#sebs lovely gaze towards lance

[pitconfirmbutton]

wildflowers and fruits (I) | lance stroll

lance stroll x reader

wc: 4833 words

warnings: controlling relationship (not an f1 driver, made up character), physical abuse (never written but implied), emotional abuse, eating disorder/not eating, smoking, 2 tiny mentions of su*cide (not depicted but implied) everyone is sad, so very sad

wildflowers and fruits (part i)

petals and peaches (part ii)

summer roses and winter strawberries (part iii)

carnations and clementines (part iv)

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“You don’t even love him, Bug, you know that, don’t you?” Seb had always been right, whether it was his knack for details or the wisdom of age, he was never wrong. That was why you had jumped at his offer to mentor you through your first year as a Formula 1 driver, well one of many reasons why. 

You brushed his hand from your shoulder and stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, Seb.” He had figured it out and it scared you but he couldn’t know that. He grabbed your hand, a last-ditch effort to talk some sense into you. “I’ll sponsor you! I will sponsor the team, whatever he pays, I will double it. Just please don’t feel like you have to do this.” He looked up at you, his blonde curls dishevelled from running his hands through them and his eyes wide and pleading, staring straight into your soul. “I love him, Seb” and with that you pulled your hand from his, leaving your driver’s room for the garage.

---

Lance watched as you made your way into the engineering room, apologising for your tardiness, as you quickly took your seat and put your headset on. You didn’t look up, you didn’t turn to him and smile. Lance frowned, the weather in Singapore was unbearably hot, his Aston Martin t-shirt and shorts bringing him, not nearly as much reprieve as he wished. But in comparison to you, he felt cold, your body covered by an Aston Martin hoodie and leggings. He knew why, all the drivers did. Despite his naive and at times spaced-out appearance, he picked up on things, especially when it came to you.

The latest title sponsor for Aston Martin, ‘Securitic’, a large UK-based crypto banking app, was owned by Harry Lyons, a pompous, sharp-dressed British man whose good looks charmed many into thinking he wasn’t a terrible person. But Lance knew. To be fair, even Yuki knew, Oscar too, despite the young drivers being rather wet behind the ears. Lance hated the man keeping his racing team afloat, a phrase never before uttered by a Formula 1 driver. Why? Harry Lyons had trapped his teammate and the love of his life. 

Lance had met you back in Italian Formula 4, you were 14, he was 15 and you were teammates in Prema, coming in 2nd behind him in the championship that year. His dad had nudged him as you walked into the trailer, hinting at him to pick his jaw off the floor. Since then you had both become the best of friends, finally meeting back up as teammates to drive in Aston Martin together. He just never mentioned how deeply in love with you he had fallen.

“How did you find the brake bias change, Lance?” He was pulled from his thoughts, looking up to his engineer, Ben. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it was better than FP1 for sure.” Ben nodded along, scribbling a note on his paper before continuing. Lance’s gaze drifted back to you, shocking himself when he met your eyes, gazing over your laptop at him. He smiled softly and lifted his hand, giving you a small wave. You smiled back but it never reached your eyes, a smile he didn’t recognise.

After an engineering meeting and a PR meeting, Lance was free, leaving the motorhome to be enveloped in the warm Singaporean air, the smell of rubber and oil mixing with the smell of local food and flowers. “Lance!” He turned around to find the voice, seeing Esteban, Pierre and Charles walking through the paddock towards him. “Hey guys, how are you all?” The company was welcome, pulling him from his thoughts. “Good mate! The car is actually looking good for us” Esteban explained, Pierre nodding along in agreeance. Before Lance could ask Charles about his day too, he watched the Monégasque roll his eyes, tracking something across the paddock. “What a wanker!” Lando had slotted himself in between Charles and Pierre, also distracted by the sight in front of him. Lance turned around, heart sinking as he watched you walk beside Harry towards the paddock exit. 

