a/n: removing some of these im sorry guys </3 I dont wanna rush them and make them bad for you guys, but maybe I will publish in near future! thank you for understanding.
could u do something that is enemies wirh benefits for aa23
where they dont exactly like each other but they r so hot for each other and one hot night just fuck the tension and it's oh so hot and they continue to do that where they fuck when they need and leave like transactional but ofc they end up falling ☺️
I absolutely loved your idea! It’s definitely one of the hottest, smuttiest things I’ve ever written—especially when it comes to Alex. I hope it hits all the marks and lives up to your expectations 😘✨ Here’s to:
If I Can't Kill You - AA23
Pairing: Alex Albon x Driver!Reader
Summary: There is no one you despise more than Alex Albon, and the feeling is painfully mutual.
You don’t fuck because you want him.
It happens by accident—too much alcohol, too much tension, not enough self-control.
And you keep doing it because hating each other no longer feels sufficient.
Warnings: smut [rough sex, dominance, power-play, possessive behavior, choking, pinning, PIV, messy consent (light CNC), strong language] Alex slightly dark, MDNI — Please read at your own discretion.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:23
You and Alex had been at each other’s throats for months—no, years. Ever since your Red Bull days, back when he’d been given the chance to move from AlphaTauri up to Red Bull, while you were forced to stay behind.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t felt a flicker of schadenfreude when he lost his seat in 2020 and failed to find one for 2021—while you still had yours at AlphaTauri.
What you hadn’t anticipated was that the same fate would eventually hit you, too.
In 2023, you finally got your shot at Red Bull—only to be thrown out a year later as well, blamed for not matching Max in a car that was borderline undrivable. Aston Martin followed in 2024. And when Williams came knocking with an offer you couldn’t refuse, you took it.
And from then on… things had only escalated.
So badly that even James—calm as a monastery—seemed completely at a loss when it came to the two of you.
“Fuck you,” you hissed, your voice tight, sharpened by pure anger.
He chuckled, low and smug against your ear. “I’m about to,” he said—and before you could fire back, his lips crashed into yours.
There was no hesitation. No restraint. Just heat and impact and years of resentment detonating all at once.
Your back hit the wall hard, breath knocked from your lungs as his hands traced fire beneath your clothes. Every touch felt like a challenge. Every second, a refusal to back down.
“This means nothing,” you spat when his mouth moved to your neck, teeth grazing just under your jaw.
“Of course,” he murmured, pressing closer anyway.
You told yourself it was the alcohol from the mandatory event earlier. That it had to be. There was no other explanation for why you were here—why your hands were shaking as you fought with his buttons, why his blazer was already somewhere on the floor.
“I hate you,” you said again, shoving at his chest.
“Ditto,” he shot back, gripping your waist, holding you in place.
His mouth found yours again, rougher this time, teeth clashing, tongue demanding. You snarled into him, trying to push him off, but your hands tangled in his hair instead, pulling him closer, scratching, refusing to submit but not wanting to let go. Nothing about it was gentle. It was all teeth and nails and bruising proximity.
He growled, a sound that made your teeth grit. “You’re impossible,” he hissed against your lips, sliding a hand down your side, bunching your dress at the side.
“Just shut up,” you groaned, finally losing patience with his buttons, your fingers tearing at his shirt, buttons scattering across the floor. You pushed the fabric off his shoulder, letting it fall behind him.
Your eyes wandered over his lean muscles. You should’ve known he’d look like that, he was a high performance athlete after all. Nevertheless, it infuriated you—how could someone so fucking annoying be so hot?
You rolled your eyes at him before pulling him toward you again, his lips immediately finding yours. The world narrowed to heat, teeth, nails, and the smell of him—sharp, intoxicating, infuriating. And then your dress hit the floor somewhere behind him as well.
The wooden door pressed cold against your skin, your nipples pebbles as they brush against his chest as your tongues continued to fight. Neither of you was willing to submit.
He shoved your legs apart with a swift, commanding movement of his knee. The height difference was palpable. His thigh pressed against your core, the first friction of the night sending shivers through you. You wanted to grind against him, but couldn’t—because that would only make you lose.
And Alex could read you; the smirk on his face said it all.
“Come on,” he taunted. “Be a good girl and take it,” he said, moving his leg higher, harder against your core. His fingers found your hips, forcing you to move against him.
A moan escaped you. “Just like that,” he grinned, satisfied as your restraint broke and you started to move against him yourself.
“Fuck you,” you spat, but your hips continued to grind. Your body sought release, the knot inside you tightening with each friction.
“Sure,” he shrugged. And suddenly the pressure between your legs was gone. You were left hanging, cold air brushing against your wet slip.
“What—” you started to ask, but he suddenly lifted you and threw you onto the hotel bed as if you weighed nothing. Your breath hitched as your back hit the mattress. You barely had time to register what was happening before he grabbed your ankle and pulled you to the foot of the bed again.
The only barrier between you and him was your slip—and his pants. But not for long, as he made you watch him undo his belt—almost tantalizingly slow—before pushing his slacks and boxers to the floor.
His dick hit his stomach, long and girthy, tip angry and red, shaft rock hard. Your eyes widened a fraction. You hadn’t expected him to be big.
“Didn’t think Asians could be packing,” you teased—and that was your mistake.
Before you knew it, he had spun you on the bed, lifting your hips, forcing you onto all fours. The shoving of your slip to the side was the only warning before he slammed into you, hard, no adjustment, making you feel his full length and girth immediately.
You crashed forward, the stretch painful but so good. A gasp left your mouth as you spasmed around him.
“So fucking mouthy,” he groaned. And then he moved. Every thrust was sharp, full of anger, competitive, and primal. You clenched around him, the tip hitting the right spot over and over, making you see stars.
“Fuck,” you moaned, fingers clawing at the bedding, trying to ground yourself as he pounded into you with relentless speed.
The sound of your snarls, his curses, the slap of skin against skin, the heavy ragged breaths—they filled the room. There was no tenderness here. Only fire and friction.
The knot inside you spun tighter and tighter, and Alex didn’t let up, continuing his relentless speed and force.
“You really should stop burying your face in the pillow,” he snarled, fingers tangling in your hair as he yanked you upright by the back of your neck. Your back hit his chest, skin slick with sweat as the new angle tore a gasp from your throat. Alex slammed into you without mercy.
His right hand slid around your throat, holding you there—firm, deliberate, just enough pressure to make the message unmistakably clear. Control.
His other hand traced down your stomach, fingers finding your clit, drawing tight, relentless circles.
“Shit,” you hitched, your head falling back against his shoulder as you finally let him take full control.
You moved with him now, desperate, chasing the feeling building low and sharp. The brush of his tip hit the same spot over and over, each thrust pushing you closer until your moans turned broken, bordering on a scream.
“Fuck,” you groaned. “Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered, breathless.
Your nails dug into the wrist that had held you upright by the throat, clinging as your body betrayed you completely.
You heard him chuckle behind you, his chest vibrating against your back. You expected him to stop then—to tease, to drag it out, to make you angrier. But instead, he released your throat and shoved you forward, forcing you down against the bed, your face pressed into the pillow as he started pounding into you harder. The rhythm was relentless, unforgiving.
Your legs were shaking now, slick heat between you, your wetness coating both of you. Your hair clung to your skin, fingers curling tight into the sheets, your voice hoarse with his name on your tongue. And then you clenched around him.
“Come,” he demanded, breathless, never slowing.
And you did—legs trembling, tightening around him, a broken groan tearing from your throat. He followed right behind you, burying himself deep as he came, filling you completely.
No climax had ever been as good as this one.
Alex left after that. Quietly.
No cuddling. No aftercare. No goodbyes.
Exactly how you’d wanted it.
Because you weren’t friends. And this was just about releasing tension. Just the alcohol talking—nothing more, nothing less.
It was a one-time thing.
Or at least, you thought so.
────✘────
“You really should remember Fernando’s fucking words,” you spat at him, helmet in hand, suit halfway unzipped, hair plastered to your sweaty face, your anger radiating in waves. “Always. Leave. The. Space.” You hissed, sharp and bitter.
He had crashed you out. Again. And you were beyond furious—your chest tight, muscles coiled, still shaking from the intensity of the race.
“Fuck off,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “You moved under braking,” he fired back, every word a jab straight into your pride.
The room felt like it could combust. Both of you were breathing too hard, jaws tight. The Stewards were waiting, but neither of you cared right now. It wasn’t about rules, or the race—it was about him. His arrogance, the way he always seemed to get under your skin.
“Alex, Y/N,” James’ calm voice cut through the tension, but even you could feel the irritation barely contained beneath his words.
“Yes?” you said, trying to rein in your anger, voice tight as you met James’ gaze. He gave a pointed look; he wasn’t going to referee this fight, not really. He had tried in the past, without much luck.
“Freshen up and get to the Stewards,” he said, calm, but the weight in his tone left no room for argument. Williams didn’t need this kind of negative attention.
You nodded, pushing past Alex with deliberate force, your shoulder brushing against his. Not an accident. He froze for a heartbeat, glare sharp, and for a split second, it was as if the air itself burned between you. You slammed the door to the drivers’ room behind you, chest heaving, muscles still taut, blood hot with frustration.
Seconds later, your trainer was there, taking your helmet and suit from you and handing you electrolytes with a practiced calm—but even she could sense the storm that had just passed.
Dressed now in your miniskirt and team polo, you walked toward the Stewards, every step a mix of controlled composure and simmering fury.
Behind you, Alex followed silently. Not close, but not far—just enough that the sound of his steps seemed to echo in time with your own. You didn’t look back. You wouldn’t. Your jaw was tight, every nerve on edge, anger thrumming through your veins.
Only two weeks ago you had still been good – the fucking had somehow calmed both of your angers.And now both of your beyond furious again.
By the time you reached the Stewards’ entrance, both of you had the perfect masks of professionalism plastered on. Calm. Collected. But the tension between you was almost tangible, like a live wire sparking just out of sight.
“You two,” James said calmly but pointedly, eyeing your barely-contained fury and Alex’s equally sharp scowl, “please try not to make this worse than it already is.”
You exchanged a brief glance—sharp, heated, competitive. That split second was enough. Enough to make your stomach tighten, your pulse quicken, and your mind circle with irritation rather than any other feeling.
The Stewards’ session passed in a blur. You were professional, clipped in your words. But every accidental brush of hands—once, twice, maybe thrice—felt like a spark of annoyance, a reminder that Alex was still too close, still too infuriating.
Finally, you left. The corridor outside was quiet, empty, private.
“Next time,” Alex said, low, smooth, dangerous, “don’t move under braking.”
You stopped, sarcastic laugh escaping your lips.
“Oh, trust me,” you bit out, stepping closer than necessary, so close your chests almost touched, eyes blazing, your breath mingling with his. “If there’s a next time, I won’t just move under braking. I’ll make sure you regret it.”
