Random ✨Niki Lauda✨ pictures that I love for no reason
Random ✨Niki Lauda✨ pictures that I love for no reason
im excited for this race weekend but then the reality will hit that the next race wont be until the end of august
Didn't forget about him... This photo was taken in 1992 at Adelaide
Max and Lewis! Everything is close between these two...
Ayrton Senna and Alain Prost, San Marino, 1988
2021 Hungarian GP FP1: Tsunoda crashes into the barriers at Hungaroring
I thought this was Max's car at first and apparently it's coconut water going in and i was like but but you don't likey the coconut?! 😂
𝗟𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝗡𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘀 - 𝗪𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗙𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗮𝗿𝗶 𝗯𝘆 𝗙𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝗢𝗰𝗲𝗮𝗻
𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧
𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙩
𝙒𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙤 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙧
𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧
Send me an idea or a suggestion!
yuki in details.
I've never felt so exposed in my life
This one is a little treat for my Max stans out there... In particular my bestie/beta reader @acollectionofficsandshit 😉
Word Count: 4.3k
Recommended song: “Wicked Games” by The Weeknd
Fucking behind Hormer's back was some kind of sick thrill.
The contract you had signed with Red Bull Racing required two things: for you to be available and on call 24/7 during the season, and for you to maintain absolutely no relationships with the drivers, physical or otherwise.
As Max Verstappen's lead mechanic, you were responsible for every aspect of his car. That meant you spent a considerable amount of time with him outside of race day. It wasn't uncommon for the two of you to be the last at the paddock, discussing tweaks to the suspension or aerodynamics that might shave an extra tenth off lap times.
It was during one of those late nights that you had finally snapped. Max had made eyes at you since you arrived at the track, flirting and hinting at fucking you all night. And from that first time he'd taken you, bent over the rear wing of the Red Bull, you'd been hooked.
It wasn't really anything beyond sex. You didn't mind if it never passed that; it would likely get too messy and lead to you losing your job. The sex was more than enough to slate your lust, and the charged, secret glances in the garage were enough to keep you going between bouts.
Or so you told yourself.
You watch Max from across the garage as he grabs his helmet from the stand, saying something to his assistant before pulling on his balaclava. Air tools whir, prepping the car for day one of preseason testing. It was the first time he'd be in the new car, and you could tell he was thrumming with excitement.
"Ready to go?" A familiar glint shines in Max’s eyes that goes straight through you. Your gaze flicks to Horner, watching the two of you while he spoke to the pit wall engineers.
Keep it professional, dammit.
"We want you to do a mix of high speed and average speed runs," you tell him, voice even. "Five laps out, then back in to remove the sensor grid. Then we'll put you back out on the prototype tire, see what kinds of times you can throw down."
Max nods, sliding his helmet on. Conversation over. Thankfully, because you had no idea how long you could've kept speaking to him without saying something incriminating. You knew without a doubt that he would be tightly wound after a full day in the new car, and you couldn't wait to strip him out of that glorious race suit as soon as you both had a spare second.
Your favorite part of the job was directing Max out of the garage and onto the asphalt. It was simple, the easiest part of your job, but it was a moment that hinged on your judgement and all eyes were on you. Now, you stepped out into the pit lane, glancing up and down it for other cars. You hold up your hand, waiting for the Williams to pass. Max revs impatiently, and you cut him a disapproving glare.
And the look he gives you in return is a direct challenge to your willpower. You could picture the flushed cheeks and shit eating grin beneath the helmet, sweat already beaded on his brow in the dry Bahrain heat, blue eyes full of unsaited lust as he cocks a brow at you.
What are you gonna do about it?
Absolutely nothing. There was nothing you could do, not now, in front of everyone in the garage. He revs the engine again, just to prove that he could.
Horner's voice comes over the comms in your headset. You gonna let him go?
You shake yourself, stepping aside and waving him out. He peels out of the garage in a blur of squealing rubber and navy paint, darting down the pit lane to practice a standing start.
The morning session provides a welcome distraction. You’re too busy pouring over data and directing minor changes on the car to give Max much thought. He laid down the fastest lap in the morning session, a fact that earned you many handshakes and praises.
