Billy Eats You Out For His Pleasure ...

More dad max pls! Binged all of the parts in mini me and I need moooore 😫😫 how about little fabi and his friends having a sleepover and his friends see max and they’re all 🤩🤩

I love dad max and little fabi I swear to god

Mini Me Masterlist

Fabi had his friends over for school. He'd been over to all of his friends house, but they hadn't yet been to his.

As soon as he'd expressed to his mother that he wanted to have friends over, she moved all of Max's trophies into his office. It was where he kept his sim rig ever since Fabian was born.

Y/N set up the living room with blankets and cushions and movies and snacks. She had the house perfect by the time Fabian and his friends made it home from school.

Max wasn't in at that minute. He was at his trainers gym, readying himself for the coming season.

Ever since Fabian was born, Max had gotten better with his time. He still streamed, but not as often, instead spending time with his family.

Y/N opened for door for Fabian and his friends. "Hallo mijn zoon," Y/N said as she pulled Fabian close.

His friends giggled as he groaned and pulled away. "Mum, c'mon," he groaned and Y/N let go of him.

She took the kids, six of them in total, through to the living room. Immediately they dropped their bags and got comfortable as Y/N set about texting their mothers, letting them know that they got there safe.

As they watched the movie, Y/N set about making dinner. She made sandwiches for the kids, leaving them on the coffee table.

As she made dinner, her husband returned home. As soon as Y/N heard the door go she strode up to him, wrapping her arms around his sweaty frame and kissing his cheek. "Fabi brought some friends round," she said with a grin.

Max looked towards the living room. He could just about see six heads focused on the television, with the cats sleeping on the sofa behind them.

"I'm going to go say hi," Max whispered and kissed his wife.

While she went back to preparing dinner, Max walked into the living room. He grabbed a hold of Jimmy, cradling him in his arms as he stood beside the television. "Hi Fabi, hi kids," he said to them.

But the kids just stared, wide eyes.

Max Verstappen. The Max Verstappen was sitting in front of them. He was either their father's favourite sports person or least favourite.

And, kids being kids, they weren't afraid to express this. "My daddy thinks you're the worst," said one of them.

Max let out a surprised laugh. He hadn't been expecting this.

But then another kid piped up. "My daddy says you're the best racing car driver ever! I want to be a racing driver like you!"

"Nuh uh!" Shouted Fabi. "I'm gonna be a race car driver like him!"

"No me!" The kid shouted.

"He's my daddy and one day I'll be driving for Red Bull!"

It went on and on, all while Max stood there, watching and laughing. His Fabi was stubborn, that was for sure. Like father lies Goddamn Son.

♡ Vegas Baby | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: After winning his fourth world championship, Max Verstappen stuns the world with a live radio proposal.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @altxanna idea so good it made me get over my writer's block and write this 4.2k monstrosity.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen crossed the finish line in fifth place, but that didn’t matter. The entire world was fixated on the fact that he had just won his fourth World Championship.

“AND MAX VERSTAPPEN DOES IT AGAIN! FOUR WORLD TITLES!” David Croft shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. The Las Vegas skyline lit up like a fireworks display on overdrive, the crowd roaring in approval.

“Forget where he finished—he’s a four-time world champion!” Martin Brundle yelled, equally excited. “This is history!”

Max, however, barely seemed to notice he’d crossed the line in fifth. He was just… Max. Calm. Collected. His voice came through the radio, steady as always, but with a hint of amusement.

“Thanks, guys. It’s been an incredible season. I’m so proud of the team. Huge thanks to GP, Christian, everyone.”

“You’ve done it, Max! Four-time champion, man!” GP screamed, clearly unable to keep the excitement in. “This is massive, mate! You’ve earned this!”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said, his voice deadpan. “But listen, there’s one more thing.”

The radio went quiet for a second.

“Uh… What’s that, Max?” GP asked, his tone suddenly cautious.

Max didn’t respond right away. Then, he casually dropped the bomb.

“Y/n, a bet’s a bet. We’re getting married tonight.”

“WHAT?!” GP exploded. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Max’s tone didn’t change. “We’re getting married. Vegas chapel. Tonight.”

The entire Red Bull garage froze. Even the other engineers looked around in total confusion.

Max continued, his voice as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s been planned. I won the fourth title, she agreed to the bet, so… wedding time.”

GP sputtered. “Max, you—WHAT? No, no, no. You can’t just say that on the radio! You can’t just—”

“I’m doing it,” Max said, already tired of the conversation. “It’s happening. Vegas. Tonight.”

The radio was dead silent for a long moment, then GP finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “Max, I—What in the world did I just hear? Are you seriously making your wedding announcement over the team radio?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” Max replied. “She said if I won my fourth title in Vegas, I could pick the wedding date. So, I picked tonight.”

“Max, you can’t—you—what the hell is wrong with you?!” GP spluttered.

Back in the commentary booth, David Croft could barely hold it together. “Did Max Verstappen just announce his wedding on live radio after winning his fourth world championship? Is that what I just heard?!”

“I think that’s exactly what you heard, Crofty,” Martin Brundle said, voice dripping with astonishment. “This is pure, unfiltered Verstappen.”

David Crofty just stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “Honestly, I can’t even process this. We’ve seen some wild moments in F1, but this... this might just take the cake.”

“Yeah,” Brundle said with a chuckle. “You can’t script this stuff. Not even in Vegas.”

Meanwhile, in Red Bull’s hospitality area, Y/n was standing stock-still, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The radio call still blaring in her ears.

“Did—did he just announce our wedding? Like… right now?!” she hissed, her hand gripping the counter in disbelief.

A Red Bull mechanic standing nearby looked just as stunned. “Uh, I think he did, yeah.”

“He’s lost it,” one engineer muttered under his breath, his face pale.

“I don’t even know what’s happening anymore,” another whispered.

The others weren’t any better off, most of them looking like they might faint. A PR rep came over, trying to maintain professionalism but clearly in shock. “Y/n, um… Max just… did he just announce your wedding?”

“Don’t look at me,” Y/n groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t even… He’s the worst.”

“Vegas, baby!” another joked, only to get smacked in the arm by Y/n as she stormed past.

Back on the track, Max, utterly relaxed, parked his car in parc fermé and stepped out, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it like it was no big deal.

“So, yeah,” Max said, grinning at the cameras. “Got my fourth title, and now I get to marry my girl. Vegas chapel, let’s go!”

The reporters and photographers surrounding him stared at him in utter confusion.

“Wait, what? You’re—what?!” one reporter stammered.

Max smirked. “Yep, Vegas. I won, she lost, and now we’re getting married.”