He shook his head, rolling his eyes, smirk sharp and teasing—somehow more infuriating than anything else.
Neither of you spoke after that.
And yet, you both knew—this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Because later that same night, there was a knock at your door.
When you opened it, already halfway through telling him to get lost, his hand was suddenly around your throat, pushing you backward into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.
His lips crashed into yours within seconds. No hesitation. No mercy. Your arms came up around his neck automatically, dragging him down to you just as hard.
“What is this supposed to mean?” you asked breathlessly against his mouth, fingers already working their way to the hem of his shirt.
“Nothing,” he murmured back, hands moving faster than yours, already tugging your top over your head. “Just releasing tension,” he continued, voice rough.
“Fuck off.” You shoved him back, hard enough that he had to catch himself. “What the fuck do you think this is?”
You folded your arms over your chest, defensive, furious—hating yourself the second you noticed his eyes drop for half a heartbeat before snapping back to your face.
He scoffed. “Relax. You’re not that special.”
“Oh, I’m so relieved,” you shot back. “Because for a second there I thought you’d finally lost what little sense you have.”
He stepped closer again anyway, crowding your space like he always did. Like he owned it.
“We,” he said flatly, pointing between you, “are nothing. No feelings. No bullshit.”
“Then why are you here?” you snapped.
His jaw tightened. “Because I’m tired of wanting to throttle you every time you open your mouth.”
You laughed—short, sharp, humorless. “And you think this fixes that?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I think it redirects it.”
Your smile dropped. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Probably,” he shrugged. “But you didn’t tell me to leave.”
You held his stare, pulse loud in your ears. “This doesn’t mean anything,” you warned. “It doesn’t change a damn thing between us.”
“Good,” he replied, eyes dark. “I’d hate it if it did.”
And with that, his mouth was on yours again, fingers tangled tightly in your hair as he pushed the two of you toward your bed. His shirt was the next to go, followed quickly by his pants.
“Good thing you’re hot,” he muttered, eyes dark, as his hands moved to remove your bra. It slipped off easily, falling to the floor. Your nipples stood firm, reacting to both the cold air and his attention.
His right hand rolled a nipple between his fingers, eliciting a sharp hiss from you. His left hand yanked your hair again, forcing your face back to his as his lips crushed against yours—hungry, angry, insistent.
The grip on your scalp burned, but you couldn’t deny the sharp thrill it sent through you.
Your hand found its way inside his boxers, wrapping around his hard length, moving deliberately slow—enjoying the control you still had.
“Keep this pace, and I’ll make you regret it,” he warned, low and dangerous.
You only chuckled, not slowing, eyes glinting with defiance.
He groaned, rolling his eyes, letting go of your nipple and moving down your body. His hands traced your abs before sliding under the waistband of your skirt, opening buttons and slipping his hand inside in one smooth motion. Two fingers plunged into you instantly.
He chuckled at your wetness. “So much for hating me,” he murmured, before beginning to move.
But he moved differently from you. Fast. Relentless. His fingers thrust at a pace that made your knees buckle in surprise.
“Shit,” you moaned under your breath, tightening your grip on his cock in reflex, trying to anchor yourself. But it did nothing to stop how his fingers hit the spot over and over, making your body betray you.
“Still so fucking smug, Headline?” he taunted, using the nickname you despised—earned early on, when your every move became a headline just for being a woman.
“Fuck you,” you hissed, biting your lower lip as he found that sweet spot again.
“You’re so easy,” he murmured, shaking his head as he increased the pace, adding his thumb circling over your clit in time with his fingers.
You had no choice but to release his cock, gripping his wrist instead, holding on as he continued to fuck you with relentless speed.
With one final, hard thrust of his fingers, you came, legs shaking, breath ragged, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his wrist.
“Will you stop being so fucking annoying now?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers. The sensation alone sent another shiver through you.
You watched him for a long second as he licked his fingers clean, a flicker of surprise in his expression. Finally, you nodded.
“Fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, still catching your breath.
You were still ruder than Alex liked—but apparently, it was enough to keep him going. He grabbed your wrist, yanking you toward the bed, pulling your skirt and slip down in one swift move, and pushed you onto the cushions with force.
He shed his boxers quickly, then crawled between your legs. “I really shouldn’t reward you again,” he murmured, dragging himself over your slick heat, teasing you from your slit up to your clit, over and over.
You refused to look at him, eyes fixed on where his cock moved against you. “Then don’t,” you shrugged, voice clipped. “Leave.” You had gotten what you needed.
But he only shook his head, chuckling. “This is a two-way street,” he reminded you, before lining himself up and sliding in—softer this time than before, making you feel every inch, every ridge, every deliberate movement.
A shiver ran through you at the sensation.
Then he began to move, slow at first, savoring your slickness, the way your body adjusted easily under him. And then he set a rhythm—relentless, just like the first time—driving you breathless, your nails digging into the soft skin of his back, scratching him, marking him.
The head of his cock hit that spot again, as if he had somehow planned it. It was infuriating—rude, almost cruel—the way he could make you see stars while still being Alex.
You gritted your teeth, breath hitching, trying to hold some shred of control as he fucked you relentlessly. Every thrust was sharp, precise, infuriating. He was so good at this—and it made you furious.
“Stop staring at me like that,” he growled, voice rough, reading your glare. “Or what? Gonna bite me?”
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” you snapped, nails digging into his back harder. Every movement, every groan, every sharp bite of pleasure just added fuel to the fire between you.
He smirked against your neck, pressing closer, twisting his hips so that every movement drove you higher. “I could do this all night,” he murmured, voice low, teasing—but there was that edge, that fire, that made you claw at him in frustration rather than submission.
“Good,” you hissed, chest heaving, “because I’m not going to make it easy for you.”
And you didn’t. You bucked, twisted, scratched, pulling at him, pushing back even as your body betrayed you. Every thrust sent sparks of anger and heat racing through you, every growl or curse from him only making the friction sharper.
“You’re impossible,” he snarled, tightening his grip on your hips, driving in harder, sharper. “Every. Single. Time.”
“You think I care?” you spat, jaw tight, teeth gritted, digging your nails into him as he moved. “Try harder.”
His laugh was low, rough, almost a growl. “Oh, I will,” he muttered, snapping his rhythm faster, leaving both of you gasping and ragged.
By the time the edge hit you again, it wasn’t tender or soft—it was chaotic, primal, loud. Your nails left streaks across him, your chest heaving, voice raw, mind spinning in a mess of anger, satisfaction, and absolute exasperation.
And when it was over, you collapsed against the mattress, sweat sticking to your skin, hair plastered across your face. He rolled beside you, catching his breath, smirk still in place.
“Same time next week?” he asked casually, though the fire in his eyes said otherwise.
You rolled onto your side, glaring at him as he stood up, not even wiping his dick off, before he pulled his boxers and teamkit on again. “Don’t get used to it,” you muttered.
“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, before shutting your hotel room door behind him, vanishing into the night.
You stayed on the bed for a long moment, chest heaving, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person. Your hand absently clutched at the sheets, hair sticking to your sweaty skin, mind spinning with equal parts irritation and disbelief.
Part of you wanted to scream at him, throw something at the door, or at least curse his smug face out loud. Another part of you… well, you’d rather not think about that part.
Eventually, you dragged yourself upright, moving to the bathroom to shower the night off, to finally settle in for sleep.
You wanted to promise yourself, that this was the last time.
But the next weekend in Imola, qualifying, he’d impeded you at the worst possible moment, costing you a place you were absolutely certain you could have secured. And this time instead of screaming at him in the motorhome, you stormed down the hallway later that day, hand slamming against his hotel room door with authority, and before you could even catch your breath, he had you pinned against the wood, lips colliding, teeth and tongue clashing in the same violent rhythm as your anger.
Making you come three times; The first time you came, was against the door sharp, sudden, a release of your anger. The second came quickly after, heat spiraling between your legs, each movement of his hips designed to infuriate and overwhelm. By the third, your legs trembled violently around him, nails raking into his back, your mouth open in a scream that was half frustration, half release. Each orgasm was a tally, a reparation on his part, a reminder of the three positions you’d lost because of him—punishment for him and reward for you, in the rawest, most chaotic sense.
And when you overtake him during the race the next day, the roles reversed. You overtook him cleanly on track, the surge of adrenaline and triumph flashing in your eyes. That evening, his knock at your door came almost immediately after you returned to the hotel. The second he stepped inside, the argument began—furious words flying fast.
“It was mine!” he shouted, red-faced, pointing at you like you’d stolen something sacred.
“I overtook you fair and square!” you spat back, stepping forward, hands clenched. “You were in the wrong corner! This isn’t some vendetta you get to take out on me!”
The shouting escalated, voices echoing down the empty corridor, teeth gritted and nerves raw. And then, suddenly, you found yourself on your knees. His cock pressing insistently against your lips. Every tone, every sharp word you’d thrown at him, every insult and accusation, now became the reason for the intensity of his thrusts. Your mouth moved around him, messy, and entirely at his mercy as he drove into you, punishing your insolence in the only way he knew you couldn’t and wouldn’t resist.
And then in Monaco. FP3 had barely ended when he’d collided into you, spinning you off the line, making you crash into the wall and igniting the familiar fire of anger and humiliation. That evening, the storm continue as you knew it —but this time you were in control. He knelt before you, your hand gripping his hair, his face buried in your pussy. It was supposed to be a punishment, but he ate you like a man starved, tongue burying deep into your slit, nose brushing over your clit, each movement meticulous and demanding.
The first orgasm hit you suddenly, ripping through your chest, and he only escalated. One finger slid inside you, curling perfectly, pressing the spot that made your back arch, muscles clench, nails dig into his scalp. Each time you tried to pull him closer, to take control, he read you effortlessly, pushing back with just enough force to leave you gasping, shaking, unable to do anything but submit to the raw, angry rhythm he set. Your moans and curses collided in the air, the room filled with ragged breaths, the scent of sweat and sex, the sharp tension of two people who hated each other but could never stop needing each other.
Even after it was over, both of you were left reeling, bodies tangled, the unspoken understanding lingering: the anger, the punishment, the lust—they would always be there, flaring up with every collision, every slight, every furious glance across the track. And neither of you knew how to ever back down.
────✘────
By the time Spielberg came around, you’d been doing this every weekend—every little irritation, every clash, every spark of fury. It helped release the tension during the day, so much so that even James had started to look slightly suspicious. Instead of screaming at each other in the motorhome or paddock, you were taking it out on each other at night, physically, in ways that left both of you breathless and relieved.
You were in the hotel hallway after your morning workout, both sweaty and exhausted, neither willing to admit that you even noticed the other’s presence. When he rounded the corner, the look you shot him was sharp, razor-edged—equal parts fury and… something you refused to name.
“Try not to get in my way this time,” you spat, voice clipped, arms crossed, recalling how he had impeded you last year on this very track.