As Lance watched, he noticed your body language, your jaw tightly set, shoulders rigid and eyes wide, staring down at the ground. You appeared to be holding hands but on second glance, your fingers were splayed, your hand being crushed by Harry’s possessive grip. Lance saw red, taking a step forward to instinctively protect you before Esteban’s hand found his shoulder. “Not in the middle of the paddock, mate. Not now.” He was right. As Lance turned around he saw numerous reporters, all live on camera. As much as Lance dreamed of breaking Harry’s nose to the left, it wasn’t the best decision for your career or his for that matter. He looked back at you, making eye contact for the second time today as you walked past, your eyes quickly falling back to the floor. Lance’s eyes then settled on the devil’s. Harry simply looked Lance up and down, smirking at him, before turning you to him and kissing your lips harshly. Lance looked away, feeling sick to his stomach. “Can we please just go?” Lance’s voice was meek and the group was quick to rally around him. As they walked to the exit, they chatted about their plans for the weekend, the FIA sponsor gala and the sick feeling they all had watching you with Harry was seemingly avoided within the conversation.

---

It was 2 am and tomorrow was FP3 and qualifying and that meant you should have been asleep 5 hours ago but here you were, wide awake. This was how most nights went for you now, Harry taking you back to the hotel suite or his Monaco penthouse, either having sex with you or screaming at you through a locked bathroom door and then you inevitably up, unable to sleep as he lay there peacefully. It had gone on for just over 3 months now, ever since he had pulled you into a dark meeting room at the Silverstone HQ and explained everything he wanted. You could still hear his voice in your head. 

“I have been watching you for a while darling and I know how much you value Stroll Junior, so, if you want him to have a race seat for next year, I recommend you listen rather closely. I also recommend that you don’t tell anyone about this little arrangement, otherwise, you and little Stroll may both be seatless for next year. I wouldn’t doubt it, sweetheart, Lawrence and I go an awful way back, that is the reason why he gave me such a good contract, which stipulates that I even have control over the future Aston Martin lineup.”

You shivered, the memory making you feel cold as you sat by the hotel pool, cigarette perched between your fingers as you lamented your situation. It was a bad habit, especially for a professional athlete but it seemed to be the only control you had these days, between your strict F1 schedule and Harry’s restriction on anything that brought you joy, you justified the cigarette. You also allowed yourself the luxury of a tank top and shorts in the warm weather, the only light cast over your ever-thinning body and the purple marks that littered it was coming from the entrance hall to the pool area, at least 20 metres away. 

You took a long drag and looked out over the city, wishing at that moment that you could be anyone else. An F1 fan barely able to sleep from the excitement of the impending race, a child in a soft slumber, a night shift worker, slaving away to make less money in a year than I made off one race. You would trade roles in a heartbeat, just to be away from Harry. 

Footsteps broke you from your thoughts and you froze in place, a default response after these last few months. From the dark garden bed in the corner you were perched on, you squinted to see who had joined you in your melancholy. Lance. Of course, it was Lance. Your heart ached to look at him, his hair was as boofy as the day you met and you had to stop yourself from chuckling at the way he dragged his slipper-clad feet over the pool tiles, a comforting shuffle noise echoing out. The sound brought you back to beach holidays together, the sound of flip-flops on a boardwalk and the feeling of the sun on your neck and of snowed-in days in Canada, slippers on a wood cabin floor as yourself, Lance, Chloe, Scotty and Jack the dog made pancakes and played Monopoly together.

But none of that happiness existed anymore and those memories felt like they belonged to someone else. In a way they did because you were here looking at the pool wondering which poor staff member would find you at the bottom and Lance was over there, crying enough tears to fill it up all over again. He was crying. Why? Your heart sank further and the guilt you felt inside was enough to make you want to throw up the one apple you’d eaten yesterday. As you peeked further around the monstera shielding you from view, your foot slipped, garden pebbles tumbling onto the pool tiles below. 

“Who’s there?” Lance called out into the darkness, wiping his eyes quickly and standing up. You were speechless. You hadn’t uttered more than a ‘hello’, ‘good luck’ or ‘see you around’ in 3 and a half months and you didn’t know what you would say if he found you. “I didn’t know the Ritz-Carlton had a pool boy ghost?” Lance chuckled to himself as he made his way over cautiously. It was good to know his awkward humour hadn’t left since you last talked. There was probably no avoiding this, so here goes nothing. As you stood up and emerged from behind the plants, Lance stopped dead in his tracks, mouth hanging open. Except it wasn’t like when you caught him staring at you in that god-awful bright blue Sherri Hill prom dress at the 2014 FIA gala, this time he wasn’t in awe, he was horrified.