He tossed a thumbs-up to the camera as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

“Max,” one reporter finally managed, “you’re serious about this, right? You’re really getting married in Vegas?”

Max’s grin widened. “I’m serious. A bet’s a bet. No turning back.”

Back in the Red Bull garage, chaos had officially set in. Christian Horner, who had been pacing for the last five minutes, finally stopped and glared at a nearby mechanic. “What am I supposed to do with this now?!”

“I don’t know, Christian,” the mechanic said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Maybe we start picking out flowers?”

“Someone get me a drink,” Christian muttered, walking off, leaving a sea of confusion behind him.

Y/n stormed through the paddock like a woman possessed, her face a mix of disbelief, panic, and barely contained rage.

She spotted Max leaning casually against a barrier in parc fermé, looking like he had no care in the world—despite having just announced their impending Vegas wedding to the entire world. He was surrounded by Lewis, Fernando, George, and Carlos, who were all still there congratulating him and clearly trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“MAX!” Y/n screeched as she closed the distance.

Max turned, his smug grin stretching even wider. “Oh, there she is! The future Mrs. Verstappen. Took you long enough.”

Y/n planted herself directly in front of him, glaring. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Max blinked, his expression far too innocent. “What? I kept my promise.”

“Your promise?” Y/n echoed, incredulous. “You hijacked the championship celebration to announce a fake wedding! On LIVE TELEVISION!”

“It’s not fake,” Max said matter-of-factly. “A bet is a bet.”

Carlos, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait, wait. You bet your wedding on the championship?”

“Of course,” Max said with a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a man of my word.”

George choked on air. “You’re a menace.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said, throwing her hands in the air. “Max, this is insane! You can’t just—”

“Relax, schatje,” Max interrupted, his tone annoyingly casual. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do here.”

“Not normal people!” Y/n snapped.

Lewis, still dabbing at his face with a towel, gave a bewildered laugh. “I’m sorry, are we actually talking about a real wedding right now?”

“Yes,” Max said confidently. “Tonight.”

“No,” Y/n shot back.

“Yes.”

“MAX!”

“Yes, Y/n,” Max said, leaning forward slightly. “We are getting married tonight, and that’s final.”

“Final?!” she spluttered. “How is this final? There’s no plan, no venue, no—”

“Vegas has plenty of chapels,” Max interrupted smoothly.

“I don’t have a dress!”

“You’ll look great in anything,” Max countered.

Y/n groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even have someone to walk me down the aisle!”

Max tilted his head, clearly unbothered. “Oh, that’s easy.” He turned to his left, where Lewis stood mid-sip from his water bottle. “Lewis! Can you walk Y/n down the aisle tonight?”

Lewis froze, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Can you walk her down the aisle?” Max repeated, as if this were a completely reasonable request.

“I—” Lewis blinked, looking between Max and Y/n. “Uh… sure?”

“What?! No!” Y/n shouted.

“Why me?” Lewis asked, baffled.

Max shrugged. “You’re a world champion. She deserves someone of high status.”

Before Y/n could combust, Fernando Alonso stepped forward, a sly grin on his face. “Hold on,” he said, raising a hand. “If anyone is walking her down the aisle, it should be me. I’m the most appropriate for the role.”

Lewis turned to him, visibly confused. “How do you figure that?”

Fernando gave a dramatic shrug. “Experience. I’m wiser, more distinguished. A father figure, if you will.”

Y/n groaned, “Oh my God, Fernando—”

Lewis snorted. “Father figure? Please. More like grandfather figure.”

The group exploded into laughter. George doubled over, wheezing, while Carlos clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own cackles.

“You wound me, Hamilton,” Fernando said, his tone mock-offended.

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong,” Lewis quipped, smirking.

“This is not happening,” Y/n muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Max leaned closer to her, his grin pure mischief. “See? Problem solved. You have two excellent candidates to walk you down the aisle.”

“This is NOT solved!” Y/n screeched.

George finally spoke up, still chuckling. “You know, for the record, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen”

“Agreed,” Carlos said, shaking his head with a grin. “But I can’t look away.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. We’re all set! Lewis or Fernando—it’s Y/n’s choice.”

“I CHOOSE NEITHER!” she yelled, clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

Max leaned back, entirely unfazed. “Suit yourself. But one way or another, schatje, we’re getting married tonight.”

Y/n turned to the other drivers, her eyes pleading. “Can someone PLEASE talk some sense into him?”

Lewis shrugged. “I don’t know, Y/n. He seems pretty set on it. You might just have to roll with it.”

Fernando smirked. “And let me know when you decide. I’ll be practicing my ‘giving away the bride’ speech.”

George buried his face in his hands again, mumbling, “This is a fever dream.”

Y/n, meanwhile, was contemplating her life choices as Max grinned at her, utterly pleased with himself. This was going to be a nightmare—and she was the star attraction.

Suddenly, Lando came sprinting out of nowhere, practically skidding to a stop in front of Max. His curls were a chaotic mess, and his face was split into an ear-to-ear grin that made him look like an overexcited puppy.

“MAX!” Lando yelled, throwing his arms up. “FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION! YOU LEGEND! Also mate, what the hell?! Are you really getting married?!” 

Max turned, his ever-present grin widening. “Obviously.”

“I thought it was just a rumor!” Lando said, flinging his helmet onto a nearby table. “I mean, come on, you say insane stuff on the radio all the time! I figured this was one of those things.”

“Nope.” Max popped the “p” for emphasis. “It’s happening. Tonight.”

Y/n, who had been pacing nearby in a futile attempt to process her life choices, groaned audibly. “I hate all of you. All of you.”

Lando glanced at her, then back at Max. “Wait, so this is real? Like… actually real?”

“As real as it gets,” Max replied, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “And since you’re here…”

Lando squinted. “Since I’m here, what?”

Max’s grin turned sly, his hand still on Lando’s shoulder. “How do you feel about being my best man tonight?”

Lando froze, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Max said, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Me?!” Lando gestured wildly at himself, his voice rising an octave. “Why me?!”

“Why not you?” Max countered smoothly.

“I don’t know!” Lando threw up his hands. “You could ask your trainer, your engineer—anyone! We’ve been rivals this entire year!”

Max tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “Exactly. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs this year, yeah? Fighting for the championship and everything. But at the end of the day…” He paused, his grin shifting to something more genuine. “You’re a good friend, Lando. One of the best. And I’d like us to bury the hatchet. Tonight.”

