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granaidh · 5 months

Note

Hi! I hope you're doing well, and thank you for writing! Could you please write a little something for Lando where the reader is also a driver (but not his teammate) and she got into a big accident at the last gp of the year and it's taken her quite some time (like a few months) to get better, so she has to miss out on the whole next season of racing. A bunch of the drivers have visited her, but Lando hasnt , bc they had a fight before the last gp and also they were both unsure of what kind of relationship they had (like kind of friends but with soft touches, longing gazes, but no guts to make a move). And he finally decides to visit her while she's away on a retreat for her mental health or smth. I long for angst, but it can go and end in which ever way you'd imagine. Thank you!

mistakes — lando norris

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: lando doesn't think before he speaks, and it quickly becomes apparent that he might be too scared to fix it.

warnings: serious injury to reader but not heavily described, casual sexism from lando, bit of angst

a/n: i'm actually proud of this at 2am but I'm sure when I reread it i'll be ashamed

The smell of flowers began to become sickly after a while. You’d never known that before. But as the small private hospital room overflowed, your senses were under constant assault to the point your head began to spin, and your nostrils burned day in and day out. You tried to push the frustration away, noting the flowers were from your friends and coworkers, with beautiful cards stacked up on the sterilised table next to you.

You sighed gently; you really were overreacting; they helped the room feel alive through your recovery, even if it left a bitter taste in your mouth. The orchids from George created a beautiful arch with their stem resting next to Alex’s arrangement of blue hydrangeas; you suspect Logan snuck his name on the bottom of the card, allowing yourself a light exhalation of air in humour at the flustered American, not wanting to overstep your very casual relationship. Lewis’s bouquet of peonies made your lip quiver lightly, while Fernando’s succulent calmed you down and reminded you of the practical nature of the Spanish man who taught you so much.

All the arrangements from coworkers you greeted so often, even if you weren’t close, made the tears well in your bottom lashes, fighting to keep the emotions at bay as you read the card definitely written by Susie from both herself and Toto wishing you all the best in your speedy recovery and return the track in the following season.

If you wanted to take one good thing from your crash, at least it was at the last race, your job fulfilled for the season, allowing you plenty of time to rot away in a hospital bed in Switzerland, far away from Milton Keynes and the extensive expectations placed on you.

Your phone flashed, a text from your teammate affectionately named in your phone ‘max v’ not to be confused with ‘max f’ or the mysterious just ‘max’ who you couldn't remember ever having in your phone. The photo was of himself, Daniel, Yuki and Christian dressed to the nines at the factory dinner. The accompanying text made you giggle, as most things from your Dutch teammate did.

“Don’t let my smile fool you, and I’m so close to ruining every sponsor this team has out of pure rage; I’ll take the blame if we have no seat next year. This suit is too tight, and if one more person asks me where you are thinking that I’m gonna give a scoop. I’m going to strangle them the way I should’ve strangled Ocon when I got the chance all those years ago. Even Daniel can’t make me feel better; I miss you being here. You would’ve judged people with me, gtg Christian barking orders again.”

You were glad Max was dealing with the dinner and not you. You last saw him a couple days ago. He dropped in with Daniel, completing your collection of flowers before forcing you to be sandwiched between them on your bed to watch a movie, finally allowing yourself to be reminded of everyday life as the two bickered and fought for a remote over your body. You didn’t stay awake for long.

The final delivery of flowers had been delivered by a charming Sebastian Vettel, who dropped in cuts of native flowers that he had brought specifically for you on his property, tied together with a repurposed ribbon from a gift you had given him years ago. However, there was a noticeable absence in the gifts surrounding you.

George arrived with Alex first, Logan trailing behind them, adding seeing you in a hospital bed to the third conversation you’d had outside of greetings. Then Bottas and Zhou with an accompanying Lewis. Fernando arrived with Oscar, allegedly heading back to the UK together afterwards. Toto dropped his flowers off at reception as you were asleep, and Yuki came with Pierre, followed by Lance and Esteban, and then Charles, who insisted on staying and catching up. Then Carlos, strangely followed by the dads of the grid, Nico and Kevin, who were far more concerned about your injuries than you expected. However, one substantial absence stood out to you.

Lando.

You knew you hadn’t left on the best of terms, but you didn’t expect him to not visit you at all. You had been in rehab, both physical and mental, for nearly two weeks now, with everyone managing to check in on you despite their busy schedules except Lando. Your crash hadn’t been pretty sure; slamming into a tire wall at 60g, passing out in the car, and getting hauled out of the upside-down chassis before getting rushed to the hospital wasn’t the best final display following your argument, but not enough to ignore you. He hadn’t even caused the crash. It was a racing incident between you and Carlos; neither of you could have avoided it; you just copped the heavier burden.

You underwent a battery of medical examinations, each a journey into uncertainty. In the X-ray room, the stark images of fractured bones mirrored the ache you felt, tangible evidence of the crash's impact. Inside the MRI chamber, the steady hum enveloped you, the machine's relentless probing revealing the hidden aftermath of the collision. It seemed to echo the pounding of your heart, a nervous symphony amidst the mechanical rhythms. Doctors' questions were like peeling layers, seeking not just physical wounds but the unseen injuries etched within. Each test marked a step toward understanding, painting a complex picture of recovery where visible injuries and unseen scars intertwined. Each evaluation was a mix of relief and apprehension, providing answers that formed a path to healing, a trail marked by uncertainty yet holding the promise of recovery.

The specialists' meticulous evaluations probed deeper into the fractures, soft tissue damage, and the corridors of your mind. Psychologists gently unravelled the knots of emotional trauma, exploring the depths of your psyche, where the crash had left its indelible mark. Their questions felt like delicate hands reaching into the recesses of your thoughts, seeking to mend the fragments of your peace. The psychological assessments uncovered the whispers of anxiety and the haunting spectre of post-traumatic stress, remnants of the crash that lingered within you. Every test result felt like a double-edged sword—confirmation of injuries and a roadmap toward recovery. The prognosis painted a journey marked by rehabilitation, a marathon of physical therapy, and a parallel track of counselling to tend to the unseen wounds.

Yet amidst the medical jargon and clinical assessments, a flicker of hope persisted—the assurance that eventually Lando would show up, flash that smile and quell all the horrible things you had both said before the race start. You grimaced at the memory.

The bustling paddock echoed with the symphony of mechanics preparing the cars, but amidst the controlled chaos, you and Lando engaged in your usual banter. Your race suits wrapped around your waists, both slowly hydrating before race preparation fully began. Your words, initially playful, began to bear the weight of deep insecurities.

“You seem pretty nervous, worried you’re not going to see the finish line again?” He smiled, his head tilted, eyelashes fluttering, not afraid to push your buttons at any given chance.

However, his teasing smirk faltered as your words struck a raw nerve. "At least I'm consistent, unlike someone. Your results have been all over the place all season, let alone your qualifying.”

The playful atmosphere shifted, an undercurrent of frustration tainting Lando's response. "Consistently average, you mean? You talk a lot for someone who hasn't even seen a world championship title in the absolute rockets Redbull have been building; your teammate will always outperform you.."

Your smile wavered, stung by the barb. "You're one to talk, Mr. 'Lando NoWins’' every season. Maybe if you stopped focusing on social media and YouTube content, you'd actually win something."

The words hung in the air, a charged silence enveloping them. Then, in a moment of unchecked frustration, Lando's retort cut through the atmosphere like a blade, "Maybe you should listen to the folks who say women don't belong in F1."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, hurt etching lines across your features. A heavy silence engulfed you both, the weight of Lando's words causing an irreparable breach in your banter. The unintentional insult lingered, an unexpected wound that pierced deeper than you initially intended.

You felt the sting of Lando's words like a visceral blow, the hurt and frustration twisting inside you. You turned on your heel, striding back toward your team garage without a comment. Your footsteps echoed loudly against the paddock floor, a resolute rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart, blood rushing to your ears. Ignoring the concerned glances of your crew, you brushed past, focus singular—preparing for the race ahead. The air hummed with an electric intensity as you suited up, the layers of protective gear around your face against the emotional turmoil swirling within, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

There was a steely determination etched on your face as you tightened the straps of your helmet, shutting yourself into a cocoon of concentration. The roar of the engines outside became your anchor, drowning out the echoes of the hurtful exchange. Silent and resolute, you climbed into the car, the cockpit becoming a sanctuary. Your jaw set in determination, you flicked switches and adjusted controls with precision, shutting out the world beyond the confines of the racing machine. Your eyes, usually bright with laughter, now held a fierce resolve as you rolled out of the garage, the determination to deliver a race that would drown out the hurt, speaking louder than any words you could utter. You sighed raggedly, the memory taunting you as you shakily stood up to make your way to your therapist's office, looking forward to speaking about how everything had played out.

"You know, doc, I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I could handle the pressure, the banter, the camaraderie. But that day, everything shattered. Every hurtful word was a crack in the facade I'd built. I thought I was tougher, stronger, but it turns out I'm just… human."

You sat in the therapist's office, the weight of Lando's words still heavy on your heart. The echo of that conversation on the track had ricocheted into every corner of your mind, leaving a maze of emotions you struggled to navigate.

"I wanted to prove him wrong, to prove everyone wrong. But those words... they cut so deep. It wasn't just a simple jab. It was everything I've fought against, the doubts, the stereotypes, all laid bare in a single sentence by someone I trusted."

Your therapist, a comforting presence amidst the storm within, listened attentively, offering a reassuring nod.

"I geared up for the race, determined to drown out the pain, to prove I was more than what he said. But as I sat there, strapped into the car, I realized I wasn't racing against the others anymore. I was racing against myself, against those doubts that suddenly felt louder than the roaring engines."

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of frustration and vulnerability, emotions you'd kept at bay for too long now threatening to spill over.

"I wanted to prove that I could compartmentalize, that I could shove aside the hurt and focus on the race. But I couldn't, and it scared me. It was like I was driving blind, my mind clouded by everything he said."

The therapist's gentle gaze conveyed empathy, a silent encouragement to continue pouring out the tangled emotions.

"And now, they won't clear me. They say I'm not in the right headspace, that I need another week. But what if a week isn't enough? What if I can't shake off these doubts? What if I'm not strong enough to brush off those words and just race?"

The vulnerability in admitting these fears felt raw and exposed. The therapist's reassuring words offered a lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the storm.

"I just... I want to race, to prove I belong here. But right now, I don't even know if I believe it myself."

The confines of his Monaco apartment felt suffocating, the glossy exterior a facade that failed to shield him from the turmoil. Lando's fingers drummed an erratic rhythm on the polished surface, a restless manifestation of his internal conflict.

