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#ferrari movie
henricavyll · 3 months
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Everyone's eye will be on it. Only one team will win. Make sure it's you.
FERRARI (2023) dir. Michael Mann
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kdjulyyy · 8 months
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slay 🤌🏻
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helena-christensen · 5 months
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ADAM DRIVER attends the "Ferrari" Sky Premiere at Odeon Luxe Leicester Square on December 04, 2023 in London, England
📸 Belinda Jiao
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cndcrd · 4 months
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'FERRARI' starring Adam Driver.
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celesztialbody · 6 months
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random headers
like or reblog if you save follow me for more see the pinned
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ladyzimmerman · 7 months
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GUYS, SEND HELP 🚨🚨🚨
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dyaddu · 5 months
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I adore casual Adam 🥰
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mothdruid · 5 months
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Adam Driver presented Michael Mann & Ferrari with the Icon & Creator Tribute for Innovation at Gotham Awards, November 27th, 2023
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loveofaddy · 6 months
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gayspacecowboys · 8 months
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Ferrari teaser dropped and gave us BIG TWIRLING PAPA-
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jbberry7 · 7 months
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He just needs his glasses to complete the tweed look. Sigh!
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adamdrivericons · 7 months
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Ferrari (2023) press conference at the 80th annual Venice International Film Festival, August 31, 2023.
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editfandom · 23 days
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Ferrari, 2023
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bits-and-babs · 1 year
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Hello! Congrats honey on the follower celebration I am so proud of you! I was hoping to request 🗝 with Enzo Ferrari? The aesthetic / inspo being a F1 principal and maybe some adrenaline fuckin?
⋆ 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇
F1Principal!Enzo Ferrari x f!Reader
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word count: 1.2k
warnings: 18+ MDNI. F1 terminology, google translated italian (I’m sorry). Aggressive sex, nipple play, protected (clap) P in V sex, exhibitionism.
summary: Enzo thinks victory tastes far better on your skin.
AD masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist
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It crackled through your bones when you pushed the throttle to the car's floor, the g-force tilting your neck back against its support as you hurtle towards the chequered flag. The fans that screamed for you only saw the blur of crimson chassis speeding down the racing line, your grin disguised by your helmet as you threw a hand up in victory.
Pyrotechnics sparkled in the sky as the commentators roared, declaring your triumph. Mechanics hung from the fencing of the pit lane, thrusting their fists in celebration as they cheered your name.
The Grand Prix of Singapore had been brutal, a wet racetrack acting like a skating rink as $15 million cars slid into the barriers and burst into shards of carbon fibre that threatened to slice your tyres open. Somehow, with sheer grit and determination, you had brought it home, a flood of red uniformed mechanics rushing into pit lane to watch you on the podium.
The champagne stuck to your skin, wetting your race suit through and burning your eyes, but even with the record-breaking crowds cheering your name, you could only focus on one person while standing on the podium.
Enzo stared up at you with an indecipherable expression. His eyes were hard, gazing up at you with an intensity that made your elated heart plummet into the depths of your stomach. Had you fucked up? The car drove fine when you made it to parc ferme- had there been a failure when you turned off the engine?
Stumbling into the Ferrari motorhome after the hours of interviews you were contractually obliged to complete; you swallow your nerves down as you glance around. It’s quiet, the mechanics having rushed to the first bar they could reach to celebrate the win.
You rub your eyes with the backs of your knuckles, still stinging from the sparkling wine that had sprayed into them. You unzip your race suit, revealing your white fireproofs. The champagne had soaked into the fabric that clings to your body, the white material opaque and revealing your red lace bra.
When you open the door to your rest-room, a hand grasps the back of your neck and steers you away from the bed that calls to you; muscles battered from the g-forces of the car. You flinch, letting out a gasp of surprise at the chill of a signet ring pressing into your sweaty skin.
You smell the cologne before you see him, his body behind you as he pushes you towards the Team Principal's office, the prancing horse dancing above the silver plaque on the door. It’s vetiver, heady and expensive. Enzo opens the door, swinging it open again and turning you around to face him.