The sudden sincerity hit Lando like a truck. His eyes widened, his lip quivering just a little as he stared at Max. “Max…”

The group went quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with the chaos of the paddock swirling around them. Even Y/n stopped pacing to stare, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You really mean that?” Lando asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Of course,” Max said, giving Lando a firm pat on the back. “You’ve been there through all of it, mate. Who else would I want standing next to me tonight?”

Lando’s hand flew to his face, his bottom lip wobbling. “Oh my God. I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry,” George mumbled, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “This is ridiculous enough already.”

“Shut up, George!” Lando snapped, though it lacked any real venom. He sniffled, blinking rapidly. “Max, you big idiot. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max smirked. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Y/n, watching this entire exchange with her arms crossed, muttered under her breath, “I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

Carlos, standing nearby, leaned over to George and whispered, “Do you think Lando will actually cry at the altar?”

“Oh, 100%,” George replied without hesitation.

“I’M NOT CRYING!” Lando shouted, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“Sure, mate,” Carlos said, grinning.

“Shut up!” Lando whirled back to Max, pointing a slightly wobbly finger at him. “Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll be your best man. But only because that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Good.” Max nodded approvingly. “We’re gonna have a great time. Bring tissues, though. You’ll need them.”

Lando groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re emotional,” Max teased, clapping him on the back again.

“Can I leave now?” Y/n interjected, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Nope,” Max said cheerfully. “We’ve still got wedding planning to do. And Lando needs to rehearse his speech.”

“Speech?!” Lando exclaimed, his face paling. “No one said anything about a speech!”

“Oh, come on,” Carlos said, grinning. “Just wing it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Y/n muttered.

“See, schatje?” Max said, turning to her with a mischievous smile. “Everything’s settled”

“Kill me now,” she groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“Not before the wedding,” Max quipped. “I need my bride alive, schatje.”

Carlos, grinning, nudged George. “Do you think she’ll kill him before they even make it to the altar?”

“I actually might” Y/n snapped, making everyone laugh—except her.

Max clapped his hands together, cutting through the lingering laughter. “Alright, boys, fun’s over. See you after the podium, yeah?”

Carlos snorted, throwing an arm around George. “Come on, hombre. Let’s get out of here before they decide to do something crazier.”

Max turned to Carlos, his grin turning devious. “Speaking of you, Carlos, I need another groomsman. What do you say?”

Carlos blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Really?”

“Obviously,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “You’re good at standing around looking pretty. Perfect for the job.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos said, puffing out his chest dramatically.

Y/n, standing a few feet away, raised her hand. “Dibs on George for my side, then.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“I called dibs,” Y/n said firmly, crossing her arms.

“That’s not how this works!” Max exclaimed, glaring at her.

“It is now,” she shot back, grinning.

Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”

“You’re marrying me,” she said sweetly. “This is your problem now.”

Before Max could argue further, he grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the group. “We need to pick more people. Properly.”

As they walked through the paddock, Max started listing names under his breath. “Alright, I want Charles on my side.”

“No way,” Y/n said immediately.

Max frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I’m picking him,” Y/n declared, speeding up her pace as soon as she spotted Charles standing by his car.

Max groaned. “You can’t just steal all the good ones!”

“Watch me.”

By the time they reached Charles, Y/n was already stepping in front of Max, her grin wicked. “Charles! You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

Charles looked up, his face blank with confusion. “Wait, what?”

Max shoved Y/n aside, scowling. “Ignore her, Charles. You’re going to be one of my groomsmen.”

“No, he’s not!” Y/n snapped, stepping back in front of Max.

“Yes, he is!” Max shot back, sidestepping her.

Charles blinked between them, his brows furrowing. “What is happening right now?”

“You’re gonna help me with my wedding,” Y/n said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “It’s happening tonight.”

Charles just stared at her, still not sure if he was in a dream or being pranked. “Uh… are you serious?”

“Charles, listen to me,” Y/n said, grabbing his hands dramatically. “I need you on my side. You’re the only one who understands how insane Max is.”

Max pulled her back by the shoulder. “He does not understand that! He’s my friend, not yours.”

Charles raised a hand. “Guys, what—”

“Do you really want to stand next to Max?” Y/n asked, cutting him off.

Max glared at her. “Do you really want to be stuck with her?”

“I feel like I don’t want to be stuck with either of you,” Charles said cautiously, his confusion growing.

“Charles,” Y/n pleaded, gripping his arm. “Please. You’ll get to wear something cool”

Charles blinked, still completely befuddled. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. Am I even invited to this wedding? Because you’re asking me to do a lot without any context.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Max interjected, gesturing wildly. “You’ll have more fun on my side. I’ll let you hold the rings.”

“No we’re letting Yuki hold the rings!” Y/n shouted.

Charles blinked again, looking between them like they’d both lost their minds. “Are you two seriously fighting over me right now?”

“Yes!” they yelled in unison.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Say yes to me, Charles,” Y/n said, batting her eyelashes.

“No, say yes to me,” Max countered, practically growling.

Charles threw his hands up. “Fine! I’ll be on Y/n’s side. But only because she asked first.”

Y/n cheered, sticking her tongue out at Max. “Suck it!”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Max muttered as Charles smirked at him.

The wedding was somehow happening. In the span of a few hours—thanks to an intense series of last-minute phone calls, frantic text messages, and a team of Red Bull employees being worked to the bone—the ceremony was set to begin. And despite the fact that no one really knew how they’d gotten here, the whole thing had turned into the weirdest Formula 1 event in history.

Y/n stood in the back, adjusting her dress, eyeing the people around her in disbelief. Max had somehow managed to throw together an entire wedding in record time, which was somehow both impressive and terrifying. She was walking down the aisle with Lewis and Fernando—two of the most iconic figures in F1. She couldn’t decide between them, so she’d invited both to walk her down the aisle. Because, why not?

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Lewis asked, smoothing out his jacket. His suit was impeccable, of course. He was an icon of style, so a last-minute wedding wasn’t going to stop him from looking good.

“I’m just trying to survive this,” Y/n muttered

“We’re in Vegas. Anything goes,” Fernando quipped, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “At least the wedding's got personality."

“You both know I’ll never live this down, right?” Y/n said, shaking her head. "This whole thing is so Max, I feel like I should apologize to everyone for being part of it."

“You’ll be fine,” Fernando added with a smile, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s Max. You know he doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. He’s probably already planned the honeymoon.”

Y/n laughed nervously. “I’m pretty sure he has. You’ve both seen what happens when Max gets an idea in his head. And somehow... this is actually happening.”

“You’ve got this,” Lewis said. “We’re here for you.”

Before Y/n could respond, the doors swung open, signaling that it was time. The aisle was a bit too short for a proper procession, and the whole thing had a sense of hurried chaos as they started walking down toward the altar.