The memory of their heated exchange replayed in his mind like a relentless loop, each word a shard that pierced through the armour of his racing persona. He had always navigated the paddock with ease, charming smiles and quick wit masking the tumult of emotions that roiled beneath the surface. But with your absence, the mask had slipped, revealing a vulnerability he hadn't reckoned with.

Regret clawed at him, a persistent ache in the pit of his stomach. "I should've been there," he muttered, the weight of those words heavy on his conscience. The realisation of not being by your side during your most vulnerable moments gnawed at him, a pang of gnawing guilt that begged for resolution. The retreat, whispered about in hushed tones among the racing circles, stood as a sanctuary amidst the chaos—a refuge where you sought solace for your fractured spirit. It beckoned to Lando like a beacon, a chance for redemption in the quiet comfort of nature.

The decision simmered within him, a tumultuous blend of apprehension and resolve. It wasn't solely about seeking forgiveness but an acknowledgment—a reckoning with the depth of his feelings that he'd buried beneath layers of uncertainty. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting hues of amber across the harbour, Lando made a choice. He would seek you out, traverse the distance to where you had found peace, and confront the storm he'd helped brew.

The journey to the retreat felt like a pilgrimage, each mile an introspective passage into the recesses of his own heart. With each passing mile, the layers of bravado peeled away, revealing a vulnerability he'd long kept shielded. The serene setting of the retreat, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled tracks you had both grown accustomed to, seemed to mirror the quiet turmoil within him. The rustling leaves whispered of a chance for redemption, a fragile hope that clung to the edges of his conflicted heart.

Steeling himself, Lando walked the pathways to where you were staying. Each step felt like an echo of his hesitation, a testament to the emotional weight he carried. The consequence of his absence, the depth of his regret, and the burgeoning realisation of his feelings surged within him, propelling him forward.

The serene sanctuary of the retreat wrapped around you like a comforting shroud, nature’s symphony a balm to the chaotic discord within yourself. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of soft pinks and fiery oranges, casting a serene hue over the landscape. Into this tranquil setting stepped an unexpected interruption—Lando. His sudden appearance punctured the peaceful bubble, jolting a concoction of emotions within you—shock mixed with uncertainty and a flicker of hesitant hope. As your eyes met, the unspoken weight of past conversations seemed to hang thick in the air.

"Hey," Lando's voice, typically confident, now bore a tremor of hesitation, an attempt to break through the thick blanket of silence.

"Hi," your response carried a symphony of emotions—guarded hope woven with the remnants of hurt and unresolved tension. The atmosphere crackled with an awkwardness so palpable it felt suffocating, a thick fog between you two. It was as if the tranquillity of the retreat intensified the discomfort, amplifying the awkwardness to an almost unbearable level.

"I... I'm sorry," Lando's words stumbled out, laden with regret. "For what I said. It was out of line. I was... I was frustrated, but that's no excuse." His apology seemed to echo in the quietude, each word a jarring note in the serene backdrop—a fragile bridge amidst the uncomfortable silence.

"It hurt," you confessed, the echoes of his words still ringing painfully. "It felt like everything I've fought against in my career was thrown back at me in that moment by the person I trusted the most." Lando's composure softened his admission, a mixture of regret and helplessness.

"I didn't mean it. I let my own insecurities cloud my judgment. And I should've been there for you, especially when you needed support." The admission felt like a rock lifting off your chest, yet the tension remained, wrapped tight around every word.

"I know. It's been tough, not just physically, but emotionally too," you admitted each syllable a struggle against the thickening tension. "I wanted you here but didn't know if I was ready to confront this." The confession lingered in the air, a painful echo amidst nature's serenity—a tentative step in the sad dance of awkwardness and unresolved emotions you were both partaking in. In the peaceful surroundings, amidst the beauty of nature's embrace, a strained encounter unfolded—a painfully awkward ballet of discomfort and unease, each word thick with the weight of past hurt and unspoken feelings.

Amidst the exchange, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees as if nature sought to alleviate the tension between you both. Now, a mere sliver above the horizon, the sun cast elongated shadows that danced across the landscape. You invited him in, allowing him to sit on the lounge. Lando's gaze softened, a silent plea evident in his eyes. "I've regretted my words since they left my mouth. They were careless, thoughtless..."

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, his voice's rawness echoing your internal struggle. "I know," you replied softly, the hardness in your tone softening. "But it's not just about those words. The silence followed the absence when I needed someone." The weight of unspoken apologies hung between you, heavy yet fragile. It was as though the air crackled with the energy of unresolved emotions seeking solace in the tranquillity of the retreat.

"I should've been there," Lando confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I let my own doubts cloud my judgment, and I failed you."

The admission was a tiny fissure in the wall of tension, a sliver of understanding breaking through the emotional barrier. "It's been hard," you admitted, the vulnerability of the moment embracing you. "I needed you, not just physically, but emotionally." The words lingered, suspended in the air, a fragile bridge attempting to span the chasm that had grown between you. The sun dipped further, casting a golden glow that seemed to infuse the charged atmosphere with a faint sense of hope. As the silence stretched, the symphony of nature resumed its soothing melody, offering a backdrop to the tentative reconciliation taking root amid the serene setting—a delicate beginning to healing wounds that ran deep.

Lando shifted, his features etched with a blend of remorse and determination. "I want to make it right, if you'll let me," he implored, the vulnerability in his words echoing the sincerity in his eyes.

Your heart wavered, torn between the ache of past hurt and the flicker of a desire for resolution. "I don't know if I can just forget everything," you admitted, the weight of uncertainty evident in your voice. The rustling leaves provided a natural rhythm to the conversation, a gentle reminder that even in discomfort, a cadence existed to life's complexities.

"I don't expect you to forget," Lando responded earnestly, a note of conviction underlying his words. "But I hope, in time, I can earn your forgiveness." The sincerity in his plea was palpable, a fragile bridge extending across the chasm of hurt. You searched his eyes, seeking reassurance, a sign that the rift between you could be bridged.

"I need time," you whispered the words, a plea for patience and understanding. A tentative truce hung between you—a silent agreement to navigate the path towards healing, acknowledging the wounds but willing to embark on the journey toward reconciliation. The symphony of nature continued, a reminder that harmonies were waiting to be rediscovered amidst life's dissonance.

The air hung heavy with even more unspoken words, the weight of past hurt and hesitation thickening the silence between you both. But amidst the tranquillity of the retreat, a fragile shift began to unfold—a faint glimmer of understanding breaking through the cloud of discomfort. Lando's gaze continued to soften, a silent plea for forgiveness and reconciliation mirrored in his eyes. "I want to make it right more than anything."

The tension seemed to dissolve, the air clearing as you felt the walls around your heart soften. "I... I want to try, too."

He closed the distance with hesitant steps, each movement tentative yet resolute. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, pulling you into an embrace that felt like a homecoming—a silent promise of healing and renewal. "Forgive me," Lando's voice was a whisper against your ear, each word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Tears threatened to spill as you buried your face in his chest, a mix of relief and vulnerability flooding over you. "I want to, Lando. I really do." In that moment, amidst the tranquil backdrop of the retreat, the barriers crumbled, leaving behind an outpouring of emotions too long-suppressed.

"I love you," he confessed, the words a melody of earnestness and devotion. "More than I ever knew was possible." The confession was a key, unlocking the floodgates of your own feelings.

"I love you too," you admitted each syllable, an echo of admiration and affection. "More than words could ever express." In a tender embrace, you found solace—a silent understanding that transcended the hurtful past. The kiss that followed was an affirmation, a sweet promise of starting anew—a union of hearts, mended and strengthened amidst the serenity of the retreat.

Lando made your food as you sat on the counter in the secluded haven of the retreat, time seeming to slow as you stood facing each other, a tapestry of emotions woven into the fabric of your comfortable shared silence. The fading sunlight casts a golden hue over the landscape, mirroring the warmth blossoming within you.

"I've missed this," Lando confessed softly, his voice hinting at vulnerability.

Your heart ached with longing as you met his gaze. "I've missed you too, Lando."

Your hesitance dissipated as Lando closed the distance, drawn to you by an invisible thread of shared history and unspoken promises. The tranquillity of the retreat cradled your tentative reunion, an embrace of renewal amidst the quietude of nature. "I've been a fool," Lando murmured, his regret palpable in the softness of his touch along your thighs.

Your defences continued to soften, a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I've been waiting for you." Your embrace deepened, a mutual understanding evolving with each shared breath. It was a moment of reconciliation, of letting go of past grievances and embracing the promise of a future together.

"I've loved you endlessly," Lando's admission was fervent, filled with a determination to make amends. Tears glistened in your eyes, a testament to the depth of your emotions. "I've never stopped loving you."

Your lips met in a tender kiss—a blend of forgiveness, yearning, and a silent vow to rewrite your story. It was a kiss that spoke of redemption, a reunion that promised to rewrite the script of their relationship. In the quiet whispers and the gentle caresses, you found solace—a shared resolve to nurture the love you’d reignited amidst the serene embrace of your retreat. As the tranquillity enveloped you both, the surroundings bore witness to your heartfelt reconciliation—a canvas painted with promises of love rekindled, crafted with unwavering devotion and the resilience to begin anew.

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targaryen-dynasty · 6 months

Note

Threesome Nr 2 w/ modern! aemond and Aegon please! Maybe they’re both doing bad in a class and she is their tutor. With first time double, dacryphilia and overstim? 😈

KINKTOBER SLEEPOVER.

No. 8 -> GIF.

Modern!Aemond and Aegon II Targaryen x fem!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; threesome (m/m/f), p in v, anal (pls use lube), (first time) double penetration, dacryphilia, overstimulation, praise kink, degrading, humiliating, alcohol consumption, female Reader

WORDS: 2.2 K

The stem of your wine glass was rolled between your index finger and thumb, your legs draped over Aegon’s thighs. An hour. An hour did it take for you both to put the books aside to lounge on the sofa in Aegon’s shared apartment, the second bottle of red on the small table in front of it being almost empty already.

One of you always quit quite early – most of the time it was him.

Aemond sat on the two-seater sofa and listened to the conversation, nursing his third glass. It was the first time he had actively joined you and Aegon, mostly because Aegon had already poured him a glass when he had heard the keys rustling against the front door. However, your begging was what really convinced him.

“Seriously, though,” you said, blinking slowly as your eyes became glossy from the wine. “Why did you ask me for help and not your brother? He has the same classes and does way better.” You glanced over at Aemond, who gave you an appreciative nod.