“Hey, Lance.” You stood there in a spaghetti strap tank, Italian national team soccer shorts and no shoes, hair pulled back into a ponytail, exposing your ever-fading cheeks, cigarette still smoking in your right hand. His eyes dragged down your body in the same way you imagined it would look to drag your hand over sandpaper, his mouth in a thin line, trying to hold back how terrorised he was seeing you this way. One on your left wrist, three on your upper right arm, more than he could count across your shins and knees, one on the left-hand side of your abdomen and as he brought his eyes to yours, he gasped. One growing darker by the minute right around your left eye. You suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, remembering why you had only given yourself a reprieve from the heat under the blanket of darkness.

“I-I should probably go, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You quickly snubbed your cigarette, chuckling it into the bin before starting to walk back to the hallway, brushing past Lance along the way. “Hey, no, wait, we um, we haven’t talked in so long, buttercup. I am really worried about you.” His eyes carried so much love that you considered throwing yourself into his arms again, knowing he would do anything to keep you safe, but in turn, ruining his career and that is all you were worried about.

“I’ve just been busy, I’m fi-” How were you supposed to stand here looking the way you were and tell him you’re fine? You didn’t have the strength to tell him everything and you knew that if you stayed here much longer, Harry might wake up and come looking for you and that would be the end of both of your careers. You tried to think of what to say but Lance got there first.

“Does Seb know?” You shook your head. The man wasn’t dumb if anything quite the opposite and you suspected he knew. Hanna had even talked to you a few times about your relationship and you suspect it was because they were both worried. Your parents were out of the picture, meaning that the Vettels had been the closest thing you had to a mum and dad. You suspected Harry had also picked up on your lack of familial ties too.

“Did I do anything wrong, Petal?” His eyes were glassy again and you wondered if when he had been crying earlier, he had been crying about you. You again wanted to fling yourself into his arms and give him the world, the emotions resulting in you letting your guide down for a second. “You could never do anything wrong, Lanny.” The nickname tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop it and it tasted of home-cooked pasta, overpriced beach ice cream and red-wine-tainted kisses. Before you let him answer you continued. “You did nothing wrong, this is all me, please just don’t worry about me. I’ve got you, ok? You are going to be ok. I will see you tomorrow.” And before Lance could process what that meant, you had slipped past him, back to your hotel room to hop under the sheets and lie as still as possible so as not to wake Harry.

---

You were surprised you had even finished the race at all, let alone ended up in P4. It was the kind of race in which you hoped you would DNF, engine overheat, electric issue, or plough head-first into the wall - all were options that crossed your mind during the 61 laps. Lance had gotten P3 and your heart swelled with pride for him. The mechanics tapped you on the back and pulled you along to the podium to watch. You hadn’t seen Lance up there on those steps in 3 months, despite him scoring numerous 2nd and 3rd place victories. ‘Go and stand under his podium and clap all you want, just don’t come crying to me when the world calls you a gold-digging whore, dear’. It was enough for you to not go anymore. That and the look in Harry’s eyes when he said it. There was no compromising on this. But when you watched the podium celebrations back, always in the early hours of the morning with a cigarette in hand, on a balcony, roof-top or terrace somewhere, you never missed the way his eyes scanned the team, hoping to catch you down there, smiling up at him.

This time you would get to do that, although you were suspicious about how you had made it to the podium celebration without a firm grip pulling you away. When you turned back around, looking through the team, you saw him, linen suit pressed and arms folded. He didn’t scowl at you this time, instead raising an eyebrow at you and cocking his head. Your blood ran cold. His unpredictability scared you the most. What was he planning?

You quickly whipped your head back to the podium, clapping softly as the team cheered and screamed for Lance as he made his way to the 3rd place step. His eyes caught yours as he skimmed the team, glancing past you before backtracking to make sure you were real and not a dehydration-induced mirage. He smiled brightly and waved. In that moment, riding the high of the podium he believed that last night had fixed everything, that you had gone back to your room and dumped Harry, gotten a night of good sleep, eaten breakfast, and covered your black eye in makeup while singing along to The Beach Boys as you used to every morning. He let himself believe that you were coming back to him and in that moment you let yourself also go along with that crazy thought. The idea that Harry had maybe let you go to the podium celebration because he was done with you because he wanted to break up and free you.

He had come back to the garage, drenched in champagne, smile wide and toothy. He couldn’t take a step without being congratulated again. ‘Thanks, man’, ‘I appreciate it, bro’, ‘couldn’t have done it without you’. They were sincere, every word but he was on a mission. Mid-conversation and trying to track down your body within the garage.