He smirked, that infuriating curve of his lips that made you grit your teeth. “Or what? You gonna cry? Make a new headline?”
You ignored him and moved past, but the brush of his shoulder against yours was deliberate, lingering—enough to make your stomach twist in a way you refused to acknowledge.
And this weekend… nothing went wrong.
It left the two of you in a strange, precarious space. On a tightrope, balancing years of rivalry with a quiet truce neither of you had planned or wanted to admit.
Neither of you had found a reason to scream at the other, nor a reason to storm into each other’s hotel rooms.
Not during FP1, 2, or 3—he was out of your way, and you out of his.
Not during qualifying—both of you made it through fair and square, P9 and P8, even giving each other a tow when it mattered.
And on race day, your races went smoothly. He defended from behind, you kept him in DRS range, each of you playing your parts perfectly.
It felt… too good.
James was thrilled with the weekend. Both of you were easy to talk to in debrief, professional and calm. But for you two, it left a strange sort of planlessness. You couldn’t storm into his room without cause, and he couldn’t just fuck you because he wanted to punish you—you had no sparks to ignite, no mistakes to avenge.
It was a weekend without fire. And that, somehow, was worse than any fight.
Because that Sunday night was quiet. Too quiet.
The hotel corridors smelled faintly of polish and leftover gym sweat, a subtle reminder of the workouts you and Alex had survived that morning. You were sitting on your bed, barely touching your dinner, mind replaying the weekend. The races had gone smoothly—too smoothly—and the absence of sparks between you had left a weird, gnawing tension.
You knew he was in his room across the hall. You could feel it. The quiet of the evening made the distance heavier, every shadow a reminder of him, every creak of the floorboards a potential threat. You should have been relieved that nothing had gone wrong. That everything had gone perfectly. But instead, it made your blood boil.
Because you were missing something that wasn’t yours to miss. Something that didn’t even exist.
Because there had been no fight. No collision to scream over. No reckless move on track to chase each other over after dark. No reason for the storm, the touches, the moans that usually followed.
A knock at your door made your heart skip—not with surprise, but with irritation. You opened it, ready to bark at whoever dared interrupt your solitude, only to find Carlos at your door, hair flawless as always, boyish smirk on his face.
“Yes?” you asked, arms crossed over your chest.
“Wanted to ask if you wanted to come out with me and Max?” he motioned to Max standing just a couple of steps away.
“Doing what?”
“Getting wasted,” Max answered for Carlos, winking.
You thought for a moment. If you weren’t getting fucked tonight, at least you could get drunk. “Give me a minute,” you muttered, pulling the door closed behind you to change into your trusty little black dress—one that always made you feel hot and earned you the most compliments.
You applied your makeup, finished with a bold red lip, and finally felt ready.
“Any minute longer and we would’ve left you here,” Max sighed dramatically, throwing his arm around your shoulders and tugging you down the hall.
When you arrived at the bar, it was loud—music pulsing through the air, people laughing and shouting—and you quickly got swept up into the chaos. Drinks were handed to you, the smell of alcohol sharp in your nose, and for a few minutes, you allowed yourself to forget the weekend, the races, and even Alex.
You were just enjoying your time with two friends who had never minded that you were a woman in motorsports, that you could match their pace. You’d grown up with both of them, racing on karting tracks—just like most of the drivers, all interlinked somehow.
You laughed at Carlos’ terrible jokes, danced a little too close to Max. Just enjoying your free night. A night without any tension.
But then you caught him.
Across the room, leaning against the back wall, his dark eyes were locked on you. George and Lando stood at his side, discussing something you definitely couldn’t hear over the noise. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t talking. He was just watching.
You smirked at the attention. Of course you’d have it. It was yours to have, after all.
You continued to dance with Max as if nothing else in life mattered.
And that was enough.
Your phone buzzed—a message from him.
Your room. Now.
Your core clenched unwillingly, already knowing what could possibly follow next.
You messaged back, smirking.
Fuck off.
His response came quickly.
Don’t make yourself regret it.
A tiny warning, but effective.
Your core clenched once more, anticipation curling low in your stomach.
You excused yourself from Max and Carlos, lying that you were tired, that you’d make it up to them another time. Then you slipped out of the bar, ignoring the curious looks, and made your way back to your room.
The moment the door closed behind you, he was on you.
Not soft. Not teasing. Tight, sharp, angry. His hands grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as his lips crushed against yours—hungry and sharp as always.
“You think I like watching you with them?” he growled into your mouth, teeth grazing your lower lip. “You think I like knowing someone else is touching you?”
You chuckled at that. “What? As if I belonged to you,” you fired back. “If I want someone to touch me, they will,” you spat, voice defiant even as your chest heaved.
He stilled for half a second at that—just long enough for the words to land.
Then his grip tightened.
“Yeah?” he said quietly, dangerously calm now, his forehead pressing to yours. “Then why did you look at me every time you laugh with them?”
You scoffed, turning your head away, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” His mouth dropped to your jaw, not kissing—just speaking against your skin. “Because from where I was standing, you were doing it on purpose.”
That hit closer than you liked.
“You don’t get to be angry,” you snapped. “You don’t get to watch me, judge me, and then storm in here like you own—”
“I don’t own you,” he cut in sharply, hands sliding down from your wrists to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “That’s the problem.”
Your breath hitched despite yourself.
“I mind my business all weekend,” he continued, voice low, controlled, fury simmering beneath the surface. “I don’t touch you. I don’t look at you. I don’t give anyone a reason to talk. And then I see you with them—smiling, leaning in—like this doesn’t exist.”
“This doesn’t exist,” you shot back immediately. “You made that very clear.”
His jaw clenched. “Yeah. I did.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt too tight, too charged. This wasn’t the usual excuse—no crash, no bad call, no penalty to punish. Just jealousy, raw and inconvenient.
Then he leaned in again, slower this time, lips brushing your ear.
“And yet,” he murmured, “you still came back the second I told you to.”
You shoved at his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He let you—just enough to prove he could stop you if he wanted to. His eyes searched your face now, sharp and irritated, like he hated what he saw there.
“I don’t like it,” he said, quieter. Not softer—just honest. “I don’t like anyone else thinking they get a shot.”
Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
“That sounds like a you problem,” you said, even as your fingers curled into his shirt without permission.
A humorless smile tugged at his mouth. “Maybe.”
Then he pushed you back against the door again, claiming your mouth with no restraint this time—not punishing, not playful, but driven. Like he was trying to drown something out. Your anger answered his, teeth clashing, hands grabbing, both of you refusing to give ground.
Between breaths, he muttered—almost like it slipped out before he could stop it—
“I hate that it bothers me.”
You froze for half a heartbeat.
That was it. Not I want you. Not don’t see them. Just that—bare, unwanted truth.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Then stop watching,” you said quietly.
His eyes darkened. “You know I can’t.”
Without warning, he pushed you harder against the door, and this time the frustration was physical—jealous and urgent. His mouth was on yours again, teeth clashing, lips biting, hands sliding down over your thighs, lifting just enough to press himself flush against you. Your body reacted instantly, forgetting everything but him—the anger, the irritation, the way your chest pressed against his, the fire in your veins.
“Alex—” you gasped between kisses, trying to remind yourself to keep control.
“No,” he snapped, cutting you off with a growl, voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine right now. No one else. Not Max. Not Carlos. No one.”
You tugged at his hair, trying to protest, but it was useless. His hands moved with precise, possessive force, sliding under your dress, gripping your ass, pulling you closer. The friction alone made your core clench, betraying every sharp word you’d thrown his way earlier.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered against your skin, voice rough. “And I hate that it bothers me… but I can’t let it go.”
You froze, heart stuttering. His words weren’t about punishment—they were raw, unfiltered jealousy, unashamed and almost… tender in their way. For a second, the anger between you softened, mingling with something dangerously close to something else.
Then his hand moved, brushing over your center, and the tension exploded. He shoved your slip to the side in one swift movement before his fingers started circling knowingly over your clit. You gasped, arching against him, nails digging into his back as he held nothing back, plunging his fingers into your core.
He watched as you fucked yourself on his fingers. Took what you wanted. Moaned at the feel of his fingers—not Max’s, not Carlos’, but his—moving, circling, building higher and higher. Your head pressed against the door behind you, fingers digging into his skin, grounding you and leaving marks.
“Fuck,” you moaned, soft and high-pitched. And Alex enjoyed it—enjoyed knowing he was the one who knew your body, who made you moan and shiver against him.
“Come on, headline,” he urged. The name should’ve made you mad, but you couldn’t come down from your high quickly enough. Before you could control yourself, you were coming—hard and fast.
And before you could even catch your breath, he had your legs wrapped around his waist, thrusting into you slowly, giving you a second to adjust before setting a relentless pace. Every thrust, every press, every sharp grind carried his frustration, his need, his anger at the idea of anyone else having even a fraction of what he claimed.
“God… you make it too easy,” he hissed, voice low and guttural, grip tightening. “Too easy to watch you, to want you, to—”
His words broke off into a growl as he moved harder.
You moaned, breathless, caught somewhere between resisting him, hating him, and wanting him more than you’d ever admit. He didn’t let up. Every movement was sharp, intense, charged with jealousy and need, leaving you trembling, gasping, and losing yourself to the fire between you again.
And just like that, the night—the drinks, the tension, the bar, even the frustration over nothing—was irrelevant.
There was only him. Only the heat. And only the reckless, impossible way he made you feel alive, wanted, and entirely his—
even if you’d never admit it out loud.
When it was over, you collapsed against the doorframe, chest heaving, legs trembling. Alex stayed close, still pressing lightly against you, though the fire in his eyes had dimmed to something more… uneasy.
Neither of you spoke at first. The silence was heavy, charged—not with anger, not with lust, but with the aftermath of both.
Finally, you forced yourself to look at him, hair damp and messy, lips swollen, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, voice hoarse, a wry smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
He let out a humorless chuckle, brushing a thumb along your collarbone. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “And don’t think… that this changes anything.”
“I know,” you said, shrugging, though your stomach twisted at the thought. You wanted to tease him, to push him away, but your fingers still lingered in the mess of his hair.
“You better not think you get to walk away,” he said quietly, dark eyes locking onto yours. “Not after this.”
“I don’t,” you replied evenly, though your body protested the calm tone. You stepped back, tugging your dress into place, smoothing down your hair. “We’re… done. For now.”
He watched you with a faint scowl, jaw tight. “For now,” he echoed, a warning rather than agreement. And then, as abruptly as he’d arrived, he stepped back, brushing past you toward the door.
You waited until the click of the latch confirmed he’d left, then sank onto the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest. Your heart still thudded, adrenaline still coursing, and yet… there was an ache. Not for him, not entirely—but for the storm between you that had always felt so dangerous, so alive.
You hated that it got to you. Hated that a part of you wanted to feel it again, even if the other part swore you’d never let him have the satisfaction.