At the front, Max stood there waiting, looking like he was about to burst with excitement. His best man, Lando, had been fighting tears all night and was now sniffling into a tissue. "I swear this is the happiest day of my life," Lando muttered to Carlos, wiping his eyes.

Carlos, looking slightly concerned, just shook his head. “It’s their wedding Lando, not even your own. stop bawling.”

“Yeah, but it’s their wedding,” Lando said, eyes still damp. “There’s too much love in the air.”

Max had his hands tucked in his pockets, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. When he spotted Y/n, he gave her an exaggerated wink, as if to say, “We made it.”

“You good?” Fernando asked, glancing at Y/n as they reached the front.

“I’m questioning every life choice I’ve made,” Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of the situation.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Max said, grinning.

At the back of the room, Oscar and Franco stood with baskets of flowers, both looking thoroughly confused in their roles as flower boys. Oscar had been dragged into this because of his unwillingness to protest. Franco, on the other hand, was too amused to care about the situation and just went along with it.

“Oscar, why are we doing this again?” Franco whispered, furrowing his brows as he sprinkled petals on the floor.

“Because Yuki said we had to. And I’m not arguing with him,” Oscar muttered, holding his basket as if it were a grenade about to go off.

“Who cares? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Attending Max Vertsappen’s wedding?,” Franco said with stars in his eyes, “I’ll tell my grandkids about this.”

Yuki, holding the rings, couldn’t contain his excitement as he gave them instructions. “Guys, you’re doing great. Just, uh, try not to look confused. I need this to look professional. Oscar throw the petals properly! more passion! more energy! more footwork!”

“I’m already questioning my entire existence,” Oscar said, looking at Franco for solidarity. Franco just smiled and threw a handful of petals into the air.

The Elvis officiating the wedding was already in full swing, not entirely sure of the gravity of the moment but having a blast nonetheless.

"Y’all ready to get hitched?" Elvis said, his voice more vibrant than Y/n could’ve imagined.

Max, barely containing his excitement, looked over at Y/n. “Ready for this, love?” he asked, his voice low, though it carried a hint of playfulness.

Y/n smiled, glancing at him for a moment. “More than ever.”

Then, in front of everyone, they exchanged their vows.

Max spoke first, his voice unwavering, but there was an undeniable tenderness in his words. “Y/n, you’ve turned my world upside down. You’ve made every race, every moment, better just by being there. I promise to keep being the person you’ve decided to stand at an altar with, the person you love—even when I’m an absolute nightmare. I’ll always fight for us, for this. I love you.”

Y/n could feel her heart in her throat as she spoke. “Max, you’ve always been… Max. But you’ve shown me that you are a person with the biggest heart. You’ve made me laugh, cry, and love harder than I thought I could. You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait for the next chapter of this crazy life with you. I love you.”

There were no grand gestures or over-the-top theatrics; instead, it was just them—raw, honest, and completely present in this moment.

Max smiled at her, the kind of smile that made everything feel right, before turning to the officiant.

“Elvis, hit me with that ‘you may kiss the bride’ line,” Max said, giving a wink.

And so, amidst the madness, they kissed, sealing their vows with a moment that felt right in all its simplicity. The crowd cheered, some clapping and others, like Lando, wiping away happy tears. It wasn’t the wedding anyone had expected, but it was exactly what Max and Y/n had needed.

As they pulled away, Y/n’s gaze met Max’s, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them, everything else fading away.

As the ceremony ended and the newlyweds turned to leave, the crowd of friends and teammates erupted into applause, some of them still trying to process what had just happened.

Lando was grinning, wiping his eyes. “This is so perfect. I’m still not sure how we managed to get here in two hours, but it’s amazing.”

Charles was smiling too, giving Y/n a thumbs up. “Congrats, both of you. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max is married now.”

Lewis patted Max on the back. “She’s got you now. Good luck with that.”

Y/n smiled at him, a little breathless. “So, are you planning to annoy me for the rest of our lives?”

Max grinned back, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Absolutely. You’ve signed up for it, so no turning back now.”

Everyone laughed, but there was a deep sincerity in the air. This was their moment—imperfect and hurried, but beautiful in its own way.

SERVE | MV1

an: im finally posting all my flipping requests - im sorry ive taken so long but expect me to be more active in the next month ish. i was working on this novel and ive finally finished my first draft so ill be able to write more on here ehehe

wc: 2.2k

The air inside Rod Laver Arena buzzed with anticipation. The crowd roared as she raised her arms in victory, another match won with the kind of effortless dominance that had long cemented her as the best in the world. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, but she barely heard any of it. Her eyes scanned the stands, searching—until she found him.

Max stood near the players’ box, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto hers. He always watched her like that. Like she was the only thing in the world.

She barely remembered handing her racquet to the ball kid or shaking hands with her opponent. One minute she was on the baseline, and the next, she was pushing through the crowd, past the security barriers, straight to him.

"Didn’t think you’d make it," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

Max smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miss one of your matches? Not a chance.”

Up close, she saw the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. The media had been relentless again, and she knew how much he hated it—not for himself, but for the way it always seemed to drag her into the mess, too.

"Yeah?" She arched a brow, fingers sliding into the collar of his jacket, tugging him a fraction closer. "Even with half the press calling you a liability?"

His breath hitched for a second. Only she could do that to him. "Thought you liked liabilities."

"I do," she said, lips curling into the smirk that drove interviewers mad. "You’re my favourite one."

Max let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for her to notice. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Didn’t know I was in a ranking system.”

She hummed, fingertips brushing against the fine fabric of his jacket. “You’re the only one in it.”

The crowd was still buzzing around them, the cameras snapping relentlessly, but none of it mattered. Not when she was looking at him like that—sharp eyes softening, the mask she wore for the world slipping just enough for him to see the girl he’d loved since they were fifteen.

She gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back. “Come with me.”

Max followed without hesitation, slipping through the tunnels of the stadium with practiced ease. He’d done this a hundred times before, dodging reporters and staff, but this time, the weight of the last few weeks clung to him like a second skin.

She led him into the players’ lounge, where the air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut fruit. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t just talking about the press. She never had to spell it out for him—she always just knew.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Same old shit.”

She frowned. “Your dad again?”

His silence was answer enough.

She muttered something under her breath, a sharp curse that made him smirk despite himself. “How bad?”

Max leaned against the nearest table, arms bracing on the surface. “Bad enough that I had to turn off my phone for a few days.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s got the press eating out of his hand. Telling them I’ll never be good enough, that I’m holding you back, that you—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, stepping between his legs. Her hands rested on his chest, grounding him. “You know none of that is true.”

