you gloat. I care that you don’t care about me. You don’t care about any of the others. We could die for all you care. Do you want me to die? Is that it?” All rationality had left your mind the moment he insulted you. Red was all you could see.
“You’re twisting my words. I merely said that I won’t apologize for winning. I never said I wanted anyone injured.” He was right, and you knew that. Deep down, you knew that he was just like you. Passionate about the sport. The only difference was that he was in a winning car… and you unfortunately weren’t. Was it his fault? You were too blindsided by rage to even consider any other possibilities.
“By the way you drive, I beg to differ.”
“You’d be lying to me and yourself if you were to tell me you’ve never gotten caught up in the moment. You know exactly how that feels.” He somehow had a counter for everything you threw at him.
“What about your constant flirting? Why do you keep rubbing your victory in my face like that?” The look on his face contorted into that of a confused one.
“What do you mean?” He asked, obviously at a complete loss.
“You asked me out for coffee.” You said whilst confidently crossing your arms over your chest.
“You seriously think that’s a front for something?” He almost found it amusing. The way you overanalyzed his motives.
“You don’t think a guy can be the least bit interested in you?” Before you had the chance to respond, Mark walked in with Christian behind him. That was your cue to leave, so you did without hesitation.
Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.
It had been a good while since you last had a real talk with Sebastian. A few years to be exact. The jabs and games were still happening. Neither of you had dared address any of it, but one thing remained stuck in your head like a broken record; “You don’t think a guy can be the least bit interested in you?” Every day and night, that thought passed through the thousands of others. It stood out. It was like the moon in a starry sky.
During those years, Michael had retired. It broke your heart, but seeing as Lewis replaced him; it wasn’t all that bad. Mercedes had gotten increasingly better as well— which meant that you had a better chance at beating Sebastian for every year that passed.
Lewis, being one of your closest friends on the grid, agreed to help you win your first championship. The Red Bulls had their run. It was time for Mercedes to shine. You needed to win.
“Lewis, I don’t think I can do it this race. There are too many low-speed corners. Red Bull will take this one home… Sebastian will take this one home.” You sat in your garage and moped as Lewis leaned against a pillar opposite you.
“It’s fine. They’re basically useless in high-speed corners this year. Besides, you already have 3 wins over him. Just one race won’t hurt. Well… it’ll sting, but see if you can land a podium, yeah?” Did you even want to try? You knew that Sebastian would mock you either way. It was almost as if your world didn’t revolve around the championship anymore. It was all about him. All about Sebastian.
“Yeah nah. I don’t think I can.” You stared at your feet. The race shoes were starting to feel clammy around them.
“Do you really believe that’s the mindset of a winner? No. Just think about doing whatever you can do. You don’t have to care about anyone else when you’re out there. Let yourself loose.” Lewis was right. You did care too much. You seldom crashed into anyone, all because you cared for their safety.
You ended up winning. You didn’t know how it happened or what you did to make it happen. Lewis’ words just kept swirling inside your brain; “Let yourself loose.”
You stood patiently and waited for the interviewer to finish up with P3 and P2, watching as Sebastian looked ever so disappointed. It was humorous. You felt amazing. The other wins you lorded over him didn’t feel that liberating. They felt good, but not great.
“—And here’s the deadly Mercedes! You were on fire today! We did not expect this aggressive approach from you. It was breathtaking. What did you do differently?” That was the question. What did you do differently? You stopped caring. You remembered you weren’t in the sport to make friends. You were there to win.
“I mean, I did what I had to do, really. I focused on winning and I listened to great advice. I simply just won.” The interviewer looked at you with a question mark etched onto her forehead but didn’t press further on that question.
“I know your first loss to Sebastian proved quite upsetting, would you say the tables have turned?” She smiled at you. It was clear from the beginning that she was on your side. After all, being the only female racer on the grid— you had a magnetic effect on fans of the sport.
“I can’t say for sure yet, but I can definitely hope!” Your voice was cheery and sweet, but that was just a front. You couldn’t wait for his downfall. Standing on that stage at the ceremony, watching all life drain from Sebastian’s eyes. That was your goal.
People had every right to tell you off, but at what cost if you didn’t care? Lewis had just helped you unlock the very thing that could potentially destroy the smug Red Bull driver.
Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.
The season was going smoothly. Fans roared in your favour and even threw gifts at you whenever you went on the scene. Yours and Sebastian’s roles had switched. You were the new fan favourite. Everyone could attest to that fact.
There was a slight thing bugging you, however. The many Instagram and Facebook fan pages that were dedicated to shipping you with Sebastian. They made edits, they came up with extreme theories… It was mortifying.
People in the Mercedes garage weren’t quiet either. If anything, they were even worse. Constantly bugging you about your “obvious” chemistry with Sebastian and whatnot. Which, in your opinion, didn’t exist.