“Lance! Well done, an amazing drive, truly fantastic defending from Charles there at the end.” Seb was your mentor but that didn’t stop him from showing his ex-teammate some love when he did well. “Thanks, hey have you seen her?” Lance’s eyes were still darting around as Seb held his shoulders, having pulled back from a quick hug. “Already left, gone to go and get pretty for tonight, I suspect.” Lance had just gotten a trophy and yet he couldn’t control the way his face dropped at you having already left, without congratulating him first. “She’s already pretty” was all he could mumble out. Seb patted his shoulder and nodded, his smile tight-lipped, acknowledging the hurt in the young Aston Martin driver's voice. “I agree, Lance, I agree,” he said contemplatively.

---

Boss had provided Lance with a deep green suit for tonight’s FIA Sponsor's gala at Marina Bay Sands, along with a pair of black, shiny loafers. He thanked the universe that the material was light as he placed his jacket on before slipping out of his room to meet Mick and Esteban in the hotel bar for a drink before they left for the event. On the elevator ride down, he let himself imagine what you might be wearing tonight and let his cheeks darken at the thought of the dresses he had seen you in for galas and events over the years, standing out like a daisy growing in a patch of grass. His heart sank once again as he thought about how you were probably trying to cover bruises, doing a 360 spin in front of the mirror. Not to admire yourself but to ensure no one would find out the truth.

Mick and Esteban waved at him from the bar, sliding a gin and tonic over to him as he took a seat with them. “Looking very dashing, mate.” Esteban gave him an eyebrow raise and two thumbs up, Mick laughing along at his antics. A ‘thanks’ was all Lance had replied with before grabbing his drink and downing ¾ of it, not noticing the way the his friends looked at each other in worry. 

“You know you can always talk to us right, Lance? I speak for both of us when I say that it is awful seeing you so down the last few months.” Mick grabbed his shoulder firmly but the grip provided Lance with some comfort, enough comfort to tell his two friends just how sad he really was, and more importantly, why.

“Wait, so you had started seeing each other in private… and she left you for Harry?” Mick had a quizzical look on his face, trying to determine whether he had gotten the timeline correct. Lance nodded, taking a small sip of the remaining ¼ of his G&T. “That is really not like her, is it?” Esteban followed up with. Lance nodded again. “Oh! Oh… Oh ok, I put it together.” Esteban said, composing himself as he realised what answer he had stumbled upon. “What?” Mick was slightly confused, still trying to work out why one of the sweetest, most loyal people he knew left Lance for Harry. “Mate, I know you aren’t blind, surely you see the awful way he treats her, I suspect… obviously I don’t know but I think he might be forcing her hand a bit.” Esteban chose his words carefully, glancing at Lance occasionally as he informed Mick of his hypothesis. “I had my suspicions but I guess I just wanted to live in denial for a while.” The boys sat quietly for a few minutes, all deep in thought regarding the unearthed information.

“Wait, how long had you two been seeing each other?” It was like Esteban to have an unnecessary follow-up question. “2 months, no one knew though, I don’t think even Harry does. I mean… I am well aware that he knows I am head over heels for her, he takes every opportunity to remind me that I lost but he doesn’t seem to know we were seeing each other.” The group hummed in contemplation once again.

“I think we should talk to Seb about this. I trust his advice and he always has good ideas.” Lance nodded, standing up from the bar before heading to the venue with the others.

When he entered, he was congratulated some more, by everyone except the person that mattered most, you. He spotted you over to the side, chatting with Securitic higher-ups and just like had happened all those years ago, his jaw hit the floor. You were in a long sleeve, floor-length dress, emerald green but overlaid with intricate floral lace, orange, red, pink and yellow flowers standing out. Your hair fell around your face and your lips had the faintest hint of sparkle and for a second Lance let himself wonder if they tasted like strawberry, just like they had that night under the dim lights of your villa’s balcony in Spain. And just like all those years ago, he felt an elbow nudge his side. He turned his head, looking over at his father.