And deep down, you knew—this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. The jealousy, the tension, the need… it was only going to build.
You let out a slow, shaky laugh, running your hands over your face. “Great,” you whispered to the empty room. “Absolutely great.”
And somehow, you weren’t even mad.
────✘────
You tried to stay out of Alex’s way—avoid him entirely. But that only went so far when both of you had been invited onto Max’s private jet from Austria to England.
You attempted to distract yourself with Max, laughing at something he said, but soon Lando chimed in, and you were suddenly the third wheel. You tried to shift toward Oscar, only for him to be drawn into the same conversation before you could even settle in.
You didn’t understand why Alex was even here if George wasn’t. But then again, George and Max weren’t exactly friends—more civil than you and Alex ever were, but still. You shouldn’t question it too much. Max and Alex had been friends since Red Bull days, and yet, it irritated you because you felt you were closer to Max.
Eventually, you leaned back, arms crossed over your chest, eyes drifting to the window. The clouds passed beneath the jet, soft and endless, anything to keep your mind from focusing on the burning weight beside you.
You didn’t need to turn your head to know when Alex slid into the seat next to you. The faint scent of his cologne was enough.
“I’m not talking to you about it here,” you muttered, voice dry—familiar, the same tone it had always been before everything had shifted.
Almost civil. Almost. Still cold. Still sharp. But at least no screaming matches—not anymore.
“Didn’t expect to,” he replied, head toward the window, though not really watching the clouds.
“Good,” you murmured.
You should have known better. Fucking someone always brought feelings sooner or later. You’d seen it before with every friends-with-benefits pair you knew. You just hadn’t expected Alex to be the weak one. Hadn’t expected it to happen so fast.
You weren’t friends. You were rivals. Enemies. And yet… here you were.
Living the consequences of your own decisions.
Silverstone meant a home race—at least for your team. It meant delivering results, keeping it together, and avoiding the usual screaming match between you and Alex. James prayed silently that it would turn out like Spielberg. Maybe even better.
He didn’t know that fighting wasn’t on either of your agendas. Not this weekend. Not when everything felt so… heavy, so sharp and impossible.
You told yourself it was all Alex. That you still hated his guts. That the only good things about him were his fingers—or his dick—when they made you come. Nothing else.
You tried to ignore the way his eyes lingered wherever you went. Tried to ignore the heat crawling under your skin when he looked at you, sharpening every glance at the mention of another driver—worse when you laughed at Oscar.
You ignored the way your skin tingled when he brushed past. Ignored the flare of irritation when a model hovered too close or laughed too loudly at his jokes. Because it meant nothing. He couldn’t be… that funny.
Even with that tension humming beneath the surface, you somehow managed not to explode.
At least, not during media day. Not during FP1.
“You know those things on the side of the car…” you started, helmet in hand as you crossed to Alex’s side of the garage. “Those are mirrors. Use them,” you hissed, the last word sharp.
He chuckled shortly, sarcastic, familiar. “Sure, princess. Once you learn how to look in yours.”
“It wasn’t me in your way, asshole.”
“Right,” he said flatly. “Because there was another dark blue car out there.”
You rolled your eyes, ready to leave. But he wasn’t done. His hand wrapped around your bicep—warm, firm—and he tugged you back, dragging you past equipment to the rear entrance leading to the motorhome.
The door slammed behind you, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t yell. He didn’t explain. He shoved you into his driver’s room.
You stumbled, barely catching yourself. Heart racing—not from fear, but from the sudden shift, the weight of proximity you weren’t prepared for.
The room felt too small. Too quiet. Even the hum of the paddock seemed distant, like the world had pressed pause, giving you privacy you hadn’t earned.
Alex stood between you and the door, chest rising slowly, jaw tight. Not angry—not in the way you knew him. Something else. Something taut, coiled, restrained.
“What the hell was that out there?” you asked first, voice sharp, defensive. A reflex, not a choice.
He ran a hand through his hair. “You really want to do this again?”
“You dragged me in here,” you snapped. “So clearly, yes.”
He exhaled slowly, deliberately. “I didn’t touch you. Not once.”
“What?”
“Out there,” he clarified, eyes flicking away, too careful to meet yours. “I left space. More than I needed. More than I should’ve. And you still came at me like it was deliberate.”
You crossed your arms. “So what, you want a medal?”
“No,” he said, quieter now. “I wanted you to notice.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“That’s ridiculous,” you said.
“Is it?” His voice dropped, humorless. “Because you noticed everyone else just fine.”
The chest tightness hit then. The heat crawling up your neck.
“You don’t get to police who I talk to,” you said, sharp.
“I know,” he admitted, closer now, just close enough that you felt the warmth, the weight of him. “That’s why it pisses me off.”
You looked at him. Really looked. This wasn’t teasing jealousy. Not the playful kind. This was messy. Raw. Something neither of you could control.
“You’re making this something it’s not,” you said softly, even as your chest ached.
His gaze fell. “That’s the problem,” he muttered. “I think it already is.”
Silence pressed in, suffocating, charged.
“Then stop,” you breathed.
“If it were that easy,” he said, almost bitter, “we wouldn’t be standing here.”
Your heart thumped. This was the part you hadn’t prepared for. The part you’d been avoiding since Austria, since the jet, since realizing that avoiding him was harder than hating him ever had been.
“Then what do you want from me?” you ask. “What do you want me to do?”
The question hung between you. Too honest. Too raw.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. And that unsettled you more than any argument ever could.
“Not an answer,” you scoffed.
“It’s the only one I’ve got,” he replied, sharp now, frustrated. “You think I planned this? You think I wanted to be… like this with you?”
“With me,” you echoed, bitter. “You make it sound like a mistake.”
“It is,” he said immediately. Then he paused, exhaled. Shook his head. “No. That’s not—It’s complicated.”
You laughed bitterly. “Oh, convenient.”
“I don’t want you to change,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to stop being… you. I just want to stop feeling like I’m losing my mind every time you walk into a room.”
Your chest constricted.
“That’s not my problem,” you said, voice faltering.
“I know,” he admitted. “That’s why I haven’t said anything.”
You turned away, staring at the wall, at his helmet. “Then don’t.”
Silence.
“I can’t,” he admitted quietly.
And that… was worse than screaming. Worse than jealousy-fueled fights. Worse than recklessness. This was real.
You weren’t just Alex’s weakness. He was yours.
And that realization hit harder than any crash ever could.
The silence stretches too long. It turns heavy. Dangerous.
You feel it first—not in your head, but low in your stomach. That familiar coil. The thing you’ve been pretending isn’t there, pretending hasn’t been building since Miami, since the jet, since every almost-touch you refused to acknowledge.
Alex shifts. Just barely. His jaw tightens.
“Say something,” he mutters.
You laugh under your breath. “That’s rich.”
“I mean it,” he says, voice strained now. “Scream at me. Insult me. Do something.”
You look at him then—really look—and it hits you all at once. He’s not asking for a fight.
He’s asking for permission.
The realization makes your chest ache with something dangerously close to panic.
“This doesn’t change anything,” you say again, sharper now, like you can cut the moment apart with the words.
Alex steps closer.
It’s the smallest movement. Barely a step. But the space between you vanishes all the same.
“I know,” he says quietly.
And that’s what does it.
Not the arguing. Not the jealousy. Not even the confession.
It’s the way he agrees.
Like he’s already resigned to losing.
Your hand fists in the fabric of his race suit before you can stop yourself. You shove him back—not hard, not gentle—just enough to break the stalemate. His back hits the door with a dull thud.
For half a second, he looks surprised.
Then his hands are on you.
Not hesitant. Not careful.
Desperate.
His mouth crashes into yours like he’s been holding himself back for weeks—because he has. It’s messy and angry and all teeth and breath, like he’s trying to erase the conversation you just had.
You kiss him back just as hard.
Because this—you can do.
This doesn’t require answers.
His hands slide under your arms, grip tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. Yours go to his shoulders, nails digging in, grounding yourself in the familiar burn.
You break the kiss only to breathe, forehead pressed to his, both of you shaking slightly.
“This is a bad idea,” you whisper.
“Always is,” he replies, already kissing down your jaw, your throat.
The door digs into your back as he presses you against it, like the world is narrowing to this one brutal point of contact. His knee slots between your legs, purposeful, unashamed.
This isn’t slow. It isn’t tender.
It’s frantic.
Like if you stop moving, you’ll have to talk again.
Your fingers make quick work of his suit, his hands just as rough with yours. Fabric shifts, zippers half-opened, discarded with no care for neatness. You don’t look at each other for too long —you can’t afford to.
Because if you do, it might turn into something else.
So instead, he presses you face-first into the door.
Alex’s cock presses deep inside you, thrusting slow and deliberate, each movement controlled like he’s punishing himself for not losing it. For making you feel every inch. One hand hooks around your wrist and yanks you back against him, setting the pace, setting the angle—exactly the way he wants it.
Your forehead knocks softly against the wood. The sound feels too loud. Your mouth presses shut, teeth biting down hard enough to hurt so nothing slips out. Not a moan. Not his name.
His grip is going to bruise.
Yours will leave marks.
Good.
Let there be evidence. Let there be pain tomorrow. Let there be something real when neither of you is willing to say anything real out loud.
Neither of you speaks.
No taunts. No dirty praise. No insults to keep the distance intact.
Just skin. Heat. The familiar drag of his cock inside you, rutting slow and deep, relentless. He hits the same spot again and again, patient in a way that feels cruel. Like he’s memorized exactly how to undo you and is choosing to take his time.
It breaks you anyway.
When you come, it’s sharp and overwhelming, stealing the breath right out of your chest. You brace yourself against the door, vision going white at the edges as it rips through you—too much, too intense, leaving you wrecked and hollow in its wake.
Alex stays pressed against you afterward.
His forehead drops between your shoulder blades. His breathing is uneven, almost shaky. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move away.
For one dangerous moment, he stays.
You feel everything: his breath warm on your back, your hair sticking to your skin, the weight of him still inside you. The evidence of him filling you, unmistakable.
That’s when you know.
If you stay one second longer, this will become something you won’t survive.
So you straighten first.
You step out of his space. The slow slide of his cock leaving you makes a shiver run through you, the heat following, the mess he made of you impossible to ignore. You move with mechanical precision—fireproofs back on, race suit zipped, hair tied up tight. Efficient. Controlled.
No eye contact. No lingering touch.
You don’t let yourself think.
Alex watches you. Silent. Careful again. Like he’s learned something and doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Hey,” he says softly. Not stopping you. Just… reaching.
You pause with your hand on the door.
Your chest feels raw, tight, like something’s been torn open and deliberately left unattended.
“This doesn’t change anything,” you say again.
This time, it’s not a warning.
It’s a lie you need to survive.
He doesn’t answer.
You don’t wait for him to.