He swallowed, the heat of her touch chasing away the cold grip of doubt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

She studied him for a moment, then—without warning—took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his jaw, right at the spot she knew made his breath hitch.

“Good,” she said against his skin. “Because I’m not wasting my time defending you to a bunch of idiots when I could be kissing you instead.”

Max let out a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in. “Now that,” he murmured, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

She grinned, fingers threading through his hair. “Then shut up and let me keep talking.”

And for the first time in weeks, Max let himself forget everything else—because when he was with her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

He barely had time to smirk before she pulled him down, her lips pressing against his with the kind of urgency that made his head spin.

It was always like this with them—sharp words and sharper minds for the cameras, but when they were alone, none of that mattered. She kissed him like she needed it, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her tennis kit as he pulled her closer. She sighed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and he felt it—the tension in his chest finally breaking, giving way to something softer, something that only existed between them.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Max groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her lips.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, like she wanted to take her time undoing him completely—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Hey! Media in five minutes,” a voice called through the wood.

Max exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against hers as she let out a quiet groan. “I hate media,” she muttered.

“I hate media more,” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

She pulled back slightly, giving him a look. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to sit in a room for half an hour pretending to care what they think.”

He smirked, thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. “True. But you could just skip it. Tell them you got caught up with something important.”

She arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

Max grinned. “Me.”

She huffed a laugh, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back. “Tempting,” she said, smoothing her hair down. “But if I start skipping media obligations for you, they’ll start calling you a bad influence again.”

“They already do.”

She shot him a knowing look as she grabbed a water bottle from the nearby table. “Yeah, but if I do it, it’ll be true.”

Max shook his head, watching her with something caught between admiration and amusement. Even after all these years, she still had him completely wrapped around her finger.

As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

Max leaned back against the table, arms crossing over his chest. “Where else would I be?”

She held his gaze for a second longer before nodding. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the noise of the world came rushing back in.

The press room was packed, cameras flashing as she took her seat at the table. The moderator gave the usual spiel about keeping questions respectful—not that anyone ever listened.

She took a sip from her water bottle, already anticipating the first round of questions. It was the same every time—something about her form, something about her rivals, and, inevitably, something about Max.

"Rough start to the match today," one reporter said, leaning forward. "Do you think the outside distractions are finally catching up with you?"

She raised a brow. "What distractions?"

The reporter cleared his throat. "Well, there’s been a lot of talk about Max and the negative press surrounding him. Some would argue that having a partner in the spotlight—especially one facing so much criticism—might be… well, holding you back."

The room went quiet. She felt her jaw tighten, fingers curling around the bottle in her hands.

Slowly, she tilted her head. "And how many titles do you have?"

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—what?"

She leaned forward slightly, voice smooth as silk. "How many Grand Slam titles do you have?"

The man stammered. "I—I don’t play tennis."

"Right," she said, nodding. "And how many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She smiled. "That’s what I thought."

A few people in the room stifled laughs, and even the moderator looked like he was holding back a smirk.

"Next question," she said easily, taking another sip of water.

And just like that, the subject was closed.

Max was still in the players’ lounge, leaning back on the worn leather sofa, one arm slung over the back as he scrolled through his phone. The live stream of her press conference was playing on the screen, but he already knew where this was going the second some smug reporter brought him up.

The question was barely out of the guy’s mouth before Max’s jaw clenched.

He knew the narrative well—he was the distraction, the liability, the one holding her back. It didn’t matter that she was literally the best in the world, that she had more Grand Slams to her name than most players could dream of. Somehow, the press always found a way to twist things back to him.

But then she hit the guy with that line.

"And how many titles do you have?"

Max sat up a little straighter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The poor bastard stammered.

"How many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

Max barked out a laugh, running a hand over his mouth. The entire room went silent, and then the barely contained amusement from some of the other journalists? Yeah, that was the cherry on top.

The guy had nothing. She knew it. The entire press room knew it.

And Max? He definitely knew it.

His phone started blowing up instantly—his teammate, a few other drivers, even his PR manager, all sending messages ranging from laughing emojis to "I owe her a drink for that one."

Max just shook his head, watching as she casually took a sip of her water, completely unbothered.

"That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath, grinning.

Because if the world wanted to come for him? Fine. He could take it. He always had.

But her? She was untouchable.

And she’d just reminded everyone exactly why.

The door swung open with a little too much force, slamming against the wall as she strode into the room. Max barely had a second to react before she was yanking her kit bag from the chair and stuffing things into it with sharp, irritated movements.

He smirked to himself, pushing off the couch. Oh, she was fuming.

"That good, huh?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She shot him a glare before aggressively zipping up her bag. "They’re so annoying, Max. Every bloody time. Do I look like I need a press room full of middle-aged men questioning my priorities?"

Max bit back a laugh. He’d seen her mad before—at bad calls, at opponents, at losing a set she should’ve won—but this? This was entertaining.

He crossed the room in two strides, slipping behind her just as she reached for her jacket. His arms looped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, right in front of the floor-length mirror.

"Baby, baby," he murmured, pressing his chin to her shoulder, "calm down."

She huffed, but her hands instinctively came to rest over his on her stomach. "Calm down?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Do you know how much I want to throw a racquet at that guy’s face?"

Max grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her face. "I’d pay to see that."

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her body loosening just slightly. Max knew her too well—knew exactly how to disarm her with just a touch, a whisper, a perfectly timed kiss.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and that sharp frustration softened into something playful. A wicked little idea flickered across her face.

"Give me your phone," she said suddenly.

Max raised a brow. "Why?"

She turned in his arms, holding out her hand expectantly. "Just give it."

He sighed dramatically but dug it out of his pocket, placing it in her palm. She unlocked it easily—of course she knew his passcode—and tapped into Instagram.

Max watched as she flipped the camera to the mirror, angling it so both of them were in frame. His arms were still around her, his face pressed into the side of hers, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

She snapped the picture, typed something quickly, then handed the phone back.

Max glanced at the screen. His feed refreshed. And there it was—his screen now showing her latest post:

"7 titles, 4 WDC & 2 WCC."

His brows lifted before a slow, proud smirk spread across his face.

"You little menace," he murmured, kissing the side of her head again.

She grinned. "Let’s see them try to talk shit now."

Max chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before tightening his arms around her. "This is why I love you," he muttered.

She sighed, leaning into him. "Yeah, yeah. Now take me to dinner before I have to cuss someone out again."

Max just laughed, grabbing her bag and slinging an arm around her as they headed out—because that? That was the easiest request he’d had all day.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

Does anyone write anything for Henry Winter?

X reader, preferably.