“I always thought that you two would end up together. A woman as sweet and fierce as her, she always had you wrapped around her finger. I never saw her with a guy like Harry, so brash and inauthentic.” Lance scrunched his eyebrows at his father’s comment, he had never heard him speak ill of Harry, even for a second, so the comment caught him off-guard. “What do you mean, Dad?” Lance knew he was just snooping now, but he had the tiniest speck of hope. His father was a kind and family-oriented man but Lawrence Stroll, the businessman, got rid of people the second they couldn’t continue his vision, and god he hoped Harry was in that category. “Let’s just say a lot is happening behind closed doors right now that I can’t discuss but… he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

Mick and Seb had tucked themselves inconspicuously away from the bustle of crowds and conversations and were chatting about hiking trips before Mick blurted out his question. “What do you do if you think a friend is in a relationship she can’t escape?” Mick cringed internally at the execution of his question but he knew he had to rip it off like a bandaid, so to speak. “It sure doesn’t help when that someone she is with is a multi-billion dollar sponsor” Seb muttered, more to himself than Mick, but regardless, the young German was shocked to hear what Seb had said. He knew too. “You know?” “I have had my suspicions for a long time. Only so many bruises you can get from training before I don’t believe you anymore.” Mick knew Seb was trying to keep it light-hearted and when he looked into the older man's eyes, he could see the tears forming. 

It pained Seb as much as it pained your grid mates. You were incredibly close with Mick, having weaselled your way into his introverted heart when you had mentioned never having a dog before politely asking if you could come on a walk with Angie sometime. You were so simple, yet so complex at the same time, you and Mick had never run out of things to talk about. You were the bright sunshine and he was the glowing moon, complete opposites that just work. Just worked, past tense. Like Lance, he hadn’t gotten more than a hello since Harry came along.

Esteban, Mick, Lance, Charles, Lando and Pierre had made an impromptu circle to discuss the race together, laughing at Lando’s misfortune in losing his front wing six seconds into the race. Lance had finally gotten you out of his mind for the first time today before the clinking of a wine glass was heard and all the boys looked up to see Harry standing next to you. Lance’s heart sank. Charles placed his hand on Lance’s shoulder, a physical and emotional support. Lance had never confessed his crush for you to any of the other drivers, excluding Esteban and Mick an hour ago, but they all knew, especially Charles who had noticed long before you all made it to Formula 1. 

“Hey everyone, I just wanted to start off by saying a big thank you to the FIA for hosting us tonight at this amazing gala.” Eye roll, from all six men standing together. “As I am sure you all know, I have been with a very special woman now for a while. She drives a Formula 1 car and she is drop-dead gorgeous, what more could you want right?” While Harry chuckled, eliciting a laugh from the douchebag CEOs at the event, Lance’s fists balled tighter and tighter, hearing the words that dripped from his mouth, so insincere, so misogynistic. He looked across at you, a well-trained PR smile on your face. To anyone who didn’t know you, it looked genuine. But it wasn’t your happy smile. It wasn’t the smile you had when he had won you a Pikachu plushie at the arcade or the smile on your face when you got offered an F1 seat with your best friend and it wasn’t the smile on your face when Chloe and Scotty had told you that their daughter’s name was Daisy, your middle name. You weren’t happy right now, you were feigning happiness to survive. Building all your walls up to stay safe. 

“Well, honey, I have only one question for you…” Pierre gasped and looked at the rest of his friends, trying to see if he was reading the situation correctly. Lando hadn’t got there yet but everyone else had. Lance was in a state of shock, feeling only Charles’ hand rub his shoulder and his heart break into a million pieces. Seb had grabbed Hanna, not out of joy or surprise but out of horror and shock, holding tightly to his rock in order to process the terrible event. He was about to propose to you… in front of your friends, bosses, rivals and sponsors because he knew you couldn’t say no in front of people.

“Will you marry me?” And with that, Harry got down on one knee in front of you. You had been focusing so hard on smiling and not crying that you had taken a second to even process that he was in front of you, on one knee with a little velvet box and the flashiest and most kitsch ring you had ever seen. You knew he didn’t know you at all, he didn’t even know your favourite colour, but this ring couldn’t be more unlike you if he tried. If anything, it looked like he was proposing to himself with how outlandish it was. You broke yourself away from the thought to look at the crowd, your PR smile still sitting perfectly on your strawberry-scented lips, a taste Harry said he couldn’t stand. 