You only harboured hate for the man. He was foul. Through and through… right?
Lies. Although you didn’t dare tell anyone, you didn’t quite hate him anymore. After letting go and caring less, you felt like you could finally see things from his perspective. It made you realize that he just wanted to win. Well, on top of mocking you. That was what had your mind in knots. He claimed he only teased you because of your reactions, but he refused to acknowledge your obvious distaste for it.
He had, however, begun to limit his snarky comments and cruel smirks. He actually started distancing himself. He rarely spoke to you and only ever interacted with you when the two of you landed a podium together.
You felt like something was missing.
“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Lewis asked. The two of you were sitting in your respective chairs in the cooldown room. He had somehow scored a P2 finish, with you upfront and Vettel in P3.
“Oh, nothing. Sorry. Zoned out, I guess?” You stretched your arms and wiped a bead of sweat off your forehead. Sebastian watched you throw the towel onto Lewis’ lap. Your teammate threw it back and the two of you shared a silly moment.
Something brewed inside the young Red Bull racer. He had been slacking off. He knew that all too well. His teammate, Daniel Ricciardo, was going to outscore him. There was nothing he could do about it. Not when Mercedes had gotten the upper hand. Not when you were in the way. The only pain he felt was from watching you with Lewis. He despised seeing you all happy-go-lucky. That was it. No, it wasn’t. He hated seeing you joke around with the other drivers. The sight of you laughing at a mechanic’s joke? His blood boiled.
The courage he once had was slipping. Much like his performance. He couldn’t focus on winning when losing was his only way to reach his ultimate goal.
“We should probably get going. Time to listen to your national anthem… yet again,” Lewis jokingly sighed and ruffled your hair, whilst you rolled your eyes with a chuckle.
You saw a cheerful sea of Mercedes employees. A 1-2 finish. Any team would be ecstatic if their drivers pulled that off.
Sebastian stood next to you. He couldn’t bring himself to muster even the smallest smile. Putting it mildly, his plan was starting to look like it had gone to shit. Not only was he losing the races, he was losing…
“Lew, look at this,” you grinned. Lewis obliged and was met with a burst of champagne. He let out a small yelp before picking up his bottle and spraying you.
Although he probably had a reason, you were beginning to hate how Sebastian never even spoke to you. The only solution; spray him. You poured a cold shot down his neck, to which he jerked his shoulders forward in an uncomfortable motion. It made him smile. Your heart swelled with some form of comfort in knowing you could make him feel some sort of joy.
Was that Lewis’ design all along? Making you see things from Vettel’s perspective? Perhaps. Whatever it was, you knew that your hatred for him had faded. This was replaced with stealing small glances and a spike in your heart rate when he was near.
You often felt your heart pump thickly in your throat. Your insides were littered with butterflies. You felt all jittery around him. Well, until he stopped with his flirting. He completely stopped interacting with you. It had your stomach in a twist. Were you too late? Did you not do enough?
“You don’t think a guy can be the least bit interested in you?”
You knew exactly who you had to see.
It was perfect, given that the next race wasn’t that coming weekend. You decided to give Michael a call, asking if you could see him at his house in Switzerland. Him being something of a father figure— said yes.
It was time to dig into the past. Not through the eyes of who you once were, but who you became. You were able to see things from every angle. Sebastian had clearly flirted out of sheer fun and mischief, but something underlined that cause. You. It was foolish of you to be so blinded with rage and hatred, that you couldn’t see him for what he was. A man who was struggling to keep your undivided attention. You weren’t yet convinced, but surely Michael would be able to set you straight.
You first greeted Corinna and the kids, who were not so much kids anymore. Michael came down to give you a hug and invite you to his cosy home office. He brewed some tea and placed it on the table.
“It’s so nice to see you again. I haven’t quite gotten used to retirement, but I did it once before, so I can definitely do it again!” He chuckled.
“I’m glad you’re still holding up well. I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to know that Mercedes is leading at the moment.” You smiled at him and took a sip of the tea he’d made for you.
“I have been following up. I watch almost every race, actually. Whenever my kids have time, we throw on the sports channel and watch you and Sebastian. That’s to say they always have time for that. In fact, my son, Mick— his dream is to race for Mercedes.” Mick was growing steadily and did karting regularly. You didn’t see why he wouldn’t be able to earn a seat at Mercedes eventually.
“About that… I came here for advice… regarding Sebastian.” As embarrassing as it was to beat around the bush, saying things like that outright was not exactly your forté.
“What, did he finally confess?” You were dumbstruck by his sudden question.
“Excuse me? What?”
“Well, you see, he was always coming to me and asking me how to get you to talk to him. I always said that he could figure things out for himself. By your reaction, however, I’m guessing that didn’t exactly work?” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index fingers.