"Car feels good," Max tells you when the session ends. "Front wing might need a few tweaks but other than that, there's nothing I'm noticing at the moment. You and the team designed an excellent car this year."
You open your mouth to speak but get side tracked watching him slide out of the upper half of his race suit. The white fireproof is stuck to his skin, slick with sweat, making every line of muscle visible. What you wouldn't give to trace those lines with your tongue and have the salt on his skin coating your taste buds.
"Eyes up here," Max murmurs. It takes monumental effort to heed his words, eyes dragging up his body to rest on his face. He gives you a lightning fast smirk, enough to let you know he knew where your mind was but not enough to be suspicious to anyone watching.
"Now?" You whisper, lips barely moving. God, you needed him. The praise he granted you moments earlier would be nothing compared to what would drip from his lips when he was inside you, showing you just what he thought of your work. Max shakes his head.
"I've got to eat and head out for interviews before the afternoon session. You'll have to wait, sweetheart."
The last word is barely more than a breath of wind, lost in the raucous noise of the garage. But you read it on his lips, the endearment sending a shiver up your spine.
"Make sure no one hurts my car, will you?" He nods in the direction of the swarm of mechanics working to implement the changes you directed before the next session.
"Our car," you correct. Your hands curl at your sides, the mental load of keeping your hands off him overwhelming.
Max smirks, enjoying the hold he exerts over you. Your mind is still stuck in a loop as he walks away, replaying the look he gave you at the beginning of the session and the sight of him peeling off the race suit.
The afternoon session was a blur. Max went out for more laps, came in for a practice pit stop, and went right back out. Interviews and team meetings followed the session, occupying Max for a few hours. Thankfully, Horner allowed you to stay at the garage with the mechanics to discuss what they thought of the car. Everyone's input was valuable to you. Any idea that had the potential to make the car more efficient, no matter how insignificant it may seem, needed to be considered.
"So I think moving this bit a quarter inch left might be a little more aero-friendly."
You nod, jotting down the suggestion. "I'll have the engineers run some tests on it. Thanks Marc."
The man smiles before returning to his task. You blow out a breath and check your watch. It was late; very few people were left around the paddock, with Marc being the only one currently in the Red Bull garage.
"You gonna be here awhile yet, chief?" He asks. "I'm about done, but I'm sure you know the lock up procedure."
"I got it," you affirm. "Go get some sleep."
"Thanks," he says sheepishly, quickly packing up his toolbag and heading for the door. You sigh and run a hand through your sweat-damp hair. No matter how many fans you had running in the garage, it wasn't enough to keep the repressive heat at bay.
You would have loved to sneak up to Max's hotel room, where he no doubt was parked on the couch and racing on his Playstation, but responsibility called. There were still pages of data to sort through and you were the only one that could make heads or tails of it.
You'd lost track of time when someone clears their throat behind you. Peeling your eyes from the screen of jumbled numbers and letters, you glance over your shoulder at the intruder.
"You busy?" Max asks, leaning against the doorway, ankles and arms crossed in a way that radiated cool arrogance. He knew how badly he'd been teasing you all day.
"Actually yes," you say, mind still wading through the data he'd torn your focus from. "There's a few things I want to try tomorrow. I've got to run some calcs before-"
"Are you saying you don't have time for me?"
Technically, yes. You didn't have time for a late night booty call. You would already be close to pulling an all nighter, and pausing to fuck, no matter how much of a release it would be, would set you back further.
But there was no way in hell you could say no to him when the mere sight of him sent you into a tailspin.
Reading your mind, Max grins and saunters towards you. Muscle ripples as he puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans, head tipped to the side. Blue eyes simmer beneath the flat brim of his signature cap, the quirk of his brow a mirror of the gesture earlier that morning.
"Take a break, workaholic." He swivels your chair so you're face to face, lips barely an inch apart. "Have some fun."
"You should be sleeping," you retort, voice far more collected than you felt inside.
His gaze undresses you as it trails lazily over you, your toes curling in your boots. "There's other things I'd rather do."