There he was, the man you thought and had always wished would be down on one knee for you, asking you to be his wife. Except he was standing in between your friends, all with shocked and scared expressions on their faces. While everyone else was politely clapping or cheering for you and Harry, they, along with Seb and Hanna looked distraught. You looked back to your teammate, realising you only had a few more seconds before you would be forced to answer and you wanted to spend every single one of them staring at Lance Stroll, the love of your life, your best friend. You tried to send him an ‘I’m sorry’ message with your eyes but it felt helpless.

Time was up and you looked back down at Harry, his jaw was stiff and his eyes daring you to say no. You were well and truly trapped and you had no way out.

“Yes. I will marry you.” With that, everyone cheered and clapped, except your loved ones. As you placed your chin on Harry’s shoulder, embracing him, you watched Lance wipe away his tears before turning around to walk off, Charles and Mick chasing after him. Lando stood there, his mouth wide while Esteban and Pierre shook their heads sadly before trying to coax Lando out of shock. You couldn’t see Seb and Hanna but you knew they were here and you knew they would be disappointed. 

You just hoped that one day you could apologise for all of this.

____________________________________________________

Don't worry y'all, part 2 will be coming very soon. Thanks for letting me vent in the form of lance stroll angst at 2am. Love you all <3

#lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll x you #lance stroll angst #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic

[silversainz]

Regretful actions

Lance stroll x reader

warnings: smut, choking, some praise, bathroom sex, some dom!lance, fingering. crappy ending. some light errors. was requested but I accidentally deleted the ask sorry!

"so what did you do this time hum" you chuckled at Sebastian's words and raised your eyebrows at him putting your hands up in defense.

"didn't do anything. why do you ask?" you innocently asked him while sipping on your drink. Sebastian shook his head at you and took a seat beside you.

"because Lance looks like he's about to kill someone." he pointed towards him, who was staying at the bar, drink in hand jaw tight and knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping onto his glasses while narrowing his eyes at you from across the room where you sat at with Seb.

"well y'know, he did invite me here and choose to ignore me all night. So I maybe did a little something" you smirked while shrugging your shoulders acting like you did purposely tease Lance earlier by rubbing your hand over his hard-on while whispering words in his ear about what you wanted him to do to you, then walked away while swinging your hips.

"such a troublemaker I swear" Sebastian chuckled before getting up from his seat, while pulling you in for a quick hug before walking away shaking his head

you only laughed and got up from your seat walking over to the bar where Lance stood at.

"you okay Lance" you asked once you walked up to the bar and sat down beside him, watching as he looked down at you, jaw clenched and eyes so dark that you couldn't tell what laid behind them.

"shut up" he spat out placing his drink on the counter facing the wall in front of him.

you teasingly placed your hand on his shoulder rubbing all the way down to his biceps massaging them while biting your lip holding in a giggle. "do you have any idea what you've caused me tonight" the giggle you held in came out at his dramatic words.

"what absolutely nothing love" he slowly turned his head towards you, hand slowly coming up to rest on your collarbones his fingers gazing over your neck while his thumb tugged on your bottom lip. he lowered his head down towards your ear, giving you a gentle kiss to the cheek before moving your hair out the way to whisper in your ear.

"oh but you did. couldn't chat properly with my friends, without thinking about bringing you to the bathroom and fucking you, until you're crying for me to stop"

You swallowed harshly while looking around making sure nobody was listening or paying attention to the both of you. Lance saw that and chuckled while dropping his hand from your neck leaning away from you, and repicking up his drink whole taking a seat, but still facing you with his dark narrowing eyes.

"you look great tonight" he casually said eyeing you up and down, watching as you slowly fell under his stare and became a blushing mess. he placed his hand on your thigh drawing it up towards the hem of your dress.

you didn't say anything only watched his hand getting higher and higher up your thigh, getting nervous and already regretting your little stuns you pulled earlier.

"what's wrong. why you so silence now, darling?" You looked up at him, to see him still looking at you head crooked to the side and a smirk pulling at his lips, watching as you fell apart under his touch.

"you were all talk earlier about what you wanted me to do to you. but now, you're all silence. what happened" you nearly whined at his words, the big act from earlier dropping at each word he spoke. he chuckled softly and pulled your chair closer to him, so you're almost in-between his legs. he ran his hand over your jaw while pulling you in for a quick kiss before dropping his hand and getting up from his seat, holding out his hand for you to grab.