I’ve been looking but it seems like no one writes anything for him.

If there’s nothing, would anyone want me to write stuff for him? Because I will.

Somno with Venom 🥰 Holding up Reader’s hips while he puts his tongue to good use 🥵

eddie's shoulders carry an ever-so-cumbersome weight, and the recluse of your bedroom at the end of the day is a welcome solace for his weary head and drooping eyes. the gentle embrace that you open for his return is soothing, and it's a resting place for his head when it thuds against your chest, aromas of the shampoo of yours he's always stealing still poignant in his damp hair. promises of no work talk soon blend into soft snores, limbs tangled up in a mess under clean sheets and the heavy duvet.

after being subdued under the watchful eye of his host, however, venom is not quite so lethargic, and he's grateful for a respite when he peels away from eddie's tired body. "you lazy oaf," he spits in his gravelly baritone, spiteful that the man can't hear his witty insults. "there are things to take care of and you are sleeping."

the male doesn't stir, and the symbiote makes sure of it with an oozing black tendril that prods at his cheek. he takes note of your parted thighs, bottoms lost in the high temperature of the bedroom, revealing pretty pink panties that are secured with a neat bow at the hem.

once crediting himself for a lack of sympathy, the alien peels back the frilly fabric, showing your glistening cunt for his eager eyes. the whites of which squint out of view when he narrows them, shimmering black morphing and conforming into various indiscernible shapes with his pondering. from his attached point from eddie's shoulder, he eases downward, allowing himself to bathe in the musk of your scent, tongue slowly unfurling.

he's silent - for once, as eddie may add if he were awake - when he drags the muscle over a bare thigh, hopeful for lingering perspiration that may intertwine with the delicate, yet surging taste of your arousal when it bleeds onto his tongue.

the long, wet tongue then teases along the junction between hip and thigh, rolling over open folds and gathering arousal that pools in each hidden crevice. he shudders, and his entire entity does so, vibrating the bed with his excitement. however, it's still gone unnoticed when venom delves inside, albeit slowly, working the wriggling muscle inside your sticky walls. he nearly laughs when a thigh twitches, going to close together with the other when he pins, with unbridled strength, the leg back down against the mattress.

even in your slumber, your fruitless efforts are humorous, and he snorts into your pussy. he does miss the snide remarks however, the backhanded commentary he blames on too much time spent with eddie, particularly ones about how his cock would feel much better inside your spent pussy rather than teasing flicks of his tongue against your clit.

he's curious about that further - when he sinks the tongue to the hilt, licking lazily at the tight ring of your cervix when your hips kilt upward as if by an invisible rope; the same cord pulling a sleepy gasp from open lips - why you'd prefer such a phallic thing over such the writhing muscle of his tongue.

it sets him apart from his counterpart (his companion, although he'd never admit it) in more ways than one, yet when he's done you over a few times with the thing, you're still a babbling mess about satisfying the aching desire for more. so he revels in it, drags the tongue over each curve and divot of your spongy cunt until he's gathered each dewy drop and tasted it in its savory delectability.

oozing tendrils support the arc of your hips, anchoring you in this arched position so he can prod deeper, testing his boundaries with each swirl and flick of the tongue. onyx tentacles even prod at your backside, lubricated by the slick that seeps out from your exalted pussy and the saliva that drips hungrily from the corners of venom's mouth.

he doesn't know whether you should wake or not, missing the increase of intensity of the breathy moans that you make now, but too engrossed in the pliable nature of your legs and hips that grant him easier access to each part of your quivering body.

he could drown in the cum that overwhelms his every sense, taste buds searing with delight when your walls relubricate and flood your cunt with arousal.

but eddie rolls over, and venom is ripped from his raptured position against your pussy, and he's sure, just then, that rage will overcome every adoring and loving emotion he once had for the man and he will commit a murder. but it's only for a second, and you've woken up. "venom?"

Terrible men + their puppy dogs

You and your friends were the epitome of a wild bunch. Tonight, you all had gone out drinking with the intentions on clubbing should you five not end up drunk as all get out. Five drinks and more shots than what should have been given to you and your table are loud and boisterous. Samantha, one of your closer friends, is egging you on in a dare, her bright eyes full of mischief.

"You won't do it." She says with a smirk. "You won't go over there and it at all."

The table gets quiet, and everyone is staring at you. You look at each one of your friends and then down your shot for courage for what you've been dared to do. You've never backed down from a dare during a game of jack ass. Turning slowly, your eyes went right to the table of men towards the back corner of the bar. "Here goes nothing."

Johnny was in the middle of telling an animated story to the guys when he was interrupted by a soft clearing of a throat. Simon had noticed her coming over from the other side of the bar and readjusted his mask over his mouth. Kyle tilted his head giving a sweet smile to the girl. It's Price, who greets her first.

"Good evenin' miss." Price says, his lip quirks up into a smile.

"Hello, you four are military right?" She asks, there's a hint of nerves in her voice but she sounds friendly.

"Aye lass we are." Johnny grins, "why? Ye interested?" He teases.

They all watch her with varying degrees of interest, but they are all thrown for a loop within the next five seconds.

"I just wanted to come over and say thank you for your service." And she grips the bottom of her shirt and flashes the four of them. There's a big smile on her face as she lifts up her shirt and bra in one go. It's not some little quick move, either. They all get a gander at her full breast, and the cute, heart-shaped nipple rings on each nipple.

Kyle is practically wheezing as he stares at the girl. Simon's eyes widen considerably in shock. Price's eyes are going from her chest to quickly looking around the crowded bar to see if anyone else is seeing their little gift for their service. And Johnny, like any dog, is drooling.

She lets out a cute giggle and lowers her shirt. "You four have a good night." And as she turns to leave, Johnny grabs her wrist and gently pulls her into his lap.

"W-wait a momen' lass," He is giving her such a charming smile, "ye cannae just show us something like that an' leave."

Kyle nods his head in agreement, "Yeah, you should definitely stick around and chat for a bit." He shares a look with his team. The four of them are most certainly taking this cutie home.

Lol idk what was going on here but I thought this would be a cute meet cute

captain price // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

holding you

stood up, laid down

puppy love

the traces he left behind

birdsongs, or advice and symphonies for your children

let me lean on you

sunroom

the grocery store

willow tree march

glitter and gold

needle

landscape without honey

the only thing you want to do is...

our remains

songs that sound like sea-foam

see no evil

the five times

fire it up

calluses on his gentle hands

earth and wind

alchemist's burden

bake a wish

breaking and entering

my mistake

mind the drop

unholy

my daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

Jenson Button Smut ~ mile-high club

jenson and unnamed fem character get it on thousands of miles in the air- except they’re not alone on their trip…

smut x reader 18+ - oral, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, established relationship.