You open the door and step back into the noise and heat of the paddock, letting it close behind you without a backward glance. Already moving toward your own driver’s room, already putting distance between you and the consequences dripping down your leg.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just the echo of what you refuse to name—
and the knowledge that whatever this is now, you’ve already lost control of it.
────✘────
You don’t talk to Alex after that.
Not once for the rest of the race weekend.
You don’t crash him out. You don’t block, touch, or impede him in qualifying. On paper, everything looks clean—professional, even. During debrief, you only speak when spoken to, eyes fixed on your data or the edge of the table, refusing to look up. Refusing to give him anything that could be misread as weakness.
Race day goes smoothly.
Well—smoothly for him.
He stays out of your way. You stay out of his. He brings it home in P8, solid points, a clean drive. You finish P11, just outside the cut, frustration burning low in your chest where no one can see it.
You clap when required. You nod when spoken to. You smile for cameras like nothing inside you is splintering.
After post-race interviews and the final debrief, you’re gone before he can even blink.
No one sees you leave.
Not James.
Not Carlos.
Not Max.
You don’t answer messages. You don’t explain. One moment you’re there, helmet still warm in your hands—and the next, you’re just… gone.
And then you don’t speak for two weeks.
It’s easier when you’re not in Woking at the same time. Easier when you’re not sharing track time, briefings, airspace. Easier when there’s physical distance to justify the silence.
But distance doesn’t dull it.
It sharpens it.
By day fifteen, something inside you finally snaps.
You tell yourself it’s timing. That it’s convenient. That Spa is coming and you need your head straight. That you can’t afford distractions now—not this close to another triple header.
You don’t tell yourself the truth.
That you’re exhausted from carrying something sharp in your chest—something that hasn’t dulled no matter how far you’ve kept yourself away from him. That you’re tired of replaying moments you refuse to name, tired of pretending this is just another rivalry you know how to win.
You don’t knock when you get there.
You hesitate just long enough for it to hurt, then press the buzzer.
The door opens.
Alex is in sweatpants and a worn T-shirt, hair still damp like he’s just showered—or just woken up. He freezes the second he sees you, like his body needs a moment to catch up with reality.
For a beat, neither of you speaks.
You look worse than you’d like—eyes tired, jaw locked too tight, hands clenched at your sides like you might bolt if he says the wrong thing.
Or the right one.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
Neither of you moves.
The hallway smells like him—clean, familiar, painfully grounding. It hits harder than any memory of Silverstone ever did, harder than the jet, the garage, the way he’d stood too close and not close enough all at once.
“You disappeared,” he adds. Not accusing. Just stating it.
“So did you.”
That earns a breath of a laugh from him—short, tired, more exhale than sound.
“Come in,” he says anyway, stepping aside like he already knows how this ends.
The door closes behind you, and whatever fragile distance you’d built over the last two weeks collapses instantly.
No shouting.
No fight.
Just the sound of your breathing—too loud, too fast—in the quiet flat.
It’s the first time you’ve ever been here.
The apartment is clean, almost impersonal in the way places are when someone never meant to stay long. Furnished, neat, practical. The only things that feel like him are the pictures on the wall, the rumpled blanket on the couch, clothes draped over the back of a chair like he never quite finishes unpacking his life.
You don’t remember who moves first.
Only that suddenly you’re pressed together, foreheads knocking, hands fisting fabric like this is the only way to stay upright. The kiss is messy and desperate and angry—not polished, not careful. It’s everything you’ve been refusing to feel since Silverstone, finally given permission to exist.
When you break apart, you’re already lightheaded, lungs burning.
You push him away—harder than you mean to—and he stumbles back a step, caught off guard by the suddenness.
You can’t do this again.
If you don’t stop now, you know exactly where it leads. And if you don’t say it now, you never will.
You stare at the ceiling, refusing to look at him while you find the courage you hate yourself for needing.
“I don’t want to,” you say hoarsely.
He stiffens.
“And I hate you so much for it,” you continue, voice breaking despite every effort to keep it sharp. “For making this happen. For making me feel like this. For making me jealous when your eyes are on someone else. When you make someone laugh—when you’re supposed to be trying to make me laugh. For the way you make me lose my patience until all I want in return is to ruin you.”
You finally look at him.
He’s already watching you—reading you—understanding before you even finish speaking. Something in his expression softens, just barely, like the truth has finally caught up to him too.
“So…” You hesitate, breath shaking. “…you’re mine.”
The words land between you, bare and unprotected.
Not a demand.
Not a promise.
A confession you never wanted to make.
Alex exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
You expect him to argue. To push back. To make a joke and defuse it.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he reaches out—slow, deliberate—and brushes his thumb along your jaw, grounding and real.
“And I hate that you are too,” he adds, just as softly.
You close your eyes.
Because this is the part where enemies stop being enough.
Where leaving hurts worse than staying.
Where walking away isn’t clean anymore.
And you know—absolutely, terrifyingly know—
Whatever this is now, it’s not something either of you can fuck your way out of anymore.
500 celly request: prompt #25- “what happened to all that attitude, hm?” with alex albon
author’s note: idk i was just thinking about alex brat taming george from my other fic and then couldn’t stop thinking about him brat taming me.. hmm thoughts..
your teasing starts small, just enough for alex to glance at you with a raised brow as you smile sweetly in response. you press your thigh against his under the table, your hand finding the muscular expanse of his leg as your hand squeezes it up and down.
he doesn’t say anything, just smiling politely at the company you chose to go out with for dinner, but you see the flicker of annoyance twitching in his jaw.
and god, if that doesn’t make you want to press even further.
you lean in closer to him every time you laugh or mention him in conversation, resting your hand lightly on his forearm. your fingers curl around the stem of your wine glass, watching him with rapt attention.
you know exactly what you’re doing, tilting the glass to him with a sultry grin. “want a sip?” you purr, offering him your drink with a glint in your eyes.
alex takes the wine glass from your hand, swirling the deep red of the liquid in the glass. he takes a sip, his eyes on yours as he swallows and sits the glass back down in front of you. “thanks, babe,” he hums, smiling softly.
his tone may seem normal to those around you, but you catch the sharpness in his eyes when he looks at you, the subtle warning in the brown depths.
but you aren’t ever one to back down from a challenge.
the dinner goes on far too long in your opinion, but you’re quite content to sit beside alex and continue to press him further. you smile along with the easy conversation, laughing when it’s appropriate, all while pressing your luck a little harder.
maybe it’s you leaning over and whispering something that makes his breath hitch as he barely stops himself from coughing into his wine glass. maybe it’s when your hand trails up the inside of his leg, squeezing his muscular thigh hard enough to make him tense up.
alex’s hand shoots out to capture your wrist, his grip tight enough to make your pulse jump. he doesn’t even look over at you when he does it, just continues smiling at the company across the table like nothing is wrong.
only you can see his fingers tighten around the soft skin above your knee with a silent warning, making you even more adamant on pressing him further.
you smile sweetly, taking a sip of your wine again as you bring your hand up to squeeze his bicep gently. “you okay, babe?” you whisper, unable to keep the teasing glint out of your eyes.
he inhales deeply before sighing, his warm breath fanning out as he does. that’s your second strike of the night, but you can’t help but to push him again.
it’s addicting to see the slow unraveling of his usual demeanor, irritation and frustration cracking it open at the corners.
you shift a tiny bit closer to him on the seat, letting your lips brush against the shell of his ear as you lean in like you’re just casually discussing the menu choices. you’re very aware of just how sensitive the skin around his ears and neck is, and you take that to your full advantage, grinning as his fingers dig into the skin of your knee.
you press a kiss to his neck and quickly pull back, not giving him a chance to do anything in return as you quickly turn back to chatting with the others.
his grip is tight, cutting his eyes to the side to glare at you in a silent warning. “you’re going to behave now,” he murmurs, voice low with an irritated edge against your ear that makes your thighs press together. “or you’re going to regret it the second we leave this table.”
you shiver at his words, but you’re also smiling. because this is exactly what you wanted. the whole reason for your teasing was to get him to this point, and the thought of what he’s going to do to you when you leave the dinner table makes you bite your lip.
the rest of the dinner is a blur, thankfully, saying goodbyes to your friends as alex shakes hands, smiles and promises to catch up again soon. you’re the picture perfect girlfriend as you hang on his arm, smiling as you walk out of the restaurant as alex’s hand grips your forearm.
you can feel the tension under his skin, and the cool air outside makes you shiver as you finally slip out of the restaurant. his hand falls to settle on the small of your back, casual to anyone that looks your way, but you can feel the restrained grip as his fingers dig in slightly.
his pace is sharp, and you can feel the focus in his posture as he guides you to the car silently. he unlocks the car, stepping to open the passenger side door for you. even when he’s barely holding back his anger, he’s still a gentleman, and you can’t help the smirk on your face. you slide in, bending over more than is necessary as you duck into the car, jolting as he slams the door shut behind you.
he walks around and slips into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with controlled anger.
you swear the air between you crackles, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough for the skin to go white.
you shift in your seat, tilting yourself to the center console in between you and alex, cocking your head with a soft smile. “are you sure you’re okay?” you hum, eyes scanning his body, tension rolling off of him.
alex lets out a sharp exhale, turning to you with dark eyes. his calm, collected demeanor he keeps up in public is crackling, the sharp edge of his frustration coming forward.
“you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he mutters, voice low as his eyes watch you cautiously.
“i suppose i do,” you muse, tilting your head to expose the line of your neck. his jaw flexes in response, and you want nothing more than him to yank you over the center console onto his lap.
his eyes roam down the curves of your body, saying nothing as he catches your gaze. “seatbelt,” he grits out, nostrils flaring slightly when you don’t move.
you raise an eyebrow at him with a grin, watching the flicker of frustration grow when you don’t listen.
he leans closer to you, dragging you close enough for his lips to be against your ear with a rough grip on the back of your neck. “put it on. now.”
your breath hitches, blushing as you turn to the side to reach for the belt, clicking it into place. alex’s eyes never leave you, a dangerous chuckle leaving him as he starts the engine, his tight grip on the gear shift not going unnoticed.
the calm and cool alex everyone knows and praises for his control? he’s gone.
you toy with the hem of your dress lazily as alex pulls out of the lot, glancing over to where he’s driving with laser focus. his jaw is tight, and you see the muscle in his cheek jumping every time you shift in the seat or sigh dramatically beside him.
and you just can’t help but to push him further.
you adjust yourself in the seat, parting your thighs slightly as you rest your hand on your lower thigh, your fingers sliding under the hem of your dress little by little. you watch alex from the corner of your eye, barely holding in your giggle as you see his fingers tighten.
he doesn’t say anything, but you see his gaze lower before it snaps back to the road.
you slip your hand up higher, fingers brushing over the warm skin of your inner thighs. you let yourself let out a soft sigh, just loud enough so you know he hears it even over the roar of his engine, eyes shutting.
you can feel the warm heat of your core against the back of your hand, but you don’t move any higher up until you know he’s barely hanging on. you’re aching, already wet from teasing him all throughout dinner.