"gonna show you what happens to someone when they try to tease someone who could easily make them fall apart" you nervously grabbed onto his hand and let him lead you to the way towards the bathrooms.

as soon as you both got into the bathroom Lance had you up against the wall before you could even get a word out. you moaned into the kiss, Lance taking this as his opportunity and sipped his tongue into your mouth fighting for dominance to which he won as you easily let him take control.

Lance slide his hand down in-between your legs spreading them apart as he pushed your panties to the side before pushing in two fingers without warning causing you to moan out and throw your head back against the wall, breaking the kiss.

"already so wet. fucking pathetic" you whimpered at his words, getting lost in pleasure. you felt him wrap his hand around your neck, pulling you against him and crashing his lips back on yours. he dropped his hand from your dripping core and picked up your leg wrapping it around his waist grinding his body against yours, making you break the kiss again while little moans fell from your lips.

"Lance please" you cried out the pleasure getting to you, but not exactly what you wanted. his grip tightened around your neck making your eyes roll back.

"please what, huh. say it" he demanded, his hand teasingly messing with your clit waiting for you to answer him.

"f-fuck m-me please" you managed to get out. he hummed while loosening his hand around your neck.

"no good enough sweetheart, try again" he said while dropping your leg and walking away from you going to lock the door before going over to the sink looking at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair and rolling up his sleeves

you stood there against the wall, legs going weak and so desperately needing his touch to fulfill the aching feeling in-between your legs.

"Lance please, please fuck me" you tried, but he still didn't move for the mirror.

"Lance please" you begged again, tears starting to beam the corner of your eyes from frustration.

Lance chuckled darkly, before walking over to your figure, picking you up and slamming you up against the wall, wrapping your leg around his waist.

"good enough sweetheart" he said before pushing your panties to the side again and thrusted his fingers in your core, causing you to moan out loud while throwing your head back against the wall.

he smirked to himself, before wrapping his hand around your neck tightly and leaned down to your ear, "gonna make you regret your little actions you pulled tonight"

#lance stroll #lance stroll smut #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll x you #lance stroll fanfic #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll oneshot #f1 #f1 smut #formula 1 smut #formula 1

[oliv-fc]

#proudDad moment (x)

#sebs lovely gaze towards lance #AWWW #no points for the bois today but we got this vid instead #I love them sm #keep the content coming amr #sebastian vettel #lance stroll #f1 #my gifs #mine

[luninosity]

Catching up on @evanstanweek posts! (Yesterday was a busy teaching day!)

Here’s day one, for the prompt ‘Dodger’ - soft domestic established-relationship fluff.

Read here on AO3 - 1133 words, no warnings, rated T for now though that may change with additional chapters!

Or read on tumblr, below!

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Chris finishes pouring Sebastian’s coffee, pauses to watch as constellations become visible across the mug given the newfound heat, and grins at stars for a second. He’d bought Seb this mug, a couple months ago, just because he’d seen it and wanted to. Seb adores it.

 Sebastian’s happy. Here. With him. Chris knows that right down to the marrow of his bones, and it lights him up inside.

 He’s happy too. Fuck, he’s happy. Right here in their kitchen, on an afternoon full of bracing chilly winter air and grey drizzle from damp skies. More than he’d ever imagined he could be.

 He’s always wanted a family, a partner, love. He’d said so, laughing, in interviews, even long before meeting Sebastian Stan. He’d always pictured the kind of life, domestic and cozy and romantic, where he could get up early and make the love of his life breakfast in bed, or take someone stargazing, or go for a walk in the woods with a big friendly dog or two bouncing alongside.

 He’s got all that. He’s got all that and more. Just now he’s making coffee—and tea for himself—because Sebastian loves coffee in the same way kittens love sunbeams, and Chris loves seeing those familiar sweet opal-ocean eyes get all warm and pleased.

 That always makes him feel warm too. Right down in his soul, where joy lives.

 He knows Sebastian doesn’t always like gloomy days, darker sunless days. Seb likes rain and storms, because they’re full of motion; Seb likes sunlight and tempting horizons and even whipping wind, a world that’s quick and alive. But the flat dull leaden weather, day after day, gets hard. Restless. Scratchy, under Seb’s skin.

 Right now Chris thinks they’ve got it handled, though. He’s loved Sebastian for years, and he’s learned a few tricks. New books help. So does good sex. And warmth and coziness, feeling soothed and calmed and settled into place.