Jenson’s jaw tightened as his eyes darted frantically around the cabin of the darkened private jet. At first it was just him and her, the two of them having the whole cabin to themselves. Then it was another one, two, three, four people that joined on their flight to Mexico where they’d celebrate some time off together. Jenson didn’t have it in him to deny them the transport- but he was wishing he had now.

Her mouth was wrapped around his hardened cock, stiff and rigid in between her glossy lips that drooled down his member. The only thing hiding this was the seats in front of them and the blanket covering Jenson’s lap and therefore her bobbing head. He felt the swirl of her tongue around the head of his cock before she pushed down, all the way down, reaching as far as the base of his cock.

Jenson squirmed, sweating hand gripping the armrest tighter as the other snagged at the blanket she hid under. It was erotic to say the least. He felt her gag and choke around his cock, he looked down, seeing the slight movement and only imagining how fucking sexy she looked spluttering around his dick. Jenson could’ve easily pulled back the covers, but he didn’t want to risk exposing her in case the others woke up. They strategically picked the seats at the back of the plane, with nobody sat beside them to ogle on them. But still, plenty of people still slept or at least rested, nose deep into their books, blissfully unaware of what was occurring only meters away.

With another gag came more movement and she began bobbing her head much faster, only imagining how good he was looking from above her. Jenson couldn’t control his jaw falling slack, he momentarily let his eyes fall shut and head fall back, a hand resting gently where her head was to guide the movements further. She was sucking the living shit out of him, and only when Jenson heard a noise up front did he snap out of his daze. “Fuck.” He swallowed under his breath, shifting subtly so he could grind himself deeper inside her. She felt his hand press on the back of her head, stuffing her down and holding her there against the base of his cock as he attempted to thrust quietly into her mouth. The sounds of her small mouth being fucked were slightly concealed by the high pressure of the plane and the blanket, but loud enough so Jenson could enjoy them.

Growing confident, her hand slipped down over the edge where his joggers were pulled down to, attempting to sneak a finger between his legs, down, down, down to a forbidden area he and her had only explored in the confinements of their home.

Jenson made a slight noise of discontent, pulling her off as she sat up besides him, hair dishevelled and mascara ever so slightly running. Jenson ran a thumb under her lips, catching the fallen spit before looking down to his cock with a pant. Her lipgloss left a glossy sheen over his cock and smudged on his shaven pubic bone. Jenson thought it was the hottest thing ever, his thumb continuing to smear her lip makeup further.

“Please fuck me.” She hushed into his ear, placing the blanket back over Jenson’s lap to protect his modesty. She was fully dressed, Jenson didn’t like that, her lips kissed at his jaw tenderly. He stuffed one hand under the blanket, fisting ever so gently at his cock as he almost became speechless at how dirty the moment was.

He let out a shaky breath, stuffing his hands down her shorts for a second time in the journey, pushing a finger in her with ease as she sat open legged on the seat. Fuck. She looked so hot, Jenson couldn’t contain it, he had to pull his hand away from himself or he’d bust too soon. She watched, head lolling back and lips parted as he looked over her, mesmerised by the beauty of his girlfriend. With his other hand free, he turned her cheek to face him, eloping in the deepest kiss he could muster, tongues swirling as they made out relentlessly in the chairs. “Can you be quiet?” Jenson asked, pushing his finger deeper inside her again. She gasped. “Yes.”

“C’mon then.” He nodded, indicating her to climb on top. He knew it was risky, but the smirk on her face indicated she didn’t care. Without even glancing around, she looked nowhere put him and pulled her shorts fully off, sliding down onto his large member. Jenson felt his mind go foggy as he felt the stretch of her wet cunt. No matter how many times he stretched her out she was still just as tight as the time before. Both their jaws fell slack, Jenson had to tense his jaw to avoid letting out a groan. When it was the two of them he wasn’t a man to stay quiet, but right now the thought of anybody finding her like this was worrying. Jenson wanted her all to himself, he wanted to preserve her modesty, protect her, she was his little dirty secret like this.

She bounced away, hair swinging in the loose ponytail she’d tied it back in, her hands gripping into his shoulders. Her eyes were focused on his, red in the face with brows furrowed. She knew he looked like he wouldn’t last long. Hendon’s eyes darted frantically behind her, slipping a hand over her smaller back as he lifted her up in the seat slightly. She didn’t stop moving, she was grinding against him, milking every inch of his cock as she felt the press of him deep inside her. Settled that nobody was paying attention, Jenson’s attention was back on her, pulling her in for a deep kiss to which he moaned against her lips, fucking his hips up inside her.

“People are gonna hear…” she giggled into his ear, leaving a nibble on his lobe as he couldn’t stop the thrusts he pushed inside of her. Jenson didn’t reply, he couldn’t, he panted into the front of her neck, hand finding her mouth as he attempted to move faster. The chair squeaked with each movement and they had to give that up quicker than it started. Jenson was never a man for sloppy quickies, he preferred taking his time, but fuck- with her he was at it like a rabbit. His head turned to the bathroom and he tapped at her thigh. “In the bathroom. C’mon.” The minute the door closed Jenson had her bent over the toilet, fighting against the gasps and moans that she desperatly wanted to release. His hips were pushing into her ass, squeezing and grabbing with each time the flesh would bounce.

“Fuck me, Jenson.” She whined, a borderline cry from below him. “Oh god.” He groaned, head falling back as he felt a familiar warmth fill his stomach. No. No. Too soon, he’d barely been inside her, he couldn’t cum yet. Instead, he fell to his knees, panting heavily and manhandling her into the position he wanted before pushing his face up to her core. His cock was throbbing, on the verge of release, if he touched himself he’d explode, and just the thought of tasting her like this drove him crazy. His mouth shoved deeper into her, tongue licking her clean, her clit, her hole, he ate her like he’d been starved. Fuck she tastes so good, the small sounds she was eliciting indicated he was doing a good job, and just with a little more she’d be- “right there! Fuck, right there!” Her volume increased, chest heaving as he desperatly pushed a finger inside of her. He didn’t care about them being loud, he seemed to forget that the bathroom on this thing wasn't sound proof real quick.

“Jenson! Jenson!” She gasped at his name, he wanted to smirk, proud he’d pushed her to this as he flicked at her clit, finger causing the sound of her wetness to echo in the small room they were in. “Yeah? Who’s making you feel this good, baby?” His confidence grew as she choked out, legs quivering. “You are!” The girl cried out with a prolonged moan, the sound of Jenson’s fingers squelching becoming louder and louder, his pace quickening as her whimpers turned into outright moans, somewhat concealed with the bite of her thumb in her mouth.