“don’t,” alex mutters, his voice strained as his jaw ticks again.
you pretend you don’t hear him, sliding your fingers up and under the edge of your panties, barely stroking over your sensitive clit. you use almost no pressure at all, making yourself shiver at the feeling.
alex’s hand tightens around the gear shift, gripping it so hard you can hear the faint creak of the leather under his palm. “i told you,” he grits out, nostrils flaring. “don’t.”
you keep going, of course. you can’t bring yourself to stop now.
you let out a soft moan, biting your lip as your fingers drag through your folds, pressing your thighs closed around your wrist as you chase the sensation. you let your head fall back against the headrest, eyes fluttering shut as your hips shift, rocking up against your fingers.
alex lets out a low growl, and the you feel his hand closing around your jaw as he pulls off on the side of the road. his grip is firm, pulling you by your chin to look over at him. his eyes are dark and his face is flushed with a delicious mix of irritation and want, making you whine again.
“you’re really going to do this in my car?” he asks, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip to pull it from being bitten raw. “like a desperate little brat?”
you grin, still moving your fingers slowly against your cunt as you let out a shaky exhale. “just couldn’t wait,” you whine, teasing him with everything you have.
his answering laugh is dark and dangerous, leaning over to bring his face inches from yours. “oh, baby,” he sighs, studying your face up close. “you don’t even know what you’ve started.”
you let out a whimper, arching against your own fingers as he growls again, like he can’t believe you’re so adamant on disobeying him. “just feels so good, alex,” you whine, tongue darting out to lick the pad of his thumb. “might just get myself off since you’re so well-behaved you couldn’t fuck me in the bathroom.”
the air crackles with barely contained rage coming off of him, and you press your lips into a thin line as you yank your chin from his grip. your breath hitches as you press two of your fingers inside yourself, lashes fluttering shut as you focus on your own pleasure.
alex doesn’t say anything as he starts the car back up, the engine growling as he pulls back onto the road, speeding toward home.
both of you know what’s going to happen when you get home, but you love pushing him. because no matter how cocky you are now, no matter how bratty you act, you both know you’re never going to win this game.
not when he’s this on edge, and certainly not when you moan his name breathlessly to tease him that much more.
you barely process the car parking until he’s opening your door, practically pulling you out of the car and into your home, the front door slamming shut behind both of you.
you don’t have time to say anything else before alex’s hands are on you, grabbing your jaw as his mouth finds yours, hot with a frustration that makes your knees weak. he grips your hip as he shoves you back against the door, his body caging you against the frame.
you feel breathless, giggling against his mouth as you bring your hands to tangle in his hair, riding the high of teasing from the car still.
his thumb comes up to brush over your bottom lip, pressing down on it to push your mouth open. you let out a soft gasp at the action, arching off the wood door and into his warm body.
“what happened to all that attitude, hm?” he murmurs, his voice directly against your ear. “where’s that smirk you were so proud of?” his hand drags between you to run up your side before settling against your neck. “where’s that pretty little brat who couldn’t keep her hands to herself?”
you squirm under his touch, face red with heat and embarrassment as he presses his hips against you so you can feel just how hard he is, how much your teasing affected him. you let out a soft gasp when his hand tightens around your neck, not enough to cut off your airflow, but enough for you to see the heat of dominance radiating from him.
“that’s what i thought,” he chuckles darkly, his free hand coming down to slide under your dress, dragging your panties down your legs.
“alex-” you start, but he cuts you off with a look that makes you shiver.
“you wanted to make a mess of yourself in my car earlier,” alex murmurs lowly, his hand pushing between your thighs to drag his middle finger across your wetness. “so you’re going to finish making a mess right here. all for me.”
you open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get a word out before he drops to his knees in front of you.
he spreads your thighs wider without hesitation, his mouth hot against your inner thigh as he kisses and bites his way higher, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin. you choke out a gasp, eyes wide as your hands scramble for purchase against the door and wall as his tongue slides against your cunt, eagerly devouring you almost instantly.
your head falls back against the door as he eats you out like he’s been starving for it all night, whimpering as your fingers claw at the door. your knees are trembling, on the verge of giving out from how fast he was working you up to a blissful release.
alex knows you so well from so much time together, and each movement he makes against your pussy is designed with the ability to make you fall apart almost instantly.
you bring a hand down to fist in his hair, moaning when he growls against you. “i’m close, alex- fuck,” you whimper, nails digging into the wood of the door and his hair.
and just when you think you can feel the delicious finality of the edge, just when you’re seconds from riding his face through the aftershocks of your orgasm, he pulls back.
you let out a desperate sob, hips chasing after his mouth as he lowers your leg back to the floor, staring up at you before he stands.
“you really thought you could tease me like that all night and i’d still just give you what you want?” alex murmurs, his hand sliding up your neck until his fingers grip your chin so you can’t look away from him. ”i think it’s time you learned some manners, baby.”
you let out a breathless scoff, your thighs still shaking even as you try to act unaffected.
he leans in, pressing a kiss to the flushed skin of your cheek before he pulls back, his brown eyes staring into your own with a feral intensity. “couch. now.”
you nod almost immediately, walking to the couch with him behind you, yelping when he slaps your ass.
as soon as you lay yourself down on the couch, alex is on you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand as the other caresses down your body. he grinds his hips forward against you with a groan, grinning down at you when you whimper again.
“not so smug now, are you?” he muses, leaving a line of bites and kisses against your jaw and throat as he leans over you. “look at you, you were such a fucking brat, and now you’re just laying here, all needy and soft, waiting for me to take care of you.”
and god, he’s right.
you arch up into him, whimpering as your eyes flutter shut when he grinds his hips forward again. you can feel the hard line of his cock against your core even through his pants, and you let out a soft moan at the feeling alone.
“don’t worry, baby. ’m gonna take care of you,” he murmurs, kissing along the flushed column of your throat. “gonna fuck the brat right out of you..”
he pulls back and you whine, trying to sit up and chase after his touch. “alex-”
he cuts off your protests by pushing you back down against the couch cushions, grinning when your legs stay open for him.
you watch with rapt attention as he pops the button of his jeans, pulling them down hastily before kicking them off along with his boxers. your mouth waters at the sight of him, his cock flushed and standing tall as he crawls back over you and pins your wrists back above your head.
alex drags the head of his cock through your soaked folds, groaning as you gasp and tilt your hips up toward him. “alex, fuck,” you whimper, licking your lips.
but he doesn’t push in. he stays where he is, dragging his length against your wetness, rutting his cock up against your pussy.
“ah ah,” he chuckles, a teasing edge in his voice. “you were so eager before, weren’t you? what happened?”
you let out a quiet whimper, arching up again. his mouth brushes up along your jaw, kissing you so softly that it makes you tremble.
“say you want it,” alex whispers, his voice rough and low in the way that makes you clench around nothing, heat pooling in your core.
“please, alex,” you moan, your voice shaking as you try to pull him closer to you with your legs wrapped around his waist. “please fuck me, just-”
he cuts you off as slides inside your tight heat in one thrust, groaning when he immediately feels you clench around him.
your mouth drops open, a strangled cry ripping out as he fills you perfectly, buried to the hilt inside you. the stretch and fullness of his cock fucking into you sends a shiver down your spine, and your fingernails dig into your palm where they’re still pinned above your head.
“fuck,” alex groans, his head falling to rest against your shoulder as he grinds his hips forward. you moan at the feeling of him, writhing below him as he starts moving. “you’re so fucking tight, baby..”
he draws back slightly, picking his head up from your shoulder as he fucks back in, watching your face twist up in pleasure as he rolls his hips in and out of your cunt.
you try to pull your hands from his hold, try to yank free so you can touch him, but it only makes his grip tighten.
“god, look at you,” he breathes, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he rocks into you. “you were so fucking cocky all night, and now you’re just melting for me, hm?”
you can’t help but moan as you arch up to try and get him deeper, eyes fluttering shut as you try to get him to move faster. “alex, come on- please..”
but alex knows how to make you squirm.
he sets a slow rhythm, grinding his hips against yours before he pulls back and thrusts back in, making sure you feel every inch of him every time.
his free hand slides down to find your thigh, hitching it higher around his waist to push even deeper into you.
the new angle he sets hits that perfect spot inside of you, and you shatter. a loud cry leaves you as your back bows off the couch, your body trembling under him as he chuckles.
“there she is,” alex purrs, picking up his pace. his control starts to slip as he watches you fall apart, groaning as his fingers dig into the muscle of your thigh. “my good girl, so fucking pretty when you fall apart like this for me..”
his words make you cry out again, hooking your legs around his waist to keep him deep inside you almost subconsciously. “fuck, alex please,” you beg, eyes glassy as you stare up at him.
your hands twist again in his grip, still desperate to touch him, to dig your fingers into his shoulders, to anchor yourself against the overwhelming pleasure you feel as he fucks you into the couch.
“oh, no you don’t,” alex chuckles as he rests his forehead against yours, his voice rough and wrecked. “you’re gonna come for me first.”
the hand that was gripping your thigh slides between you, dragging your wetness over your folds before he rubs devastating circles against your clit. you let out a broken sob, the heat that’s been building low in your core snapping tight as your thighs tighten around his waist.
your orgasm crashes through you as your whole body shakes apart, sobbing out his name as you futilely try to pull your hands free again. you’re so desperate to touch him, and you can barely hear yourself begging him to let you go through your whines.
alex groans, his head dropping forward as he fucks deep one more time into you, his hips jerking as he spills inside you. he rolls his hips forward lazily a few more times to work through the haze of lust, bringing his hand that was rubbing against your clit to his mouth to lick his fingers clean.
you let out a soft noise as he finally lets go of your wrists, immediately grabbing him by the back of the head and pulling his lips to yours to kiss him breathless.
you both work through the aftershocks of your orgasms, panting against each other’s mouths as you laugh breathlessly.
“fuck,” he huffs, laughing quietly. “you’re gonna kill me with that attitude of yours.”
you smile up at him, your fingers curling in his hair. “worth it,” you hum, letting out a soft giggle as he rolls his eyes.
“uh huh,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “you’re always worth it.” you love pushing alex this far. because when he finally breaks? he takes you apart until you’re tangled up in the afterglow with him like you are now, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
cw: smut/pwp, wet dreams/dream sex, loving & gentle sex, established relationship, sweet!alex, breast worship & play, body worship
a/n: sorry for not updating yesterday, chronic pains are a bitch!
the kink-o-ween masterlist
you were not immune to wet dreams, even now as an adult. the sexual urges came up when you were fast asleep and that wasn't a bad thing! you were mature enough in your sexuality to not be freaked out by a wet dream.
until it happened in the worst possible place
you were curled up in alex's room on the track. while the couch wasn't the most comfortable, you made the best best of it. you were exhausted from the back to back weekends and needed some rest. thanks to a throw blanket over your shoulders, your shoes kicked off onto the floor and one of alex's sweatshirts under your head, you managed to fall asleep. comforted by the scent of your boyfriend.
slowly you drifted off to sleep and when the dream rolled through your head like a familiar film, you could remember alex's kisses like the back of your hand. how they felt against his heated skin, his hands up on your hips.
you knew you were in your bedroom back home, the familiar sight of the jellycat plushies you had on the bed were looking at you. they had to be pushed to the side to make room for the both of you.