His eyes are wild, jaw tight as he stares down at you. You’ve never seen him so amped up, a vein springing from the skin on his temple.
“E-Enzo-”
“You-!” he raises his voice, shocking you into silence as he rips your race suit away from where it had hung from your hips. “You look good on a podium.”
His accent is thick, but you’ve never had trouble understanding him until now. Surely he didn’t say that? Your jaw hangs loose as his eyes drag down your body, eyeing the scarlet lace that teases behind the white fireproofs. “Do not make me wait so long for another, Bella.”
Stepping forward, Enzo’s body pushes you back towards his desk as you stumble to get out of his way. The edge of the polished oak desk hits the backs of your thighs, and Enzo’s hand darts out to splay across your chest, shoving you down onto the surface.
“Così fottutamente carina,” Enzo rumbles, his hands tearing at your pants to remove them. You moan softly, hearing the fabric rip before falling around you. He wastes no time, unbuckling his belt with a ‘clink’ and pulling his cock from his pressed slacks.
He doesn’t have to tell you; your hands are already fishing inside an open drawer for the collection of condoms he leaves precariously lying around in his office. There’s a reason he kept it locked when he left. You almost drop the packet when you grasp ahold of you, his mouth wrapping around your nipple, having pushed the soaked material of your fireproofs up to your throat. He sucks on your nipple, groaning as he tastes the champagne that clings to your skin.
The sensation of his tongue against your breast is heightened by the crackling adrenaline that still courses through you, elation dripping from your nerves as the echoes of the Italian anthem still ring in your ears. Your pussy flutters at its emptiness, begging for his attention.
Ripping the foil open, Enzo doesn’t need to remove his lips from you to roll the rubber onto his swollen cock. Instead, he nips at the fullness of your breast, sucking a maroon bruise against the underside of your tit in what had become somewhat of a routine- Enzo’s version of a branding, the bruise and indication that you belonged to him, despite the red suit with the dancing horse on your chest giving a pretty good indication itself.
“Fuck,” he chokes, sinking into you with such ease it makes your eyes roll back. The filling sensation sparks arousal across your skin, goosebumps rising on your skin as Enzo throws his composure out of the motorhome window to drag his tongue across your clavicle and taste the mix of alcohol and sweat. The cold of his pinkie ring bites the backs of your thighs as he practically folds you in half to hit the deepest parts of you when he finally rocks his hips forward into you.
“Enz-oh!” you choke on a cry of his name as he suddenly slams into you, the skin of his hips slapping against the flesh of your ass loudly. His body trembles when you clamp down around him, driving him forward. Teeth sink into your collarbone, causing you to yelp at the pain that blooms there.
With each crash of his hips into your own, the legs of the desk scrape against the floor loudly, adding to the symphony of your wails of his name and the clap of your flesh striking. You have no doubt it’s floating down into the paddock for your neighbours, Mercedes, to hear.
“Enzo, Enzo,” you try to capture his attention, fingers sinking into his silver hair and grasping the strands to drag his mouth from your skin. “They’ll hear-”
“Let them, Bella,” he insists, interrupting your caution. He’s utterly pussy drunk, not thinking about the consequences of his actions when your walls grip his cock just right. “Want them to know you’re mine, Bella Ragazza.”
You sob out at his expression, the way his thumb presses into your swollen, desperate clit. Enzo’s brutalising you, his punishing pace shoving you up the surface of the table so hard he finds himself having to pull you back towards him with a ditsy chuckle.
“Enzo- Enz-ugh-ah-hah- Enzo, fuck. I’m gonn-aha, ah-ah- I’m gonna fu-ughh!”
It was a sprint to the finish line, your wails of pleasure filtering down into the paddock and ultimately into the papers in the morning in a rumour that none of the staff were willing to authenticate.
END
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celesztialbody · 8 months
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Adam Driver icons & headers (2/2)
• like or reblog if you save • follow me for more • see the pinned
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shanghaigp · 6 months
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wow! charles looks different in that second pic!
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