Hiii! Congratulations!🎉
Could I request 2 & 106 with Max Verstappen🥵
Thank you!
2 - "Wait a minute, are you jealous?"
106 - "I'm going to fuck you until you forget that asshole's name,"
Thank you anon!! Angry Max just hits different. And a POV switch? Hope you likey
Warnings: SMUT!!! Jealous/possessive max
Prompt night info and list to request your own ficlet/HCs here!
He'd won.
He won the first-ever race in Miami. He was the F1 world champion. He won nearly every race he finished. He was funny, charming, and sweet when he wanted to be. He thought he was pretty good lucking, tall enough and he was ripped. He had nothing to be insecure about but somehow looking across the packed Miami club to where someone else was talking to you, he couldn't help but feel like the little boy left at the gas station.
Lost, sure, but also bubbling with rage. Boiling, in fact.
Max knew he was the jealous type, but he had no rights over you. You weren't his girlfriend, in fact, you were barely his friend. But that didn't stop the fact that he was seething, his stomach feeling like a ball of snakes as he watched the guy touch your arm. He was too close, far too close. Whispering in your ear, his other hand tucking your hair behind your ear. Max was gripping the beer bottle in his hand so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was vaguely aware of someone speaking in his own ear, another stupid American who didn't understand a thing about the sport.
You laughed, and his stomach dropped through the floor because, shit, what if you really liked this guy? In the dark of the club, with sweaty bodies packed in and multi-coloured lights sweeping the floor, anyone could look hot he reasoned. But still, who were you to be flirting with anyone who looked at you? Well, you, he guessed. Because he knew you belonged to no one.
Max had met you a few months ago. You worked... somewhere in the paddock. He'd been meaning to ask you for a while but the problem was, whenever you were around Max didn't want to do much talking at all. You didn't seem to mind, because every time he saw you it ended up the same way. In his driver's room, against one of the lorries, in the back of his car, he didn't care so long as it was you that he was coming undone over. It was strictly casual, he knew that, no strings attached. You barely knew anything about each other but that didn't stop the fact that he was completely consumed by you.
Especially when you were here, in that stupid little dress and those stupid heels that made your legs look like literal heaven, shaking your hips to the beat of the music. He could have fucked you right there on the dance floor. Except you'd not even looked at him once.
He didn't understand it. Girls at these parties loved guys, especially the drivers themselves. And the winner? He was usually drowning in attention, he had the pick of the bunch if you will. Maybe that was why he was so obsessed with you because you were absolutely not obsessed with him.
The guy's hand landed on your ass, and even at this distance, Max could see him moving closer to you and his fingers closing around the soft flesh. He leant his head down and Max found himself completely and totally fixated on you, begging please god please don't let him kiss you, and the relief when you ducked out at the last second, allowing him access to your neck only. Still, it was enough for Max.
He downed the rest of his beer and cut his way quickly across the dancefloor. He must have had that glower he was constantly being told off about on his face because no one tried to approach him or congratulate him, and it took him less than a song's length to get close to you. Now you were so close he found himself freezing. He didn't know what to do, what if you actually wanted to be with the guy that was wrapping himself around you instead of him?
He was about to turn around and leave you to your night of fun when you spotted him. You held his gaze with confident ease and Max realised that there was no way he could leave you there even if he wanted to. He felt like a deer caught in headlights, his mind slow to catch up with his body. He decided to ignore the guy, which was hard because the little voice in his head that usually made him win races was currently screaming at him to punch him in the face and not stop until he didn't get up.
"Can I have this dance?" He finally managed, and there was a not-so-secret part of him that was thrilled when you immediately dropped the guy, who looked a little disappointed, but very quickly shrugged it off when he saw who Max was, and left the pair of you to it. You wasted no time on getting to work with Max. Your hip-shaking and twisting hands seemed aimless before, except now they were on him. Max's pants were uncomfortably tight within seconds and he could feel his resolve already dissolving right before his eyes. You were an angel, or maybe a sorceress. Because you had him under some kind of spell for sure.
Throwing all caution to the wind Max grabbed your wrist and before the song had finished you were out of the club and walking home. He didn't hesitate to put his jacket on your shoulders. It was a mild night in Miami, but you just looked so damn good in his clothes.
"Who was that?" He couldn't sound light and curious if he tried.
"Why?" He hated that you sounded so light, so unbothered.
"I just want to know," he knew he blew it already. His voice has that textbook sulk.
"Wait a minute, are you jealous?" How had you clocked on so easily? Was he that transparent around you? Your eyes were sparkling, the smile tugging at your lips teasing him, begging him to come closer to you. Max gritted his teeth. Admitting his feelings was hard enough on a good day, but now? A little drunk in front of a girl he barely knew? If he didn't think it might just give him the edge on you he would have stayed silent.
"Yes," he forced the word out, and the reward was oh so worth it. Your eyes widened, lips, full and pink and begging to be kissed, puffing out, a silent 'Oh' escaping you. Max was done. He picked up the pace, you falling into his quickstep and he didn't dare look at you or say another word to you until you were inside his hotel.
He took the stairs, three flights. It was stupid and time-wasting, but he couldn't trust himself in the lift with you. He'd fuck you against the mirror without a second thought for the CCTV cameras.
He pulled you inside his hotel room, and turned you, pushing you against the wall. Your chest was rising quickly, giving it away that maybe you liked this too. He couldn't wait any longer, his lips crashing onto, the turmoil of emotions he'd been building in the club exploding like a geyser as he pushed them all onto you. And you, Jesus fucking Christ, you.
You were moaning right into his mouth, your tongue battling with his, your hands raking through his hair, pulling harder than you needed to but it felt so damn good. You felt so damn good. It was primal, Max knew that, but he didn't care. He had gone past the point of no return and he needed you now.
"I'm going to fuck you until you forget that asshole's name," he spat, not angry in the slightest with you but the thought of that guy touching you made the rage boil within him once more and before you had time to argue he had your thighs wrapped around his waist and he was thrusting into you with relentless force and fuck it was so good and you were so tight. You were making filthy sounds, his name rolling off your tongue with every thrust. Max couldn't even kiss you because he knew he'd cum the second he did.
The feeling of you contracting around him hard and screaming his name, and his name only was enough. He came so hard he saw stars, and you.
You caught his lips in a sweet kiss and Max knew he didn't have a prayer against you.