“He was crazy about you, I remember. The more riled up you got, the more he’d come to me for advice. It became routine for us to sit and talk, actually.” You had your suspicions, but never did you know that he was actually into you. Those fan pages and edits could’ve only fueled it. Your heart was beating faster and faster. It felt like it was nearly about to burst. Definitely, because you didn’t like him like that. You were just starting to sympathize. Nothing romantic. At all. No. Nothing.
“You know what I think?” Michael added when he saw your tomato-red face.
“I think he’s losing those races on purpose. Just to satisfy your needs. For a long time, he wanted to earn as many world championships as myself, but recently… something else seems to be stuck in his mind. I think his priorities lie elsewhere now.” You ran your fingers through your hair in frustration. Your heart couldn’t stop going faster than your car on race day.
“I also think you may feel something for him too.”
“Thank you, Michael. Truly… but I have to go.” You booked the earliest flight out. Needing some time alone with your thoughts.
Michael was almost always right. In this situation? There was no way he wasn’t.
Sebastian Vettel, I hate you.
You were back on the top again. The podium was the exact same as the last race. The celebration was grand. It was all pretty much the same. Your focus was more on getting time alone with Sebastian.
After everything had died down, you decided to visit the Red Bull motorhome and knocked on Vettel’s door.
“What are you doing here?” He asked with a surprised look on his face, upon opening the door.
“We need to talk. Invite me in?” He let you walk past him.
“What is it? Are you here to blackmail me?”
“What? No. Why would I ever do that?” Your face grimaced at his idea.
“I don’t know, I’m just not feeling that great right now.” He was all mopey and looked as if someone had sucked all the life force out of him.
“I actually came to talk to you about… um… well, us.” You were fiddling with your fingers in your lap, too scared to look him in the eyes.
“Us?”
“I spoke to Michael.” You weren’t sure how to lead the conversation from start to finish.
“You did?”
“He told me about everything.” Your eyes met his in a flash of awkwardness.
“Look, that was a long time ago and—”
“I don’t hate you anymore,” you cut off. His eyes lit up at your words.
“What do you mean by that?” Was he really that desperate to hear you say it, or were you too scared to say it?
“I don’t know… I guess it means you can start flirting with me again or whatever…” you mumbled sheepishly. It felt so embarrassing to tell him face to face. Your heart was thumping louder than the pit stops Mercedes did. Your face was redder than the Ferraris.
“Could we see where this takes us? I mean, if you’d like.” He seemed to be just as embarrassed about it as you. It was kind of cute, actually.
“Yes… I’d like that.” Although the conversation was surprisingly short, it left a huge impact on Sebastian. He was more or less depressed on the podium but the interviews that followed? He was a firecracker. He acted as if he’d won the lottery, smiling like an idiot and stealing glances from you here and there. It was an odd but welcome, warm feeling that spread throughout your body.
Who would’ve thought? Both Lewis and Michael were able to set you straight. You used to care too much. You used to think about yourself only, when it came to Sebastian. It was impossible to put yourself in his shoes until Lewis taught you otherwise. Your feelings? You would’ve let yourself crush them over time, had it not been for your talk with your mentor.
Much time passed, and you had won races upon races. You were still getting much-needed advice on everything from races to simple daily routines, by Michael. Sometimes you went to Lewis. He was easier to reach and you were always able to have quick conversations with him before the races. Everything had accumulated to the current momentum. The glory that you were about to relish in. The people you were about to make proud.
You sat in your seat with Sebastian on your side. He had only recently asked you to be his. It took some dates and deep, meaningful talks before you got there, but the wait was worth it. Life had never felt better. You were completely enamoured with Sebastian. The feeling was more than mutual. He was helplessly and irrevocably in love with you.
He was called to the stage as 3rd overall. The crowd cheered, but you cheered the loudest. If you had told your past self that you would be cheering him on at the ceremony, you would’ve never believed yourself.
Lewis was called next and you were called last. Sebastian couldn’t stop smiling at you. People were cheering and you were in a state of euphoria.
Your trophy was the biggest, brightest, and most grand in the room. However, it could never compare to the adoration on your boyfriend’s face, as he saw you hoisting it up into the air.
After all the interviews and the longest ride back to your hotel, you crashed onto your shared bed with your lover. The two of you stared at the blank ceiling, feeling a state of absolute tranquillity. The two of you had come so far.
“I’m so proud of you.” Sebastian turned his head to face you.
“Thank you, Seb.” You followed suit.
“Do you think we wasted too much time?” You asked. In all honesty, a tinge of guilt hit you every now and then. If only you had come to terms with yourself and your feelings earlier…
“All that time was worth hearing you tell me that you love me. I don’t think we wasted even a single moment. Everything that has happened so far… you know, it all built up to this.” You smiled at him and pulled him into a loving kiss.
Sebastian Vettel, I love you.
𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...
𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!
𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩
𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.)
never not thinking about nico/jenson/mark actually
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