Aegon had one arm splayed across the back of the sofa, fingers trailing over the expensive leather. Cocking an eyebrow, he brought the glass to his lips and drowned the last bit, almost as if he had to give himself Dutch courage. “Well, my brother doesn’t look as good as you do,” he gruffed, raising his empty glass.

Opening your mouth, you brushed your index finger over your bottom lip in a calming manner, meant to hide the smirk that pulled at the corners of it. You glanced between the two silver haired men, before bringing the glass to your lips. “He looks way better,” you mumbled the words against the rim of the glass, almost drowned by the wine. “... but that obviously runs in the family.” Obviously speaking before thinking.

Heat colored your cheeks almost instantly, and even though you were a bit tipsy already, it didn’t suppress the embarrassment you felt.

Too occupied with your own emotions, you hardly noticed the glances the brothers exchanged, until your eyes flickered from the glass in your hand up to meet Aegon’s. Seeing the mischievous smirk on his lips, your eyes widened, before they darted towards Aemond, who appeared to be stunned by the confession.

“I mean… I-I don’t… you–” you stammered, trying to talk your way out of the situation – but to no avail.

Aegon and you had fucked once – or thrice – ever since you met in one of the college bars a few weeks ago, and, assuming it had ended on your terms, he surely would have taken you a fourth or fifth time, too. But you didn’t want to get your heart broken by the notorious fuckboy, so you had to put a stop to it.

“... we?” Now it was Aemond speaking, maybe even for the first time that evening, and his smooth voice immediately sent a shiver down your spine, settling between your legs.

You gulped, tapping your index finger against the stem of your glass. “You’re both fucking hot, alright?” you blurted out, almost seeming offended – if it wasn't for the bright red tinting your cheeks. “It’s like –”

Aegon raised his hand with a scoff, effectively silencing you. “Be a good girl and shut up.”

The sudden shift in the air caught you so off guard, but you did as he told you to. While you should be nervous or ponder over what could be on his mind, your thoughts always strayed back to the ‘be a good girl’ and a part of you wanted to be good for him so, so good.

“See?” Aegon teased with a sly smirk, looking past you at Aemond. “Told you she’d loosen up with a few glasses.”

At the confession of them speaking about you beforehand, you swallowed thickly, looking back down to the glass in your hand.

“I-I–”

“Shush now,” Aemond warned, joining in on his brother’s antics.

“You know you could’ve just asked us if you wanted some action, mh?” Where Aemond had been quiet and reserved before, always more the observer than actively participating, his sudden change of demeanor most definitely caught you by surprise.

Aegon scoffed, and you hadn’t noticed his hand rubbing your thigh before, too confused by what was happening around you. Heat followed in the wake of his hand, and it didn’t settle the aching between your legs, silently begging for his hand to travel up. “Is that true?” he asked, amusement laced in his voice. It didn’t feel humiliating, but something still had your throat tightening, not knowing what to say.

Witnessing Aemond taking the initiative was the last thing you expected, yet you couldn’t deny that you were pleasantly surprised. “Come here,” he said, patting his thigh.

From the moment you climbed Aemond’s lap, too much and not enough at all happened – until the three of you were completely naked and covered with sweat.

After he had cupped your face, breathing a ‘want us to play with you?’ against your parted lips, he had claimed them with a heated kiss that robbed you of any bits of hesitation and reluctance that might have settled in your bones.

While Aegon mostly had sat on the couch, jerking himself off to the sight of you and Aemond making out, it was his turn to join when things got more serious. Having had you a few times before, he was generous enough to grant his younger brother the chance of feeling your cunt choking his cock, content to watch for the time being.

And something told you that Aemond might have been wanting this for quite some time.

What Aegon lacked in length, Aemond made up for, and other way round when it came to the girth. They both were well endowed, but not to the point it caused you pain or felt uncomfortable.

As Aemond slid into you, you gasped, practically impaled on his cock. It took you a few seconds to adjust, but then you started to rock your hips back and forth, riding him.

The sensations only grew with him snaking an arm around your body, trailing down to where your bodies were connected to gather some of your arousal to coat his nimble fingers. At first, you paid no mind to it, until his index finger circled around the rim of your other hole, massaging it and eventually dipping inside.

“I-I have never,” you whimpered, not at all worried if it meant it would be your first time tonight.

Aegon rasped from his place on the couch, breathing heavily from how well he was fisting himself, “oh, we’ll take good care of you, sweets.”

“That’s it,” Aemond cooed in the same moment, enjoying the way your walls sucked him in with each swivel of your hips.

The pleasure got unbearable, but before you had the chance to come, Aemond withdrew his fingers. There wasn't even time for you to complain or whine, because he rose to his feet and beckoned his brother over with a nod.

Feeling Aegon’s lips on the curve of your shoulder, you tipped your head back and moaned. Aemond dragged his nose along your exposed throat, pressing featherlight kisses to your flushed skin that drove you into madness.

“Look at you,” Aegon rasped against your skin, biting down roughly enough to have you suck in a sharp breath. “So desperate to be fucked by us.” With Aemond thrusting up into you, his hands clasped around your thighs to hold you steady, there was not much you could answer, merely whining in return.

“Have I fucked you dumb already?” the younger one teased, a proud edge to his smooth voice.

It was like heaven to you, sandwiched between two handsome men that played your body like a fiddle. You knew how good Aegon was when it came to fucking, but you were surprised that Aemond was in no way inferior to him, perhaps even a bit better, since he knew how to charm your body with gentle touches that juxtaposed the drilling of his hips.

With the preparation of Aemond’s fingers, the prodding of Aegon’s cock against your virgin hole wasn’t that uncomfortable. Aemond had stopped his movements as soon as he noticed the shifting of his brother behind you, allowing the elder to push inside slowly and carefully.

Accommodating both of them at once brought you a feeling of fullness you hadn’t experienced before. Even though they didn’t move, you were certain you could have come on spot just from them filling you to the brim. And seeing that you had become tighter with Aegon now behind you, both men seemed to share the feeling.

But even then, the aching between your legs didn’t subside – if everything, it just grew greedier.

“Move… please,” you whimpered, tears starting to brim in your eyes. Standing behind you, Aegon replaced Aemond’s hands with his own, while Aemond draped both your arms over their shoulders for leverage. Aegon spread your legs to the point it felt as if he wanted to tear you apart, but it felt oh so right.

The tears made your vision blurry, and you didn’t see the glance they exchanged before they started to thrust into you at the same moment. Your head tipped back yet again with a strangled moan slipping past your lips, whereas both men were grunting and groaning as their cocks dragged through your clenching walls.

Aemond brought his hand up to cup your cheek, pad of his thumb dragging along your skin to gather some of the tears you had shed. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.” As fucked up as it was, his words had you keening, the sounds you released growing from desperate and strained to wanton and pornographic.

His other hand found solace between your legs, fingers dragging over your little bud. It was harsh, and, with the pleasure their cocks brought you, it made your body feel like it was on fire, urging you to squirm and gasp. But the position didn’t allow you to leave, unable to move with your arms around their necks and Aegon’s strong hands on your thighs.

“That’s it,” the elder grunted, accentuating the words with two thrusts that were out of the rhythm of Aemond’s, harsh enough to hiccup your breathing. “Keep purring for us, you dumb, little kitten.” Releasing one of your thighs – with Aemond being quick enough to grab it to hold it up – Aegon reached around to squeeze and grope at your breasts.

All things came together at once with the tip of Aemond’s cock brushing your sweet spot so expertly while his fingers circled your clit and Aegon’s squeezed and pinched your nipples. You toppled over the edge with a loud cry, white, hot pleasure surging through your veins. It almost was embarrassing how tightly your walls clenched around them both to the point it forced them to slow down a bit, yet their ministrations were enough to prolong that intense high.

While you had expected them both to pursue their orgasms not long after, it was crushing when they didn’t, forcing you through the overstimulation.

You tried to press your thighs together to escape the uncomfortable feeling, which obviously didn’t work with them spreading your legs further apart. “F-Fuck… please,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut which prompted more tears to roll down your cheeks.

Being generous enough to grant you some kind of relief, Aemond withdrew his fingers from your clit and instead cupped your chin. “Keep crying like that, fuck,” he grunted, pursing his lips just slightly as his good eye was fixed on your tortured expression.

Trusting twice, thrice, he eventually reached his climax with a strained groan, stilling his hips completely as his throbbing cock spent itself deep inside of your still trembling and sensitive walls. That prompted you to open your eyes, keeping them locked on his face, watching it contort with pleasure. He didn’t pick up his pace after that, merely staying buried inside of you.

Aegon followed suit not long after with an elongated ‘fuck’, groping your breast a tad too roughly as he was overtaken by pleasure. He rode his high out with leisure snaps of his hips, rolling them back and forth until they also stilled at some point.

He was the first to pull out and fetch his clothes, causing you to wince at the loss and a slight feeling of being used to throb in the back of your mind. For Aemond and you, it appeared you needed a few more seconds to steady your breathing and allow the events to settle in your bones, but once they did, he was careful to lower you to the ground.

“See you next week, Y/N,” Aegon gruffed, grabbing his phone. “Tuesday, same time?”

Not really waiting for an answer, he departed for the bath, leaving you alone with his younger brother. With wide eyes, you met Aemond’s good one, silently begging for him to say something.

And he did, but probably not what you expected him to.

“Get in my room,” he commanded, not a tinge of strain left in the baritone of his voice, “I'll clean you up and make your evening worth the while.”

434 notes · View notes

alwayschoppedtaco · 1 year

Text

hate is a strong word, don’t you think ll m.v.

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader

warnings: some angst? not super angsty, mentions of a crash on the track-no one is hurt- (mercedes v red bull), mentions of alcohol and partying, google translate dutch and french (in this, you can speak french) it’s mostly just fluff

summary: you’ve never gotten along with max, but that can all change after an action filled day leads to some late night conversation

word count: 1.0k

my masterlist

“What a fucking idiot!” the crackle of the team radio comes right after you hit the barriers, informing the team that you are both okay and angry. “He knows that he should have left space, what a sore loser!”

The anger doesn’t subside on your walk back to the Mercedes garage after you brush off the marshals who direct you to the medical area, instead it is left to bubble up in your stomach, thoughts of the podium and just how close you were to it acting as a catalyst for your rage.

Your anger doesn’t pass as you watch the blundering idiot who caused your little crash cross the finish line with enough of a lead that his five second penalty does absolutely nothing. Instead, it is left once again to fester inside you as you go through the motions of post-race media duties, trying to patiently answer all of the clearly baited questions in a professional way.