 He grins at the mug again. He’s left Dodger out in the living room with Seb, being good company and a good anchor. He loves that Sebastian loves his dog, and Dodger loves Seb right back. They got along right from the start: playtime, tummy rubs, laughter, walks together. Sebastian stays with Dodger when Chris has to fulfil some obligations, when Seb’s not busy doing the same; Chris had given him keys to the house early on, before it became their house and not just Chris’s, though that hadn’t taken long either. Sebastian feels right here. Part of this home.

 Chris had come in once after a shower, tired from a long plane flight and a weary drive amid sputtering cloudbursts, and had caught Sebastian flopped down on the floor by the fire, having an earnest conversation with Dodger, nose to nose: you know I love him, Seb had been saying. You know how much he means to me. So we’re gonna take care of him, okay? You and me. We got this.

 Chris, worn thin by hours on a plane and interview anxiety and the tension of driving in rain, had felt the tears well up. He’d stood there in the doorway and put a hand over his mouth, afraid to make a sound; both Seb and Dodger had looked up, and smiled at him.

 Thinking of that, he smiles now; he turns back toward the living room, the sofa, his family and his heart.

 He takes a step or two that way; and then he has to stop, because the sight’s so wonderful, so piercing, that he forgets he’s holding mugs of hot beverages and starts to press a hand to his heart.

 He catches the motion. But his hand quivers to do it anyway: to feel the emotion, to flatten his palm over the wild thump and leap and bonfire glow inside his chest.

 Sebastian’s fallen asleep, settled right where Chris left him moments ago. His book—that new history of women in the space program that Chris’d given him that morning—has fallen onto his chest. His hair’s fluffed up, dark against the blue-striped couch-pillow; his mouth’s a little open. Firelight traces his cheekbones, his chin.

 He’s wearing one of Chris’s long-sleeved shirts and his own sweatpants and striped fuzzy socks, and he’s tucked up in the giant cream-colored knit blanket that Chris had put around him, and he’s got a second blanket in the form of Dodger, who’s draped across him and snuggled under one of Seb’s arms, which has obviously been good for cuddling.

 Dodger lifts his head when Chris takes another small step. His ears perk up, but he doesn’t move. His expression says: I know where I’m needed, I’m keeping him safe and warm and pinned under a nice heavy dog-weight, he’s good at snuggling puppies, and I’m taking excellent care of him for you.

 You are, Chris wants to say. Oh, you are. Oh fuck I love you both—

 He’s afraid if he tries to talk he’ll either start bawling or wake Seb. So he just stands there helplessly gazing at the loves of his life, while his heart cracks and spills over with light, incandescent and shattering and blinding. He’s pretty sure he can’t die from love, but at the moment he just might anyway, because the sight lances right through him and opens him up, pouring out clear profound aching protectiveness and adoration and desire and rightness in rays of crystal.

 When he remembers to breathe he tastes the scents of his own tea, and Sebastian’s coffee: herbal, nutty, full of steam. His hands are warm. The fire crackles and pounces on greyness and shoos it all away: nothing but light and heat left here in this room.

 Sebastian stirs slightly but doesn’t quite wake. His fingers shift in Dodger’s fur, then relax. Dodger sets his head back down atop Seb’s chest, contentedly.

 Chris breathes out, blinks rapidly—his vision’s kind of water-logged—and crosses over to them, as quietly as possible.

 He doesn’t think he’s made a noise, sitting down and putting mugs down, but Seb yawns and stirs again, eyelashes lifting: half-awake and drowsy. He finds Chris to look at immediately, and smiles: sleepy, unguarded, beautiful. “Hey.”

 “Hey, yourself.” Chris tugs Seb’s feet into his own lap, rubbing one gently. With those fuzzy socks, they’re warm; with a Dodger-blanket, Sebastian must be completely warm and weighed down, securely held, all over. “Go back to sleep.”

 “No,” Seb protests lazily. “Coffee. You. Dodger. Nice.” Dodger lets out a happy puppy-huff at the sound of his name, and also at Seb’s hand resuming scratching duties behind his ears.

 “Don’t worry,” Chris tells them both, one hand now kneading Seb’s calf and the other getting back to puppy-petting duties himself, right where they all should be, “I’ll heat your coffee up anytime it gets cold.”

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