“Please! Please!” She borderline screeched, feeling the core tighten so hard she was shaking all over, crying out each time she’d exhale. “C’mon then. Cum for me baby, fuck, fuck. That’s it.” Jenson praised, the vibrations of his voice against her clit sending her over the edge as her juicer began squirting out of her, her orgasm taking over so much she couldn’t even push him out of the way in time.

Watching her orgasm was quite literally the hottest thing Jenson had ever seen, he wiped the back of his mouth clean, licking his lips and gaining once last taste of her before his fingers were replaced with the push of his cock once again. Through her orgasm, Jenson fucked her, she was feeling so much pleasure her eyes rolled back from overstimulation. His pants became heavy and louder, frantic as he fucked into her, repeating how “so fucking good” she was with each slap of his hips against her legs. Her legs grew weak, Jenson was the only thing supporting her now and as he reached his orgasm, he came crashing down on top of her with a satisfied groan, pumping his cum deep inside her.

“You’re so fucking good.” She cooed with a sigh, eyes closing as her forehead was pressed to the wall, chest rising and falling heavily. Jenson cursed behind her, coming around from his hot pleasure, letting out another manly moan with a trail of kisses left along her spine. Their bodies were flushed and hot to the touch, Jenson could’ve stayed there all day. “Babe.” She laughed, feeling him hugging her closer to him as he rolled his hips gently, milking the last of their pleasure. “Mmmh?” Jenson could barely respond, feeling lightheaded.

“You think anybody heard us?” She whispered. “No.” Jenson dumbly spoke. Little did they know on the outside of the door mouths were hung open, mortified from the sounds coming within the aeroplane bathroom…

gen-z driver getting interviewed by jenson and all the drivers making fun of her for stumbling over her words

BE YOUR WINGMAN

pairings: jenson button x driver!reader / daniel ricciardo x driver!reader / sebastian vettel x driver!reader

warnings: I don’t think there are any (?).

author’s note: been wanting to do this one for a while now, I’m not totally proud of it, but wanted to share it anyway! hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think of it!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

“Yeah, no points today, but I’m confident we’re able to bounce back next weekend.” Daniel answered Jenson’s question on how the race went.

The Sky F1 booth was crowded with Jenson Button, Martin Brundle and Natalie Pinkham interviewing both Daniel Ricciardo and Sebastian Vettel.

The three presenters nodded as his answer. “Seb, how about you?” Natalie turned the question to him.

“Eh, I think we could have scored more points today, we lost a lot of ground,” he had the urge to roll his eyes at the reminder, “the pace was good, so we can take that to the next race.” He finished up, politely.

Martin was about to change the subject, but Daniel pointed to something behind the camera which caught everyone’s attention. “Look who it is!”

“Y/N! Come on up here!” Natalie called the young woman over, who was visibly embarrassed as she simply wanted to pass through to go to her team’s hospitality.

The driver shook her head, waving her hands that she wanted to leave, but no one was having it. “I’ll let you stand next to Jenson, Y/N!” Daniel grinned from ear to ear.

One of the producers handed her a mic and she was practically pushed onto the small podium by her PR assistant.

Y/N quickly greeted everyone, giving Sebastian and Daniel a side hug. She wanted to stand in-between her two colleagues, but they moved themselves so she was right next to Jenson.

Her “crush” on the former World Champion had been a running joke ever since she was a rookie. It started with an old interview of an 11 year-old Y/N saying that one of her life goals was to marry Jenson Button.

“Y/N, you had a much better race than your friends over here, P4, how are you feeling now?” Martin asked her.

She took a deep breath before answering. “Uh, too bad to miss the podium, especially cause the gap was very small. I’m excited for next week, though and, uh, yeah.” She awkward wrapped up, a bit too flustered with her close proximity to the Brit next to her.

“Besides the top 2, it was a very close race today and I think you did everything you could, so well done.” Jenson complimented her, looking directly at her.

Y/N nervously avoided his eyes, deciding to focus on something in the far distance. “Oh, uh, t-thank you.” She stuttered.

The red tint on her cheeks and ears didn’t go unnoticed. “She’s gone very red.” Sebastian teased, pointing at the younger one.

Everyone at the panel turned towards her and chuckled at her trying to cover her cheeks. “A small tomato.” Martin joked.

“It’s just very warm here.” Y/N defended herself, but everyone knew it wasn’t the weather.

Daniel nudged her shoulder. “She’s been very sad the past few weeks, cause Jenson announced he’s getting married soon.” The Australian continued the teasing.

Her hands covered her face again as everyone laughed at her despair. “Poor Y/N, she wasn’t able to fulfill one of her dreams.” Natalie commented, a bright smile on her face knowing the viewers were loving this.

“She still has time.” Daniel added, having too much fun at the moment. “You have a few more months.” He glanced at her.

“Shut up, Daniel!” Y/N jokingly slapped his arm to everyone’s amusement at their banter.

The McLaren driver simply laughed as he put his hands on both of her shoulders. “I’m trying to be your wingman here.”

“I don’t think she needs one.” Sebastian said into the microphone, looking at the pair.

“Y/N, do you often take Daniel with you when you’re looking for a potential partner?” Natalie asked her, although it was obvious she wasn’t looking for a serious answer.

The young driver jokingly rolled her eyes. “Not anymore, he scares everyone away with his weird noises.” She teased the Australian back.

“I think they’re very effective!” Daniel argued.

“They’re effective if the purpose is to keep me single forever.” Y/N but back.

The two went back-and-forth with each other for a few more minutes. Sebastian and Jenson watched in amusement, while Natalie and Martin tried to subtly interrupt so they could wrap up the segment.

“Any plans left for tonight or straight onto the plane?” Martin asked them.

“Plane!” Sebastian and Daniel chorused. Jenson glanced at the girl next to him. “And you, Y/N?”

“I’m gonna dig a hole and throw myself in it after we’re done here.” She answered, her monotone voice making everyone laugh at her answer.

Daniel couldn’t help but throw one last remark at her. “You probably want Jenson to join you in there.”

Y/N waved at the camera as soon as the words left his mouth. “Goodnight, everyone!” The whole panel cackled as they watched her leave. “See you all next week!”

She walked off the platform and gave the microphone back to the producers. Y/N waved at everyone from behind the camera, not wanting to be rude and leave without a proper goodbye.

“She’s going to dig that hole now.” Sebastian commented, a grin on his face.

Jenson chuckled. “She’ll probably throw Daniel in it instead of herself.”

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