It doesn’t dissipate as you change out of your sweaty race suit, slipping into a clean pair of pants and a shirt that is branded with the Mercedes logo. It only slightly lessens as you look at your teammate and his second place trophy, deciding to be happy for him and the team.

That’s the reason you don’t say no to Lewis when he invites you to an after party with the team to celebrate the first podium of the season and all the hard work put into this weekend.

You’re already three drinks in by the time Max strolls in, Daniel and Checo coming in with him. You have to physically restrain the urge to roll your eyes as you watch the Red Bull drivers walk in, downing your drink and motioning for another.

Max makes eye contact with you as you get your drink, a smirk making its way onto his lips. Your eyes narrow at him, turning your back to him as anger floods in again.

It takes everything in you not to walk over and do something you would regret, instead moving away from the bar and over to where your team is situated. Lewis motions for you to sit next to him at the table, some of the team members making way for you to sit there.

You only reason you got up from the booth where you were sat was to grab another drink. Excusing yourself, you make your way towards the bar.

“I will have an-” your interrupted before you can finish your sentence.

“daar is ze!” Max stumbles over to you, his drunken Dutch words not making sense to you. “Ik was je aan het zoeken!” there you are! I have been looking for you!

You scoff at his words, automatically assuming he was poking fun at you in his native tongue.

“Max, just leave me alone.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, heading back over to the Mercedes table. Max is left alone at the bar, watching your retreating figure.

The rest of the night passes you by in a blur. Flashing lights and the deep reverb of the bass, along with the multitude of drinks, prompting you to pull Lewis onto the dance floor. Your hips sway to the music, letting your thoughts of the podium and incident leave your head, instead focusing on whatever terrible remix of Lady Gaga is playing.

You feel his eyes burning into you as you sway to the music, locking eyes with him. His blue eyes stare into your own, not breaking eye contact as he makes his way over to you.

“Y/N!” Max starts, yelling over the loud music. “ik wilde zeggen dat het me spijt” I wanted to say I’m sorry

“Max!” You are more open to conversation with him now that you have significantly more alcohol in your system. “I can’t understand Dutch!”

The laugh that leaves your mouth has Max hooked. The both of you drunkenly stumble out of the club in hopes of having a real conversation, the loud music still audible outside.

“I said that I am sorry, Y/N!” Max is still shouting, causing you to giggle louder and place your finger on his lips with an overexaggerated “shhh”

“No need to shout, Maximilian.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Its close enough.” Your drunken giggles continue as you talk, forcing the mumbled words out through your laughs. “Why did you not leave any room?”

“I didn’t mean to ruin your race, Y/N.” The way he says your name has you sobering up a bit, and the intense way he looks at you has you forgetting why you were ever mad at him.

“Oh mon dieu, pourquoi as-tu besoin d'avoir de si beaux yeux?” Its your turn to say something he doesn’t understand, the French going completely over his head. Oh god, why do you have to have such pretty eyes?

“What was that?”

“I said that you have really nice eyes that need to stop looking at me like that!” He is speechless after you admit it, letting a tense silence blanket the two of you.

He slowly reaches out towards you, one hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You have really nice eyes too.” The admission from him paired with his hands on your face have you forgetting everything about the race, the only thing on your mind being the man in front of you.

“Max.” His name rolls off your tongue, a silent dare for him to do something.

He takes the dare, his other hand coming to cup your neck as he leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. He finally connects your lips together, the taste of gin lingering on his mouth. Your thoughts are drowned out by Max, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck pulling him closer as you continue to kiss, cliché butterflies erupting in your stomach.

You only pull away when you need air, moving away from Max but still keeping eye contact.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that.” The words catch you by surprise, never knowing Max felt like that.

“I always thought you didn’t like me.”

“Never.”

773 notes · View notes

k1ngpin42 · 28 days

Text

𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗 & 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 (𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ;)

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (giving & receiving) s3x, fingering, handj0b, soft & rough Arthur, gentlemen Arthur, V!rgin reader

Notes: I know you guys voted Sub Abby, ✌𝓢𝓤𝓑 𝓐𝓑𝓑𝓨 ✌ WILL BE POSTED NEXT I had been working on this Red Dead project a while ago so I hope you don’t take it too negatively. Thanks for all the support I’ve had so far, it means a lot that people can enjoy my work (even if it’s mostly smut.)

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Notorious outlaw Arthur Morgan, who has been forced into a tight, high end tux in a crammed, high end place hates everything about this party Dutch made him attend. That is until he meets a fancy woman, (you) who isn’t as dull as he originally suspected.

PLEASE NOTE: there’s no fluid 1850s language used so don’t be upset if there’s some modern slang or anything I’m just writing cause I’m bored.

Some Y/N is mentioned, I try to avoid Y/N at all costs but there was no way around it this time, I’m sorry guys but it’s only a few times so dw.

The mission was practically a laughing matter- being that the guest of honour was a drug lord and that Arthur and the others were all outlaws who wouldn’t know which utensil to use at dinner to save their life, which glass to drink from or their name, how to feel normal in a suit, how to not steal every beautiful piece of decor they encountered and how to even speak with all these…well-read, well off folk.

The mission itself seemed simple enough. Talk to the governor, make a good impression and snoop around. Having to give the doormen their weapons was just another reminder of how far out of his comfort zone he was.

When the champagne was offered Arthur immediately took a glass, looking over the porch and subtly acknowledging Dutch beside him. Bronte greets them warmly and starts pointing out and mocking some of the party guests, including Mayor Henri Lemiux, Alberto Fussar, Hobart Crawley and his wife Brenda. Once the group seperate, Arthur makes his way to the main floor.

“Okay…” Arthur mumbled to himself, grimly. “Mingle…” He looks around the crowd. There are people dancing, talking, making out of course, He doesn’t know where to go first. That is until he hears you talking to some man.

“You…flatter me.” You tell him, clearly lying. “However I am…reserving my dance for another…” You say, quickly. Arthur turns to face you and see’s the most beautiful gown he’s ever seen. It’s a white corset that extends down into an ocean of subtle ruffles. The material looks stiff and the bottom has specks of gold.

The man in question is overweight and if he was being honest, smelt rank. He felt sorry for you, whoever you were, he had suspected you were dragged to this thing too, fancy dress and all.

“I don’t see him.” The man said, putting his arms around your hips. You carefully remove them and he grabs your arm tightly.

“Where you goin’ princess?” He says, and something in Arthur almost snaps, he wants to snap. He knows he can’t make a scene so he walks behind you, whispering in your ear. His warm breath and the unexpectedness of it all initially makes you flinch, but ANYONE would be better than this slag. You had seen him get handsy with almost every female employee here and on the streets you had heard him getting creepy with fucking children. Thankfully it hadn’t escalated, at least so far.

“You alright miss?” Arthur questions in your ear. You turn over to look at him. He’s tall and awful handsome, not like any men you had seen at the party so far. He had gorgeous eyes of Atlantic blue and his hair was…almost perfect. It looked like whatever product he used was far from his regular style as the parting was all over the place, but his jawline and minimal facial hair tied the look together.

“Uh…here he is.” You said, stunned at your own words. He looks at you icily. “Uh….That’s not-“

“Who is that? I ain’t seen him before.” The man yells at you, completely ignoring Arthurs existence. Arthur sighs.

“I’m her…partner….tonight anyway.” You nod.

“Exactly, and I owe him a dance so if you don’t mind.”

“Fuck you, how would your daddy react to you dancing with some nameless stranger?” The man groans at you. You roll your eyes.

“Go hang.” You say, quietly, but Arthur still hears it and his eyes widen, impressed.

“He gon’ hear about it from me just you wait”

“Looking forward to it.” You tell him, and the man goes off somewhere. You let out a groan, covering your eyes in embarrassment.

“I am so sorry Mr…?”

“Uh...that’s not important. And you’re welcome. Who was that?” He asks. You sigh.

“Not important.” You grab his hands and start swirling around and his face flushes red.

“Miss I…ain’t much of a dancer.”

“Well it would be a damn waste not to dance after that little facade.” He looks at you, a little confused, but nods.

“What brings you here anyway?” You ask, his large hand on your waist, the other in your gloved palm. Arthur can’t help but smile, still taking in your figure.

“My friends and I were invited by Bronte, he’s a guest here.”

“I see. So you’re here to make impressions?

“Or some such thing.” He replies, still blushing like an idiot. You talk for a little while, swaying to the music, talking about everything and nothing as if he’s the most trustworthy person out there.

“I hate going to these things.” You tell him, a little worried you had ruined the weirdly peaceful atmosphere the two of you had been experiencing. He nods, watching you intently while still trying to maintain rhythm.

“You look like a million bucks. I would have assumed you were made for these things.” He stumbles.

His lack of fluidness when talking was weirdly attractive, it brought a sense of comfort which you rarely felt, especially with his accent.

“In a way I was made for it…these parties are my life whether I like it or not.”

“I couldn’t imagine it.” Arthur blurts out, and you look up at him with curiosity.

“I knew you weren’t a noble.” You say with a grin. He rolls his eyes playfully.

“Why? Do I smell like poor folk?” You laugh at his comment.

“No, no the camp smell is…luxurious.” “I’ll have you know I bathed before I came here.” He replied defensively, causing you to laugh more. This banter went on until he spotted Lemieux.

“Excuse me.” He says, not even waiting for the dance to end before approaching your father. The mayor's butler, Pierre appears and tells Lemieux that he received a phone call from Leviticus Cornwall. Another man with greasy black hair overhears this and has Arthur follow Pierre to find out about it.

Being as cautious as you can, you slip through and follow Arthur to see what he’s doing. You watch him follow Pierre into an office and enter it once Pierre leaves. Arthur starts trying to unlock the door when you come in.

“So you’re not just not a noble, you’re a thief.” You remark, causing him to spin his head around to face you.

“Miss…” He tries. You roll your eyes.

“Save it. What are you even looking for?”

“Look, this is all just a misunderstanding, I’m sure if you just let me go, we can both forget this ever happened, I’ll be on my way and you can go back to your life of parties.” He tries, lowering the document in his hand.

You walk over to him, leaning over his shoulder to see the document.

“Wow.” You say, unimpressed. He looks at you guiltily.

“Look, I’m sorry miss, you seem real nice and I meant no disrespect by coming here and…acting all decent, I’m just doing what I’m told.” He tries, his voice sounding like a plead at this point.

“Mmm, what Dutch Van Der Linde told you to do, right? He was that man with the excessive hair pomade and the…vests. I’ve heard about him.”