"you look so beautiful." he said softly and it left warmth radiating through you. alex knew how to make you feel beautiful, even when you felt at your worse. he was a ray of sunshine in your life.
alex was the kind of lover that many would kill for. and not just for sex, but also his non-sexual gestures. he was a compassionate lover, both in and out of the bedroom. he knew how to make you feel good, and always to finish first. even if it were with his fingers or his tongue.
not the mention if felt like he knew you on a molecular level. everything he could know about you, he knew. from your fourth favourite colour to how you cried once because you saw a baby squirrel that was so cute. even as his kisses traveled across your collarbones, he knew exactly how to make you squirm. everything he knew so intimately.
"you feel amazing." he said with his hands cupped your breasts. he palmed them, but not as as some weird pervert would do but rather a a lover. he said, "i love you."
and his love was shown through various means. the hand holding t the sexual exploits. it was all amazing. he soon stripped of what little clothes you had left on and took his own off as well. you both felt hungry for intimacy. you moved up the bed and he followed, he felt up your sides and left a sweet kiss on your lips. his touches made you giggle a little from the ticklishness, you moaned into another kiss and held onto his shoulders. your nails nails dug into his soft tanned skin as he made a small noise against you.
he was your slice of heaven on earth. your darling racer who your praised every little victory with a smile that could light a city. he was your champion. the kisses got deeper as alex got between your legs. when he pulled away, his dark eyes admired your sweet beauty.
"i'm not that pretty" you tried to say when you noticed his looks.
"no, you're beyond pretty. you're beautiful, stunning, gorgeous. you're everything to me." he got your hips up a little bit and his heavy cock against you. he wasn't massive in size, but rather proportionate to the rest of him. but it still left you breathless and feeling the heat in your core. he soon sank his length into you and you arched your back from the feeling. you held onto the covers as alex rested on his knees and leaned forward to start fucking you. he rocked against you and it made you flush warm. you could feel the sweat at your temples and down your back, as the covers clung to the sticky skin.
"mmm, alex." you moaned. everything felt amazing. the excitement went through you. the bedding was soft and your lover's thrusts were firm as the two of you made love on the bed. he moaned a little as he moved against you and you accompanied the sounds as you two rocked against one another.
he leaned in a little and kissed your chest. he worshiped your breasts as he moved against you. you could hear his heavy groans as he peppered your skin with hot kisses. he kept his hands at your sides for leverage as he continued to move. this wasn't just fucking, it was making love.
"you're perfect." he said, "everything about you is perfect. i can't believe i lucked out with you." he shuddered as he moved. he played with your breasts and he felt you shift a little under his touch.
"please, alex." you moaned.
alex eyed your figure for a moment as he continued to move. he could never regret loving you and you felt the same way. in a way it felt like you two were perfect for one another. in every sense of the word, in every way one person could be perfect for another. it was romantic, sweet and at times sexual and hot.
loving him had been a dream, even without the glamour of formula one. you'd still adore him if you were both two broke college students living off half priced bread from the grocery store. you'd be happy, you'd be in love with him all the same.
he laid more kisses on your breasts and your moans got a little louder. you held onto the covers further and arched your back slightly. alex licked at your nipples and you felt on cloud nine. his name came out weakly from your lips and he continued his motions.
"i love you." he said softly.
"i love you too." you replied as you reached for him and held onto his shoulders, soon you were both pressed chest to chest as you both kissed one another on the lips. you moaned against him as you both rocked together. it wasn't a quick fuck with no attachments, it was an intimate pace that left you begging for more. you moaned, "alex."
"i've got you beautiful, my beautiful girlfriend. my life partner." the wetness between your legs only grew from his tender words. while he was a passionate lover, everything he did with you was tender. he thought sex was fun if all parties were having fun. he asked softly, "do you want this, all of this?"
you combed your fingers through his short hair and replied softly, "of course, alex, honey. only for you."
he shuddered and said, "i love you. fuck."
"i love you too." you arched your back and felt the heat through your body. your core was warmed and everything felt nice.
he continued to move against you, his pace started to stagger due to the impending climax. he held onto you a little tighter to get that right angle while his mouth was on your neck, leaving wet kisses and small marks.
"please." you moaned.
alex then kissed you on the lips as he really worked your body. it excited you all over. you felt painfully turned on, you both weren't going to last much longer. but before you could finish with your lover, you were brought back to reality.
your eyes opened and you were in the driver's room. you blinked away, your skin felt flushed and you were soaked between your legs. your eyes went wide at the realization you had a wet dream.
"someone's awake." you heard your boyfriend's voice. you looked over and saw alex seated nearby. his expression was a little surprise, but mostly curious. you could feel the heat in your ears and he smiled.
"hi honey." you swallowed.
"hey, beautiful." he got up from his seat and headed towards you. he got onto the couch by your lets and he cupped your face. his smile held as he asked. "so about that wet dream? how about after i'm done with the press we can go back to the hotel and i can see if the real me can make you feel that good." <3
Plot: Alex never showed his kinky side to you, but after finding some handcuffs you can’t help but question it.
Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, bondage, tied up, fingering, blowjob, p in v etc 18+ Minors DNI
You and Alex had been dating for ages. You were 19 and he was 23 when you started dating. Now 5 years later and you were stronger than ever. You were freelance travel journalist and YouTuber and so travelling around the F1 calendar with your boyfriend and seeing all these cool new places was perfect for you relationship. There wasn’t a moment you and Alex were apart.
One aspect of your life you really enjoyed with Alex apart from all the travel was your sex life. It was very active and he was also so tentative and knew exactly what you wanted and when you wanted it. However sometimes you felt like he was holding something back.
You never questioned it until today when you found a pair of fluffy handcuffs in a shoe box under the bed. You’d never seen your sweet and goofy boyfriend have anything remotely naughty apart from the basics like condoms and those aren’t naughty that’s just being safe, but to see this was … interesting and you couldn’t help but wonder why he never told you.
“Hey babe” you grin as he comes in planting a kiss on the side of his cheek which he swivels so your lips end up on his making you grin more into the kiss.
“How was your day my gorgeous goblin?” He teases, it was a running joke that whenever you had a home day you became some sort of goblin, golem dupe where you’d just sort of rot.
“Mmmmm she’s very good, very chilled day. How is my handsome F1 driving, handcuff using, Williams racer boyfriend” you say as nonchalantly as possible, trying to stop yourself from laughing.
“Yeah he’s- wait, what did you say?” He freezes his brain catching up with the whole question.
“I asked how your day was?” You say cocking your head to the side, you deserved a Grammy for the confused look you were so naturally pulling right now with the laugher at bay.
“No no no you said handcuff using? How- how’d you know about that?” He asks his eyes wide.
“I may have found a pair under the bed. Why didn’t you tell me!!” You whine pushing his shoulder lightly in a jokingly annoyed way.
“Because we were fine the way we were … and it’s not like you’ve ever prompted about trying anything new!” He says throwing his hands up.
“I’m just a girl! Okay! Im shy” you say back and he looks at your with wide eyes, not in shock but in exasperation of how on Earth you turned this into a funny situation.
“Okay fine, test time now. Go on upstairs if you think your so funny missy” he tell you his finger pointing up to the bedroom. You head cocks to the side as if to test him to see if he really meant it.
“I’m not fucking about, upstairs … now” he says his voice gruffer than you ever heard it. You run up the stairs with a squeal him following closely behind you but not fast enough that he looked desperate.
Even thought it’s you … so he really was. All he could think about was sinking into you warm pussy.
You gently get on the bed, patting the shoe box that had his handcuffs in it. And he just chuckles.
“Surprised you didn’t dig deeper baby” he laughs going to the wardrobe and pulling a bigger box down from there that was well out of you reach and once he opened it you could tell why.
It look like 50 shades had threw up inside the box. There was so rope, gags, blindfolds more colourful handcuffs and other bondage devices you don’t think you’ve ever seen before.
It was a shock. You though the cheeky pair of handcuffs may have even been a sexy Halloween costume he’d done one year but no… this was the real Alex Albon.
And he was kinky as fuck.
This must have come around is his RedBull days surely…
He takes out and item which happened to be a blindfold and looks at you for permission to put it on. You nod, trusting Alex completely and he slips it on. He gently pushes you back so your head gently falls into the plush duck feather pillow on the bed that are now underneath your head.
Alex hands run up your legs. Pulling your skirt up a little while taking your underwear straight off. His fingers circle you clit before diving in thrusting in and out at a slow base. You could feel his knuckles graze against your walls sending jolts of pleasure down your spine.
Your hips thrust up to meet his fingers and get them as deep as possible. Your mouth open from the breathy gasps your leaving in your wake.
His fingers soon speed up and his other hand comes down to add extra stimulation by circling your clit with his thumb.
“Argh Alex. You moan, your hands reaching forward for him, but in an instant something clamps them down so they’re together in front of you.
He’d put the handcuffs on. You thought he may try handcuff you to the bed but handcuffing your wrists together while still in reach of his own was just bizarre.
As he speeds up his thumb on your clit adding a pressure that has a loud guttural moan come from you, you’re releasing all over his hands.
“Get up and Turn around baby, your gonna suck my cock with your hands tied okay?” He feels you and you nod. He sits down on the bed, helping you turn round and lean into him while kneeling on the floor. He doesn’t pull the blindfold off, he just lets you feel around with your mouth until you lick what you know is the tip of his cock as you can taste the pre-cum that’s leaking out.
He helps you out, holding your shoulder while your head moves in a sucking motion your cheeks hollow. He cant see your eyes but he knows with how deep your taking him that there will be tears building up in them.
He is quicker to release having been worked up since the minute the thought of you in his handcuffs became a possible scenario.
It was in his head, all while thinking off you wrapped in all his sexy and kinky toys.
His load is quick to shoot down the back of your throat, you struggling to swallow what he gave you due to the amount that has come out of him.
“Argh babe” he moans out as he thrusts his last dribbles into your mouth before pulling out. He removes the blindfold smiling at your bloodshot eyes and puffy red lips.
He helps you up onto the bed. Placing you back to the position you’d originally been in before he’s pulling out the soft sex rope and tying it around your wrists before it’s hauled onto the bedframe tightly holding you in place your arms stuck up in the air.
The cold air hits your exposed pussy making you shut you legs on instinct but Alex thigh comes down ti nudge them back open while he tightens the ropes around your arms.