“What?? You know of me??” Arthur demanded. You put a soft, gloved hand to his mouth.

“Shhh, do you know how much trouble we would be in if we were discovered in here? I had suspected you were an outlaw but the only one I recognised was Dutch and Bronte.” Arthur isn’t paying attention to your words so much as he is the warm hand on his mouth.

“Who are you?” He asks. You shake your head.

“What are you going to do with the papers?”

“Look, it isn’t really business for a lady to-“ You glare at him and he fumbles his words again.

“Not to say a lady can’t…my meaning is-“

“So a robbery?” You interrupt, unimpressed by his long winded explanation. He sighs.

“St Denis is a big city…it don’t need quite so many vaults in that bank they have secured up real nice.” He says. You roll your eyes,

“You can not be that foolish. Doing any sort of crime in St Denis is suicide unless you have a bullet proof escape plan and I’m sorry but I smelt your bullshit from a mile away.”

“You have quite the tongue for a lady.”

“And you are just…something else for a gentlemen.” You retort.

All of a sudden you hear the jittering of keys at the door and you and Arthur exchange a look of panic.

“Oh Jesus.” Arthur mutters and you roll your eyes.

“Swearing isn’t helping, outlaw. Try that window.”

“I have a name-“

“Then say it.”

“It-“ He groans, wondering how the fuck he got into this situation and why he was involving himself with a random woman. A beautiful and intelligent one at that, one who definitely challenged him in a way he enjoyed, but also one who was getting in the fucking way.

“It’s Arthur…” He pauses, turning to look at you when he reaches the window. “Morgan.” He adds.

The window won’t open and so you shove the document back into the draw and lean Arthur against the window, pressing your mouth against his aggressively. He was clearly shocked, and who wouldn’t be? But still, almost like an instinct, his lips parted and his tongue moved skillfully through your mouth. Henry Lemieux walks in an audibly gasps.

“Y/N Lemieux what the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry father I…let me explain.” Arthurs ears burn at this. Father??

“You listen here little girl, I have told you NEVER to go in here. What’s gotten into you? And on such a significant night with some stranger??”

“My rooms always guarded and I just wanted some privacy. Arthur and I have been seeing each other for some time but I knew I couldn’t take him here. I’m sorry I let you down this is just the only place I knew there wouldn’t be workers.”

He sighs. “I understand there are a lot of rules in this household that may make you…may make it feel like there’s not as much freedom as ideal but it’s to protect you! You need to be more careful with strangers.” He yells, walking over to Arthur.

“Mmm, Bronte invited you I take? I don’t know you otherwise and I know anyone who’s anyone, meaning there’s no way you’re good enough for my daughter. Did you try and take her honour? Is that it?”

“We were just talking, that was our first kiss father honest it was.” Arthur puts his hands up innocently, nodding at your comment. Henry lets out an annoyed gush of air..

“I want you both out of here, we will discuss your punishment later, my daughter.” You nod and drag him to your room, waving at the guards there to fuck off. They stare at you blankly.

“Men are not allowed I-“

“My father just allowed it, but if you don’t trust me, you can go bother him in his study, I’m sure he’d be thrilled.” You tell one of them, annoyed. He nods and the guards head downstairs. You close the door and Arthur is just looking at you, wide eyed. He turns to the door and you sigh.

“I’m…not allowed locks.” You explain. He doesn’t say anything.

“So…” You say. He angrily paces around the room.

“What the fuck…what the fuck??”

“Calm down Mr Morgan.” You say, unphased. He glares a you.

“Calm down?? I did more than just fuck up. I exposed my whole fucking plan to the governors daughter just because she was a pretty face I- fuck, this was a bad plan.” Arthur mumbled to himself. You smile slightly.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I got to go…” He says, reaching towards the door. You walk in front of it.

“Why?” You ask, plainly.

“What?”

“Why do you have to go?” You question, He walks closer to you, his eyes darting around the room nervously.

“Well you’re just gonna tell your dad won’t ya?”

“Oh yeah cause I just lied for fun Mr Morgan that’s a real bright comment.”

“Well why else would you do it? You don’t know me.”

“You’re an outlaw. Slightly naive, perhaps, but you, hair pomade and whoever else is in your group, you do anything you can for family. Even utterly foolish things such as breaking into the governments office and robbing the most secure bank in this country. I’m not going to inform my father. I can respect what you were…trying but if you try that whole St Denis thing, you can rest assured you will be walking into your own damn funeral.”

“Well what else would you suggest then, miss?? In case you haven’t noticed, men like me don’t get good paying jobs, unless it’s for folk like you who would never hire us.”

“Trains, small stores, homesteads…” You pause. “boats.”

He raises an eyebrow.

‘You’re encouraging I steal, my lady?” You practically snort at his comment.

“In essence. People ‘like me’ don’t REALLY need those gold emerald earrings or platinum laced watches. It’s less stealing than it is…balance.” You say, matter-of-factly. He can’t deny how impressed and surprised he is by you. A government daughter, gorgeous, smart, fancy as hell but most importantly you didn’t hate him, and that meant more to him than words could measure.

“The grand Korrigan holds high end poker games. It’s easier than you’d think to sneak on, I’ve done it myself, it’s in Lemoyne.”

“W- I’m sorry, you snuck on to the grand Kerrigan….in lemoyne?”

“I heard my father talk about it. I was bored.”

“Why would you help me? I mean isn’t it against your father in some way?”

“How I see it, you were going to do this anyway, I’m not helping at all, simply telling you where it is so that you don’t go kill yourself at the bank. If I were to…accompany you, then perhaps I wouldn’t feel inclined to tell my father you were in there to steal copies of the deed my father was going to sign.”

“Okay woah, slow down my lady-“

“You really don’t have to call me that…”

“I really do. Now listen, there is no way we’re getting involved with the governers daughter, I’m sorry that you get bored dressing up like a doll 3 times a day and having guards around you but that’s no excuse to go commit crimes…”

“I won’t be committing them, you will.”

“Still, I don’t want to be liable for you.”

“Wow…romantic.” You say, sarcastically. He sighs.

“That’s not what I mean it’s just….the answer is no.”

“I’ve snuck on before, I know heaps of ways to sneak in and out of this city as well several others. When you can’t leave town there’s nothing else to do but learn about everyone else’s business. I guarantee I could get you into anywhere. Plus I cn protect myself, I’ve been trained in combat since I was 14.”

“But why?” He asks. But he doesn’t need to. He knows the answer. He felt it when you guys first touched and again when you first kissed. He felt it now knowing you’ve seen through him and didn’t want to look away. You weren’t frightened or repulsed and neither one of you wanted to part each other. It was unexplainable. You barely knew each other.

“I can’t keep letting my life slip away in this meaningless existence. I want adventure, love I don’t know…I know I’m stupid for think-“

“Don’t talk about yourself like that sweetheart” Arthur says, putting a hand on your face.

“We shouldn’t do this.” He says, dragging his thumb over your lip and making it part slightly. You nod.

“It would be reckless…we would be naive to think we won’t get caught.” You breathe out. He nods.

“We would probably…” Arthur paused, his accent thick in your ears. “get as far as the gate before everything goes sideways, not to mention the gang would never accept you.” You nod back.

“exactly.”

“Exactly.” He says, putting his other hand on your face and kissing you deeply.

———————————Smut———————��——————

You can taste residue of the sweet, bubbly champagne he had drank only moments earlier mixed with the metallic taste of his being. Having someones tongue in your mouth and particularly a man who was anything but inexperienced was unusual to say the least, but a feeling you welcomed as he eagerly explored and savoured your taste now too.

You walk back with your arms still wrapped around his neck, kissing him roughly. You flinch slightly when you bump into the end of your bed. You hesitate for a moment, looking into his pretty eyes again before internally making a decision and climbing onto your bed. He tilts his head, admiring you fondly.

“Now Miss, I don’t think we should rush this, you’re a woman. To be…I don’t know…cared for or somethin’. Me? I’m a bad man.” Arthur hesitates. “A rough man.” He corrects.

“It’s okay Morgan, I’m not a little girl, I can handle it.” He walks away from the bed and paces for a while. You decide to reassure him with more than just words this time and remove your shoes, then you start working on the lace at the back of your dress. Arthur sighs, knowing he won’t be able to avoid all the things he’ll do to you. He’s a good man, somewhere in there. When it comes to women he was more decent than most at least.

“Let me help you with that.” He says, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you so your back is right against the front of his body. He removes it and starts working at your undergarments.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks. You shake your head.

“No?” You say, more surprised at how gentle he’s being with you than anything else. He chuckles softly.

“Just making sure.” He coos before effortlessly removing your undergarments as well.

He flips you around and pushes you so you’re lying spread across the bed. He climbs over you, positioning himself so his knee is between your legs. You feel nervous with your body exposed to him like this. He starts tracing your body with his finger tips.

“You’re god damn gorgeous.” He remarks, cupping one of your warm breasts which you were embarrassed at how quickly the nipple on it hardened under his touch. He lays soft kisses all over your chest, sucking near your bellybutton which got an excited gasp from you in response. He continues drawing lines across your body with the two middle fingers of his right hand but stops when he reaches your lower area.

“You ever done anything like this before?” He asks, kissing your waistline. You consider lying. “Of course…” You could say, but he’d see right through it. You just didn’t want him to back up and leave because he didn’t want to harm your image. Too fucking gentlemanly to taint a womans reputation, but murder and crime? Now that’s alright.

“Well?” He questions again. You blush, shaking your head.

“No, I guess not.” You admit. You can see this troubles him, but he knows you don’t want to stop, he can tell you’re yearning for it, yearning for him more specifically.

“You know how it all works?” He asks, lowering himself to your thighs and kissing inside. You nod.

“Yeah, yeah I think so.” You reply, your eyes fluttering at the varying sensations your body was experiencing. He nods.

“Sit on my lap, I’m gonna put my fingers in okay?” You do as he says, sitting on his fancy black pants and adjusting yourself so that he’s comfortable. He lets out a light groan.

“God, sorry did I hurt you Mr Morgan?” He chuckles slightly.

“Quite the opposite, stay still I need to be able to control myself.” He instructs, and you feel yourself pooling at his words.

“Do you have water in this room?” He asks, and you look at him confused.

“Uh, yeah, by my nightstand theres a jug, I get thirsty sometimes at night.”

“Be right back.” He says, placing you back on the bed and taking the jug, pouring some water onto his fingers.

“If you’re uh…sort of….tight inside, it feels better with wet fingers.” He explains. You can’t help but laugh.

“You’re not the smoothest man out there Mr Morgan.” You tease. He laughs back.

“Pretty girls have that effect on me.” He delicately guides his two middle fingers between your folds and your pussy literally glistens. You’ve never felt wet for another person before and especially not to this extent.

“Breathe in.” He says as he guides two fingers inside you and you let out a sharp breath. He immediately removes his fingers.

“Too much, my lady?” You shake your head.

“No, no I can take it.” You affirm and he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Sweetheart, I can tell the difference between a painful gasp and a moan. You’re still tight so I’m going to use my tongue to help you relax.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just think of it like a kiss.” He says before putting his tongue inside you. You let out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard yourself make and you put your fist in your mouth, embarrassed.

“Oh my god…” You whisper as he quickens his movements. Then, his nose is bumping up against your clit, his tongue still working other areas.

“Fuck~” You moan. You can guess all your manners and lessons in how to be dignified had gone down the drain.

A man you had met only today, an outlaw no less who was only at the party to steal from your father was giving you pleasure you could never give yourself. It was….interesting.

“Fuck…Fuck Arthur don’t go so fast I’ll…it’s too much…” But Arthurs so fucking into it, tasting you, savouring every orgasmic noise you make for the first time, only for his ears to enjoy. He doesn’t slow down and it’s not long before your pussy pulses in his mouth, your thighs shaking like a damn leaf.

“He gets back up and puts you on his lap again, putting his fingers in your slick.

“Wow, that’s quite a lot sweetheart.”

“I’ve never….well not like that before.” You explain. He nods, putting his fingers inside your significantly looser hole, doing small beckoning motions inside of you. You start breathing heavy again as he pumps his fingers in and out. You cling onto his jacket, already feeling your stomach swell in waves of pleasure. When you release again, he just flashes you a satisfied look.

“I’m gonna take my pants off. You can rub yourself on my thigh first, gotta get you ready for my cock.” You’re flushing red and just let out a small sound of understanding. When you see his half-hard cock in his underwear, though, you are so consumed with lust you can’t think of anything else but touching it.

“Go on get on my thigh.” Arthur tells you with a comforting smile. He notices your hesitant expression.

“What is it?”

“I want to touch you.” You blurt out. He smirks.

“Really?” He asks. You nod.

“Please.” Arthur gets off better through pleasuring others, but you’re so beautifully eager that he doesn’t think twice.

“Here.” He says, taking off the glove on your right hand and guiding it into his (boxers? Whatever tf they had back then) It was warm and felt very strange in a way you weren’t sure you liked, however feeling it grow in the palm of your hand was satisfying. You pulled the pants further down, taking out his cock. It was pretty well groomed and a lot cleaner than you had anticipated. It was also big. You knew it would be, he was practically a cowboy and you definitely knew what they said about cowboys.

He grabbed your hand and gripped it sternly over his shaft.

“Move your thumb over the tip…” He moves your fingers, rubbing himself with them.

“Like this. Then with your hand, apply press- mm” He lets out a low groan.

“And move up and down like this.” You nod, smiling a little awkwardly as you go up and down as fast as you can. Arthur rolls his head back.

“Damn….thats the way sweetheart fuck~” Arthur babbled. You smile, liking the effect you had on him.You continued at that pace and pressure for a while until his moans had progressed into hot fucking whimpers. He smirks at you knowingly.

“This turn you on gorgeous?” You don’t reply with words, just a simple nod. He hums in response.

“Show me how much.”

You remove your hand from his cock and reach down to your cunt, getting a thick layer of your slick from your fingers and showing him, clearly still embarrassed.He acknowledges this with a fond look of satisfaction.

“Coat my cock with it.” He instructs, and your eyes widen at his bluntness.

“I-“ You stop yourself, deciding your words were of little value in a situation like this. You do as he says, applying a thing layer of your spent and moving even faster. He moans at the sensation and warm precum floods your hands. You look up at him nervously.

“Wait…did you?”

“No sweetheart, you gotta do more than that.”

“Then why? What is…” you say, your fingers fidgeting with the liquid on your hands. He chuckles, fuck his laugh is attractive, too.

“It happens a little before. When it feels good, it means I’m close just keep going sweetheart. Keep your eyes on me.” You nod and go faster, feeling his precum dripping over your fingers.

He lets out a low groan combined with a slightly high pitched, breathy whimper. If your ears could cum, they would have just then. You watch with admiration as his head leans back, his glowing face looking all that much sexier when he wasn’t consumed in a mission.

“Mmmph…so good sweeth- oh fuck…” He lets out. You keep your eyes on him even as his cock pulses inside your hand, warmth completely coated your significantly smaller hand. You finally look back down at it.

“What does…what would it taste like?” You question, not even sure why the question crossed your mind. He laughs.

“Now how would I know that my lady?” He asks, still breathing heavily. You roll your eyes at yourself.

“Right.” You exclaim, feeling stupid. He puts a hand on your cheek.

“You did real good…” He says, but you’re still preoccupied in your own thoughts.

You should have asked first, probably, and in truth you’re not sure why you didn’t, but you put him in your mouth, tasting the salty, metallic flavour of him and evaluating the texture. He lets out a shocked gasp.

“H…holy….don’t- wh…” Is all he can manage, his dick practically swelling in your mouth. You stop and look up at him, swallowing what was in your mouth.

“Sorry…did you not like it?”

“Well I….of course I did- do- of course I do but…you need to give it time, it’s sensitive after releasing all that.” He explains. Your smile widens.

“It sounded like you like it.”

“I do b-“ You put him in your mouth again and this time he grabs your head and instinctively pushes it down, furthering himself in your mouth.

You’re stunned by his actions and also weirdly turned on, it’s not too much for you to handle and the new roughness he could give and is obviously keeping from you was starting to show. You continue and feel him rock hard again, not even able to speak and replacing his words with small whimpers and sighs.

“Hey um…stop st-“ He lets out. You do as he says, scared you did something wrong.

“Are you a virgin?” He speaks softly once he finally got his words back. You look a little upset now.

“That bad, huh?”

“What? It was incredible I’ve never felt that good in my life it’s just. If you’re willing we could…uh”

“Oh.” You say, your cheeks lighting up.

“I know you said you haven’t done anything like this.” He adds. “You probably want to save yourself for your husband.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. George Pettie said that.”

“Who?”

“He’s an author, he- nevermind.” You say, taking off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’m not a good person, you don’t want your first to be with some random outlaw you met at a party do you?” He questions as the last of his clothes are removes and you see his glistening body, gentle lines of hair across the center. You shrug.

“It’s better this way, better to have experience, you know?” He rolls his eyes playfully.

“So you went for me. Wow, a man thinks he’s special…” He teases, grabbing you by your hips and pulling you onto his lap. You gasp at the feeling of your bare bodies touching like this, his warm thighs under your wet pussy, it was something you never knew you were craving.

“I’m gonna get you used to the rocking motion…uh.” He starts, taking you by the hips again and moves you slowly up his thigh. He moves you back down and you gasp at the sensation, your clit already fucking throbbing for him. Arthur smirks happily and moves you back again, this time with your help as you thrust your hips onto him. You let out a loud moan. He smiles widely.

“Mmm…good girl.” He murmurs as you start pleasuring yourself on his thigh. You look away nervously but keep moving up and down.

“I feel bad.” You say, simply. “You can’t feel anything when I do this.” He kisses you deeply and fuck do you love the feeling of his tongue dancing with yours.

“I love it like this.” Arthur admits, and you can tell by the look on his face that he’s genuine. Your pleasure is everything to him, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t give it to you.

You keep going for a while, letting a chorus of gasps and moans escape your lips in a song of desperation. You’re close again, your eyes shutting involuntarily as you grip onto his hair.

“So good…” You exclaim, thrusting harshly. He kisses you even longer this time.

“Real good, girl.” He coos.

You look down and Arthur looks almost painfully hard at all this commotion. You look at him nervously. He smiles comfortingly at you.

“Lie down.” He tells you, and you do as he says, carefully getting off his lap and lying down on the bed beside him.

“Good, now take deep breaths, it might hurt a little at first okay?” Your wetness pools between your thighs. He’s so fucking caring, at least in this situation, and fuck…he talks you through it. You know he’s experienced and yet he’s treating every sensation like its a first for both of you

“Sweetheart?” He asks, softly, bringing you out of your head long enough to enjoy the experience. You blush.

“Yea- Yes.” You say, and he towers over you, sucking at the soft skin of your neck and urging a breathy moan in response.

“Don’t…mess around Arthur- just do it already.” He raises an eyebrow at this.

“Eager, aren’t you miss? Do you want me bad?” You roll your eyes, only somewhat playfully.

“Just do it.” You repeat. He didn’t really need to be told twice, because he was already lining himself up with your small, dripping cunt. You gasp and he lets out a deep groan when he first enters you. It stings slightly, after all he’s fucking large, but the pain of it all mixed with the pleasure you know he can give you only enhances the situation.

Arthur watches you from above, noting every noise you make as a result of the things he does to you. He particularly notices the way he forces himself inside you, the way you take every inch of him so fucking well, especially when there’s so much of him to take. It feels fucking phenomenal for him too, the heat of it, the stickiness from all his prior manipulation, it takes everything inside him to not thrust in and out as hard and fast as he wants to, using you as a fucking toy. You would be so perfect for that if that’s what you were into, or if you were any of Arthurs usual sexual partners- troubled women usually, who just want their brains to be fucked out by an outlaw. You were different though. Eager, maybe, but a dignified and intelligent woman who was sleeping with him because she knew it was what she wanted and not because she was troubled or unsatisfied by other men.

You could see that lustful look in his eye as he cautiously went in and out and you reach up to put a hand on his face.

“I can handle it Morgan. Go as fast as you want.” It’s like you could hear his thoughts. Arthur always had been transparent. He shakes his head.

“I’m not going to use…” He lets out a groan. “You.” He adds. You give him the most seductive look you know how to make.

“Use me.” You say, and his eyes darken at your comment. You grabs your legs and pins them above your head, forcing his entire cock inside you with some force, making you moan so loud you practically scream.

“Am I hurting y-“

“Enough with that, Morgan. “If you’re as bad of a man as you claim, you’ll treat me however you want to treat me.”

“I want to treat you well…” Arthur tries, unconvincingly. You give him a comforting look.

“Go on, Morgan.” You affirm again, and he nods, changing his attitude.

“You gonna take it like a fucking good girl?” He questions and holy fuck, this is turning you on significantly more, which is also more or less a concern, you can cross that bridge if and when it comes to it though.