It was so hot and sexy and you couldn’t believe there was this side to your boyfriend but there was and you were more than happy to experiment more with his after this now that you guys had got it all out on the open.
“I’d normally put the blindfold back on but I wanna see your face when you’re so fucked out you can’t even say my name” he says with a small smirk, one you’d never seen on your Alex before. This hunky guy above you wasn’t Alex Albon, this was Alexander Albon sex god and you were down bad.
“Alex” you gasp at the crudeness even though you were loving this side of him.
He pushed in hard and fast giving you no time to adjust before he’s slamming in and out with you. Your arms are already aching from being held up in the position that they are, but it’s a kind of ache that you enjoy. Makes you feel good and worn out.
His hands are all over your body that you can’t even think all you can do it feel, feel how amazing your boyfriend is making you feel right now.
You guys hold this incredibly intimate eye contact that makes you squirm and grip the rope that is slowly rubbing against your skin.
Marks for sure will be left on your wrist when they are taken off.
“A-Al-lex-x fuck I- I-” you moan looking up at him. He was insane and you needed to tell hime that but you didn’t have the words to tell him how much you loved him.
“I know baby, see told you you’d be fucked out” he grins kissing along your jaw as you continue to moan at the feeling of his quick thrusts making his fuck graze against your walls in a rapid fashion.
so yeah, more driver x garage team propaganda for the Williams Team
Carlos got p3, he's so fucking excited about it, and the moment he's finished with the media conference, do you know where he is? He's kneeling on the ground in the garage, Alex and Gaetan standing above him as he wipes the sweat from his brow. The Qatar heat is brutal, his race suit hanging around his waist, but Carlos is more focused on his celebration.
It's still so new for him. Ferrari was never the most excitable place for him by that last season, maybe a few hugs or shoulder pats. But Williams is like the home he's been searching for, with a teammate that cares for him just as he cares for Alex.
And oh boy, Alex sure does care for him. A strong hand is carding through his hair, brushing it back with the sweat from his helmet and balaclava, giving Carlos that sweet, genuine smile. Carlos grins back, smaller but no less genuine as he opens his mouth.
Other people pass the secluded hall they've claimed, pit crew members ruffling Carlos' hair or patting him on the shoulder. Gaetan is crouched beside him, whispering praises in his ear, slipping between French and English so fluently, like he knows how much it makes Carlos whine.
Nobody questions when Alex leads his fellow driver back to the hotel that night, nor when James and Gaetan follow after them after finishing up their analysis.
summary: Alex went downtown to buy Christmas presents, thinking you were sick at home all day. What he didn't know was that you were waiting for him wearing the sluttiest Santa Claus outfit you could find on Amazon.
tws: smut, long-term relationship, obviously sexualizing Santa Claus, dirty talk, masturbation, a bit of nipple play, penetration,no protection, biting, YEARNING, a bit of aftercare.
It was a snowy night in London. Alex had gone out in the afternoon to buy the last few gifts for your nephews and young cousins. He spent the whole afternoon looking for those last few items so that the kids would not be left with few gifts to open. You stayed at home, as Alex thought you were feeling unwell, which was the excuse you had given him. You spent the whole day tucked up in bed with Alex looking after you until he had to go out to run his errands.
But you weren't sick, you were preparing that Christmas miracle that any couple would want to have, or at least you knew that Alex would be willing to make it happen. You got out of bed once he left the house and went to your dressing room, where, hidden behind the clothes, was a cardboard box. You opened it and took out that sexy Santa Claus outfit, just like the one in Mean Girls, or even shorter and more provocative.
You put it on in front of the mirror, making sure every detail was perfect, and went to the bathroom to apply your make up, so you would be the ideal Christmas present for your boyfriend.
It took almost two hours until you were satisfied with your looks and hair, you kept it straightened and put on the lip combo that always made Alex melt at your lips. You took another look in the mirror, twirling around, and suddenly your phone rang with a notification. ‘Going home, is my baby still feeling sick? You want me to buy you something on the way home?’. An immediate smile took hold of you, you walked over to the bed and sat down at the foot of it, replying to the message, ‘I'm feeling better, I think Santa came earlier this year.’
Alex was confused by your message as he got into his car. ‘I'm glad, what do you mean Santa came earlier this year?’ He left his phone charging in the car and started walking home, glancing at his phone from time to time, waiting for a reply, but he didn't receive one.
He arrived home, tired, carrying the presents. The front door creaked in a silence broken only by the melody of the wind against the windows. The tall boy left the presents in the hallway and his shoes, Asian style, and walked towards the bedroom, still wondering. ‘What do you mean Sant-’ He froze when he opened the bedroom door, completely paralysed. His ears turned red, as did his cheeks, for there was his girlfriend sitting on the bed in front of him, wearing a dangerously short dress, its red colour contrasting perfectly with her skin.
Alex swallowed hard, and you couldn't help but smile when you saw how shy you had made him feel in a way. ‘I think you know what I mean,’ you replied to his question. He took a few steps towards you as he took off his jacket, left it on the chest of drawers, and moved closer to you until he was standing in front of you. You looked up, without breaking eye contact, ‘Any wishes you want Santa to fulfil?’ you asked, with a smirk, and he was mesmerised by your submissive gaze beneath him.
‘I think it's obvious that you can,’ his hand caressed your cheek, making you rest your head on it. After an intense search for the perfect gifts for every child in the family, he couldn't have wished for anything better because even though he loved you madly, he didn't feel like going home and continuing to make soup for his sick girlfriend. ‘Your wish is my command,’ you said, closing your eyes for a few seconds as you grew fond of that thumb caressing your cheek. ‘Let me fuck you,’ Alex replied, without any remorse or shyness. Your smile was immediate; it was clear that this was the Christmas miracle you wanted the boy to ask for most.
You lifted your face from the Thai boy's hand and spread your legs. He leaned back, just to get a better view of the scene. His mouth open when he saw that you weren't wearing even a single piece of lingerie, that you were completely naked under those red latex and white lace fabrics. ‘Ugh, may this Santa come again next year,’ said Alex with a justified smile, going straight for your body, as if time had suddenly run out. He grabbed your waist with more force than usual, pulling you effortlessly onto the bed to climb on top of you. These were the moments when you realised he was an elite athlete, as his body blocked all the light in the room because of his size, until his head lowered towards your neck. You looked to the side, giving him more canvas to paint, as he was filling every inch of the neck skin with hickeys and bites. His nimble hand quickly slipped into your tight skirt, sliding up your inner thigh until it reached your intimacy. Four of his fingers rested on your mons pubis and his thumb masturbated your clitoris with speed and precision, causing your whimpers to become louder.
‘Alex… You're so good at this…’ you said with a smile of pleasure, your hands gripping the cushion under your head, while Alex's free hand slipped between your back and the mattress to unzip your top all the way down. Once the fabric was out of the way, those lips continued their work on one of your breasts, while the other was squeezed by his hand.
He didn't stop until you were completely wet under his touch, because the boy was really good at petting, he was the best you knew, and to be honest, he was the best you knew in every aspect of a boyfriend. ‘So wet for me, can my wish come true now?’ he asked, suddenly gently, looking up at you from your chest. Your hand went to his back and you slipped it under his shirt, grabbing it tightly and pulling it towards you, indicating that it was blocking your view. Although, again, his question had not yet been answered, he took off his shirt to please you, left it on the floor and confidently caressed your thighs, which bristled at his touch. You let out a tired sigh and with a small smile at the sight of him without his shirt, you nodded your head, but that wish had to be asked for more delicately. ‘What's the magic word?’ ‘Please, Santa… I was a good boy all year, wasn't I?’ Now your smile was showing your teeth, you threw your head back laughing at his words, laughing at how silly it had made you feel to hear that. ‘Come on, fuck me.’ Alex couldn't help but smile when he saw how much you liked the way he spoke, and he smiled even more when he heard that his wish was coming true.
Without complications, he turned you over, leaving you with your stomach facing the mattress. He unzipped your skirt and threw the other part of the outfit on the floor, leaving your perfect ass exposed for him. In fact, his efforts that day as the real Santa deserved a little more attention. You stuck your ass out, moving it from side to side, tempting him even more. He loved this attitude that always took over your body during sex, so he spanked you, making your ass twitch immediately at his touch. A sharp moan escaped your lips and you moved back and lay down on the bed again. He turned you around again, facing him once more, and again you saw his semi-naked body, before he took off his clothes and revealed his hardness, another spectacle to observe with a wicked smile.
Alex climbed onto the bed, kneeling, spread your legs from side to side, giving him a perfect view. In fact, he turned his head to observe you from all angles like a true psychopath. He climbed on top of your body and kissed one of your breasts before entering you, making you let out a moan that you stifled with your lower lip. He gave you a few seconds to get used to his dick, although it was ironic, you two fucked frequently, but it was simply a habit of courtesy for the lady.
He began to move, back and forth, each thrust leaving you even more excited for more, as he went slowly, enjoying his Christmas miracle. ‘I'm glad Santa is here, here for me, moaning like the whore she is.’ Open-mouthed but still moaning with pleasure, you blurted out a quick ‘You didn't just say that!’ before a groan interrupted your words. Alex couldn't help but smile to your response. Sometimes he felt the urge to give you such nicknames or say such words that left you paralysed for a few seconds. But as we all know, Santa doesn't have a second to stop with so many kids asking for things, and there was your kid, thoroughly enjoying the gift you had brought him and unwrapping it as quickly as any kid would.
He was agile and faster than normal, it seemed that the wetness you had released was making his work exquisitely easier. Your bodies seemed almost as one. Apart from being inside you, his torso was pressed against yours, causing your breasts to move in rhythm with his chest as they were pressed together. His lips sometimes kissed yours, but just enough to let you moan in peace, which was another source of pleasure that the boy fed on. He nibbled your collarbone and neck while his dynamic movements gave you that feeling of orgasm. You grabbed his biceps tightly, accidentally digging your nails into his skin, your high-pitched whimpers making him know about the climax, just like your bodies almost splashing the bed.
‘Santa is definitely coming,’ said Alex when he noticed you grabbing him. Today, every sentence he uttered was spot on. He even smiled at his own cleverness. That rush ended with an orgasm lasting several seconds, which Alex took advantage of to penetrate you more quickly until he came too, but before doing so inside you, he came outside, as he had completely forgotten about the condom in the excitement of the moment. After arching your back, you fell defeated onto the bed, and Alex got off you, let out a small sigh of exhaustion, and went to the bathroom to clean himself up.
Once he was done, he came back to you with a towel, cleaning your wet cunt, put the towel aside and got into bed, tucking you in with him. ‘The best Santa I could ever wish for,’ said the boy with an affectionate smile, laying you on his chest while he stroked your hair and kissed your forehead gently. You looked at him now, your breathing calmer, kissing him softly, to which he responded, hugging your body, which seemed small compared to his.
The night calmed down with snow, following your rhythm, as both the city and you two fell peacefully asleep.