“Fuck…yes Morg-“

“Don’t fucking call me that. What’s my name?”

“A…Arthur.” You cry out as he moves so fucking fast, so fucking effortlessly. He smiles.

“Good girl.” He continues on until your words aren’t even audible to him.

“Look at you.” Arthur rambles, putting a hand on your throat, still holding your other leg.

“So fucking full with my cock, I didn’t think you’d like it like this, guess I was- oh fuck~ mistaken.” You don’t say anything, you couldn’t even if you wanted to, but you felt yourself nearing yet another orgasm.

“I’m gonna have to pull….ah~ out soon.” Arthur warns, not slowing down or easing back even slightly. Your eyes are still shut tight, so fucking close yourself. And then you experience it, your stomach swirling in ethereal waves as your own slick pours down his cock and your pussy. He pulls out, spinning his body away and letting the warm white liquid spill onto himself.

When you finally open your eyes, you notice him wiping himself down with a nearby washcloth. He wipes your thighs down too and pulls you in so you’re lying down besides each other.

“Well I think we got what we needed from this party.” He says, letting out a soft laugh. You nod.

“Thank god the guards didn’t hear all that.”

“Ah yes, what would daddy’s guards think?” You hit him playfully.

“Let’s go.” You say and he nods, getting up and grabbing his clothes from the ground.

“So now you’re authoritative.” He mutters to himself.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #smut #arthur morgan x fem reader

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imaginaryf1shots · 7 months

Text

My Girls (V)

Words count: 2K

Driver!oc X Max Verstappen

Platonic!Driver!oc X the grid

Summery: Cecilia Hansson daughter of a Swedish billionaire, a race car driver, with a dream of making it big in Formula 1. However she has a few secrets that may hurt her as women are disliked in the sport.

Series Warnings: google translated french, dutch, cursing, child abandment, absent father, drinking, car accidents, Jos Verstappen, misogyny, Christian horner (tell me if i missed anything)

Couldn't sleep so here we go...

This is a secondary blog so I won't be able to respond but I'm adding you all.

Masterlist

Previous || Next

Nosy friends and lunch

“What?” Cecilia answered the call request coming from discord, her friends have been spamming her with texts and facetime and she hasn’t accepted any calls or replied to any texts, thank you Charles Leclerc for being a snitch.

“Finally!” Lando was the first to speak, Cecilia didn’t even look at the phone, she continued getting ready, it’s still lockdown she wasn’t leaving to meet Max for once… he was coming over for the first time, they’ve been meeting regularly(at least three times a week) for the last couple of months. At times she’d go after Nathalie fell asleep, she hadn’t taken Nattie with her to Max’s since that day, but she had been talking to him on the phone, like she does with Charles and her other uncles. It was cute how her daughter would talk with Charles in almost all French and with Max in almost all English. Her daughter is growing up like her and her brother, but that’s besides the point.

“What do you guys need? I’m busy.”

“We can see, so who is coming over?” Hearing Pierre’s voice made her glance at the phone to see who was actually in the call, of course her friends from karting plus Lando.

“Oh my god! You all are so nosy, how did you find out anyway?” She asked knowing that she hasn’t said anything, not even to Charles.

“I may have talked to your mum.” Charles confessed with a proud smile.

“You should be scared Charlotte! That’s creepy behaviour!” Cecilia shouted through the phone knowing that his girlfriend is sitting next to him, she heard her laugh. “Why did I give you my mum’s number again.”

“Don’t try to change the subject Cecilia, when were you going to tell us?” Alex asked, he looked comfy, sitting back on his sofa with a smoothie or juice or something sipping from a straw. In fact they all looked like they were sitting for a gossip session.

“Tell you what? There’s nothing to tell.”

“Why are you putting makeup on then?” Pierre asked, itching for new gossip.

“It’s just the basic stuff.” Cecilia said, shrugging still continuing with her makeup.

“What did I miss?” George asked, joining the call, Cecilia wanted to pull her hair and block all her friends.

“Little miss secrets here, is getting ready for a date with Max.” Lando told his fellow brit.

“It’s not a date, he’s meeting my parents.” Cecilia said before she could think and sighed, they all howled with laughter.

“You’re already meeting the parents.” Charles said laughing, it was all in good fun, and things have been boring since covid started.

“You all met my parents before, each and everyone of you.” Cecilia said and pointed at them. “You know what, I’m blocking you all.”

With that she ended the call to finish getting ready in peace, they got on her nerves sometimes. She needs more females in her life.

“I just got here.” George groaned.

“You don’t think she’ll actually do it, do you?” Alex asked, suddenly concerned.

“I don’t think so.”

“Me neither.” Charles and Lando comforted the others, they just sat there for a while contemplating the duo, and how they thought things would turn out to be like. Charles knew your mother would tell him if he asked.

Cecilia finished getting ready and went to help her mum with the last of the food, Cecilia really wasn’t dressed up, she just had light makeup and a sundress, it was getting warmer now, and they were eating out on the terrace. Seeing her mum in a dress Nattie also wanted to change into a dress as well.

“Go help her, your dad and I will finish here.” her mum said and patted her back, Cecilia took Nattie to her room and made her choose the dress she wanted, midway she heard the doorbell ring, and she knew Max had arrived.

Max was greeted by your dad, he of course saw him before, but it was always from afar they never talked. “Nice to meet you sir.”

“You too, come in please.” Max was led inside he glanced around, this is the house you grew up and lived your whole life in, the penthouse is bigger than the apartment he lives in, for one he rents they own, this one is two stories with apparently a gym. But it felt lived in, from what Cecilia told him is that her dad’s family had generational wealth, but her mum came from a humble bringing, so yes they had the best things in life, but her mum made them know how lucky and privileged they were. As teens they had to work to earn their money, and learn to do things on their own, they never had a nanny or a chef, someone did come in to clean twice a week, so they did their chores, their mum really wanted them to grow up as normal as she could when your dad is a billionaire.

“I didn’t know what to bring.” Max said and handed her dad a couple of wine bottles, he had ordered online. Looking at her dad, he saw a lot of him in Cecilia and in turn Nathalie, all their colours are her dad, her lips and nose being the only thing he couldn’t place on him.

“You didn’t need to bring anything, but we’ll enjoy it I’m sure.” Cecilia’s dad led him inside to the living room, not the formal one for guests, the one they hosted their friends and family in, the walls were all mostly glass with doors leading to the big terrace. “Cecilia is changing Nattie, the girl took one look at her mum in a dress and suddenly she wants to wear one too.”

“Max! Hello.” Cecilia’s mum walked up with open arms greeting the man, Max had just sat down, stood up quickly just as he was pulled in a motherly hug, she kissed his cheeks like the french one on each side before she pulled back.

“Nice to meet your Mrs. Hansson.” Max greeted the smiley woman, and he knew where you took your lips and nose from, the perfect blend between your parents.

“Please call me Adeline.” She waved his formalities off. “I saw you grow up with Cecilia, sorry I look like a mess.”

“No, no you don’t… Do you need some help.” Max offered, he could smell the food already coming from the kitchen.

“Nonsense, sit down and talk with Börje, I’m almost done.” With that she gracefully left, sitting back down he faced Cecilia’s dad.

“Cecilia told us you’re quarenting alone.” Börje said and Max nodded, they talked a little about what he was doing since lockdown started, her dad shared how hard it was to run a business from home, especially since HQ was in sweden.

“Pappa, don’t bore him with your work.” Cecilia called to her dad as Nattie ran in the room to her grand-père before she saw Max and turned to run to him, Max caught the girl and pulled her up on the sofa beside him.

“He’s not bored.” Her dad said acting hurt by her words after rolling his eyes. “I’m not boring you Max am I?”

“No, not at all.” Shaking her head at him, MAx greeted her daughter, before he stood up and gave her a small hug.

“In that case, take care of my child while I help maman.” Cecilia said and turned to her dad. “Can you set the table?”

“Sure thing Älskling.” (Darling) Her dad said and the men moved out to the terrace, there was a cabinet there with a sink and everything for when they had BBQs out there, it was filled with plates and cutlery. Once again Nathalie wanted to help so Max had her placing the spoons and forks in their place. If your dad had doubts about Max before they’re starting to disappear now. He saw Max like the public saw him, only what he presented, and to be honest he doesn’t like Jos but seeing how he talked with Nattie, his instincts as a father were calm.

After they were done with the table, the men found themselves by the railing, Max was looking at the view, glancing at the girl who was swinging on the small playground set, her granddad had installed for her.

“Cecilia might kill me for saying this but, when she was pregnant she used to watch a lot of your races.” Börje told the driver he was amused thinking about it now, because if he thinks too deeply all he feels is rage and sadness, an overwhelming feeling of sadness.

“Did she?” Max asked and turned to copy Cecilia’s dad’s stance, they leaned back on the railing, this is news to him.

“Yeah, she’d say how she wanted to do that, she’d dream of getting in F1. Did you know that Ferrari were in talks with her in 2016 about maybe signing her and having her as a reserve driver.” Max looked surprised at the news, Cecilia got pregnant during negotiations and her lawyer(dad’s lawyers) got her out of the deal with smooth talks and ended things on a good note for future possibilities. “Right when she got pregnant, it took a lot for her to decide what to do. She was glowing when she held Nattie and told us she wanted to get back into racing.”

“She’s lucky she had you supporting her, not many parents would.” Max spoke the truth, wealthy or not, not many parents would have their adult children’s backs like that.

“She’s my girl, even if she’s an adult with a daughter of her own, that's my baby girl.” Börje said, before Max called for Nattie to be careful, right before Börje was about to, the girl took to swinging and then jumping. The set was on a type of foam mat but she could still hurt herself. “Cecilia has always been honest with us, and I can see that you care, not many men would get in a relationship with a woman who has a child, but like I told you, that’s my little girl and I don’t want to see her heartbroken.”

“She won’t I promise.” Max promised his eyes and tone telling the truth, Börje smiled and patted his back.

“Max, can you help Cecilia bring out the food?” Adeline asked coming out with the salad, when Börje moved to also help she gave him a look, happily married for 30 years now, made him understand her with only a look.

When Max walked in the kitchen he was met with Cecilia taking a baking dish out of the oven before she sat it on the counter. “Need help?”

“Huh, yeah. Mum made so much food you’d think she’s feeding an army.” Cecilia said and looked at all the food sitting in trays and serving dishes, the quantity wasn’t a lot but she made a lot of options. “We'll all be eating this for days to come.”

Max came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, she smiled and turned her head kissing his cheek. “Haven’t been able to say hi properly.”

“Sorry about that.” She turned in his arms and hugged him around the neck, his arms around her waist, they stood there for a moment before they pulled back, as much as Max wanted to kiss her lips, they’re at your parent’s house and they’re here, so out of respect for them he kissed her forehead before he pulled away and they started bringing the food out, on the last trip she got a bottle of chilled white wine and room temp red one(one of the ones Max brought) along with a wine looking glass that had juice for the little princess.

Max and Cecilia sat across from her parents with Nattie between her mum and her boyfriend to be(?). They didn’t want to label it, but they are kind of in a relationship. If you spend time with a man, occasionally kiss said man, talk to said man at all hours of the day and night, go to his house three times a week so you’d spend time together doesn’t that mean you’re dating? Please someone tell Cecilia to make a move already.

Max turned up his charm for the day, he had her parents laughing and engaging in all sorts of conversation, he complimented the cooking, the house, he even managed to talk business with her dad. All points for him in their book. Hearing Cecilia laugh with a man like she hasn’t in over four years made the points easy to give. With eyes that only parents had, they watched how when she laughed as she leaned towards him, her arm falling on his shoulder even with Nattie between them it all looked natural, a family in the making.

Ceciliahansson15

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Ceciliahansson15

liked by Carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, Pierregasly and 2,197,009 others

ceciliahansson15 A little wine never hurt anybody

view all 86,984 comments

username1 on my knees🧎‍♀️

username2 who got you those flowers 🤔

charles_leclerc 👀

georgerussell63 👀

ceciliahansson15 grow up!! 🙄😒

username3 what do you know???

username4 soft launch

alex_albon can I be invited the next time I'm in Monaco 👉👈

ceciliahansson15 literarly my mum invites half the grid over everytime! you chose not to come last year

alex_albon I WAS TIRED! I'M SORRY

ceciliahansson15 it's okay it was only a couple of us last year anyways 🤷‍♀️

username8 i wanna be invited 🥺

username5 is she soft launching? or is she just aesthetic🤔

username6 why not aesthetic and soft launching

username5 like the way you think 👍

username7 I lover her insta so much so pleasing to look at

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Taglist:

@luciaexcorvus . @vellicora . @tpwkstiles . @belennasif . @eugene-emt-roe . @fanboyluvr . @fangirl125reader , @christianpulisic10 . @belennasif . @itsjustkhaos .

#f1 x reader #my girls #f1 imagine #max verstappen #f1 scenario #f1dr #max verstappen one shot #f1 x driver!reader #max verstappen imagine #f1 fanfic #max verstappen x oc

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vickyvicarious · 6 months

Note

This has confused me even back when I first read the book, but is Van Helsing even meant to be his actual surname or was Bramothy just not aware of Dutch naming conventions? Of course there's toponymic surnames and I assume they were already in use by the Victorian era, but I think it's the capitalization of "Van" that always throws me off, if only because I'm so used to seeing it in lower-case in other names. As a funny haha, I also like to believe Jack messed up his professor's name so much when they first met (be it due to misremembering or misunderstanding), but Abraham was too nice to say anything, so "Van Helsing" just stuck.

Without doing any research I can fairly confidently assert that Stoker just didn't know/care about Dutch naming conventions. I think the capitalized Van Helsing is just a reflection of that. Last year I matched how it was written in the book whenever I talked about it, but this year I've found myself shifting more towards the lowercase van Helsing as would've been more typical. (Although apparently Belgian custom would be to keep the capital V? Maybe the Professor's actually from Belgium, and that was Jack's mistake).

Speaking of your funny explanation... actually I just went to check, and everything van Helsing writes up to this point (27 September note, and also amusingly his 4 October recording) is signed in all caps, so it's theoretically possible Jack made a mistake and he just has never corrected it. But if that's the case then he adopts it himself later, because I'm fairly certain in days to come he will refer to himself with the capital-V spelling several times.

Which could actually still be very funny: (spoilers)

van Helsing, writing a record to be read by his good Friend John should he die before completing his quest: Let me be accurate in everything, for though you and I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first think that I, van Helsing, am mad—that the many horrors and the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.

van Helsing: ....wait. Friend John would feel most foolish to know that he has been writing my name wrong all this time. *writes over the 'v' to turn it into 'V'*

van Helsing: There, that's better. Now, to continue the tale of this so fearsome journey...

#dracula daily #van helsing #dracula daily spoilers #only under the cut

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leclercdreams · 2 years

Note

hi! can i get an imagine in which max v is taking care of the reader after an appendix removal surgery?

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ❘❘ 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

warnings: None really, just overall fluff, Max being a protective and caring partner

word count: 1.42K

a/n: All information was found on google, and translations are from google as well (despite me being able to read Dutch, I can't spell it or speak it really) ENJOY!! ps, Yes I am using summer break again.

Getting surgery wasn't exactly how you wanted your summer break to start, it was the only time you really got to spend with your fiancé. Max had a busy schedule all the time due to his job, one he loved and one you had come to love just as much.

Just three days before you both were due to meet your family in Ibiza for a holiday to relax and unwind you sadly had to call them to cancel. Now two days later you were led into the uncomfortable hospital bed having gone into emergency surgery to get your appendix removed.

Max was moving around the room freely while packing your things, you were allowed to go home if you made sure to not overwork yourself and take it easy for at least two to four weeks to let yourself heel. You could after a few days go on the holiday you two wanted to go on if you could get him to agree.

“Schatje, Are you listening?” Walking over to your side you looked up at Max and have him a sheepish smile shaking your head while he helped you sit up. “No, sorry. What did you say, love?” Taking a seat on the bed he grabbed your hand softly and placed the earrings you always wore in your hand that you had to take off for surgery, wincing slightly when you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “And my ring?”

Your engagement ring was one of your most prized possessions, it was made specifically for you and if you could recall correctly Victoria had told you he spent almost six months of planning, choosing every little detail on the ring before your engagement. You loved everything about it and about the man who put it on your finger there to stay, only the matching wedding band missing that he had safe and hidden at home.

Sending you a smile he stood once again and reached into the tiny pocket of his jeans pulling out the shiny piece of jewelry. Grabbing your left hand he slid it onto your finger and kissed your hand. “Right where it belongs. Are you ready to go home?” “I’m more than ready, lover.” Helping you out of bed and into the wheelchair he handed you your pillow, and one of the bags while he slung the other one over his shoulder.

Covering your body with some of his merch you had loved since the first time you got it, the perks of dating at the time, and being one of the models for the photos meant you got whatever you wanted. Though you preferred to wear his hoodies just to have his scent with you.

“Mum said she and the family will still join your parents on holiday so it doesn’t go to waste. I’m sorry you have to spend your break stuck with me.”

Rolling his eyes he leaned down and kissed your head while wheeling you out waving at the doctor and some of the nurses. “It’s not a bother for me, and I have been thinking about what you said schatje, if you feel better and ready to move around we can go on a little holiday before the season starts back up.

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You had never been so happy to be back in your shared apartment in Monaco, though you missed the gloomy weather of England you would move anywhere if it meant you got to be with him.

Grateful, would be one word to describe what you felt to have him in your life, before going home he had stopped anywhere to get what you needed before helping you get comfortable on the sofa in his gaming room when arriving home. You didn’t want him to change all of his plans so while you were there still with him as he insisted you were within hearing distance and to keep his eye on you.

He was about to go on a streak with Lando, the two continuing the antics they had started during the lockdown. “You sure you have everything?” Giggling at his worry and the frown that adorned his handsome face you reached out to where he was sitting on the edge of the sofa and placing your hand on his cheek. “I’m fine handsome, you enjoy your time with Lan, I’ll be here enjoying my own thing.” Nodding he leaned forward and pressed his lips to your soft ones, returning the kiss eagerly you poured when he pulled away.

“Just one more?” Chuckling he pressed his lips to yours again, sighing softly you relaxed and pulled away kissing his nose and looking into the beautiful blue eyes, the shade of blue that had become your favourite after the years. “Go on, I have my shows to catch up on, I’m behind on Love Island.” Humming he kissed your cheek and got up taking a seat on his chair. You had only placed one of your earphones in so that you could steal everything.

About an hour into the stream your ears perked up when you heard your name fall from your fiancé’s lips, “Y/n is doing very well, sorry for not getting back to you all I’ve spent my time taking care of her. She’ll be up and at it again in no time.” Smiling softly you turned your head to where he was waving at the camera that clearly showed where you were comfortable on n the sofa laptop on your lap. Looking over his shoulder he smiled and looked back in front of him.

When it came to nighttime and you had to take a shower you wanted to let out a loud groan, you weren’t quite sure if you’d be able to wash your dirty hair yourself not wanting to put too much strain on the stitches you had. Hearing a soft knock over the running water you looked into the mirror seeing Max enter.

“Did you read my mind?” “That would be pretty cool, but no, I was actually listening to the doctor when she came to talk to you.” You could feel your cheeks flame up while looking away from him, humming you got into the shower standing under the water thankful for the waterproof bandaid covering the small cut.

Not even minutes later you could feel his hands running down your arms, lips pressing against the soft skin of the shell of your ear a shiver running down your spine. “Need some help?” Turning your head to the side you sent him a smile and pecked his lips. “Please, my love.”

Wetting your hair you forced yourself not to let out any noise when you felt his fingers massage the shampoo into your scalp. There were many things that could be heaven on earth this was one of yours, he wasn’t working too hard on your scalp but also not too soft.

Staying in the shower for as long as you could you both got ready side by side, since he got with you Max had gotten into a nighttime routine, though it was much shorter and simpler than yours he left the en-suite with a kiss to your wet hair you wanted to leave to dry naturally to get the bed ready.

Replying to your mother and his that you were doing okay and you had the best carer in the world taking care of you. He was by your side when you got into bed wincing at the uncomfortable feeling, but when you settled in you sighed and waited for your lover to return to your side.

When he turned off the lights and slipped into bed next to you moving closer he turned on his side and paved his head close to tears his arm going around you careful not to put too much pressure on you. A kiss on your shoulder made you snap out of your daydream and look at him.

“Thank you, for taking care of me and for helping me, for being here, and for loving me. I love you so much.” Drawing patterns on your exposed skin he smiled and lifted his arm up resting on his elbow while he leaned down and peppered your face with kissed your nose scrunching up.

“I love you more schatje. I’d do anything and everything for you always. Now get some rest so you can heal and we can have a short holiday, yeah?”

Letting out a soft laugh you nodded and kissed him one last time moving closer to him wanting to be as close as you possibly could, maybe the surgery won’t stop all of your plans after all.

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