"Like what," you breathe, tucking your hands under your thighs so they don't betray you. This close you could see the tiny flecks of gray in his eyes, the ones that most people wrote off as a trick of the light. You knew better though, having been one of the few people this close to Max Verstappen to confirm that there was indeed some gray in them, no matter the lighting.
"Thanking you for the car you designed for me," he murmurs, cupping your chin and forcing your attention to him. “This is the year I win the championship, I can feel it. And it’s all thanks to you.”
Max nips at your lower lip, a barely there graze of teeth that has you ready to beg for more. “Why don’t you let me thank you properly?”
"I h-have to finish running this scenario," you stammer, the closeness of his bulky frame radiating heat that short circuited your brain. "It's important."
"Let it run while I take you back to the driver's room." His hand slides from the back of the chair over your arm and comes to rest on your denim covered thigh. "Don't make me say please."
You couldn't think beyond the curve of his plush lips and how much you wanted them on you. You could still tell him to fuck off, but trying to go back to the numbers would be fruitless. You wouldn't be able to give an ounce of attention to anything until you had him between your legs, fucking you senseless with his fingers or his tongue or his cock- anything to ease the ache.
"Okay." Max tilts his head and your eyes slide shut in anticipation.
"What do I press?"
Your eyelids flutter open and it takes you a moment to realize he is referring to the program on the computer behind you. You glance over your shoulder and point to the lower corner of the screen.
"Run scenario twelve," you tell him, focused on the cage his arms form around you as he leans forward to follow your instructions. The clicking of the mouse echoes in your ears, the only sound aside from your ragged breathing. His collarbone peeks out of his shirt, tantalizingly close to your mouth.
Max had barely touched you and he already had you bending like a sapling in the wind.
"Running." You lean forward, chasing him as he steps back and officially admitting how much you want him. "Driver's room. Now."
It's an order you cannot dispute. Acutely aware of his eyes on you, you stand and step off the platform. He jerks his chin towards the hall and you only blink slowly at him, the slight setback your retaliation for earlier today.
“Don’t make me wait.”
“I think it’s deserved after your antics this morning." You set off down the hall, footsteps reverberating in the empty corridor.
Like he didn't know. You glare at him over your shoulder, not letting him get away with playing dumb. It sets him off, a shadow crossing his face as he grabs your arm and forces you to stop.
"You know what I mean," you say, retreating a step as he crowds you into an alcove. The heat budding within you is echoed in Max's eyes, drowning out everything else. You didn't care if you got caught, not when he invades your personal space and his hard length presses against your thigh. He could tell you to get on your knees and suck him off right there and you would.
"You know how this works. I torture you by questioning your authority, you torture me by existing. It's our thing."
"Is it?" You breathe, focusing more on the way his lips move than the words coming out of them. "I thought our thing was fucking." You yelp when the door opens backwards, Max's hand on your waist the only thing keeping you upright as you stumble.
"You" -he flicks the lock on the door- "are right."
Being in a cramped supply closet did nothing to hamper the lust rising within you. Max had teased you for hours, used his Dutch charm to seduce you and reduce your resolve to ash.
Max catches your wrist before you can unbutton his jeans. His dangerous smirk turns your insides to liquid. "I'm supposed to be thanking you, not the other way around."
Max's lips finally, finally meet yours, tongues clashing. You moan into his mouth and are rewarded by his hand dipping beneath your shirt, palming your breast over your bra. "Couldn't have asked for a better car," he mumbles as his lips burn like wildfire along your jaw.
"Could have Hamilton's Merc-"
His hand snaps up to cover your mouth. "Do you really think I want to hear another man's name on your tongue right now?"
You smirk beneath his hand. No, he didn't, but you said it anyway because it would piss him off. Your tongue flicks over his hand, a request to speak.
"I don't think you deserve it after that," Max growls, sinking two fingers into your mouth. Your eyes slide shut as you hollow your cheeks around them, sliding your tongue over the pads of his index and middle fingers. You expect him to fall apart at the gesture the way he always does but he remains stoic. "This is about you, not me."
You hum around his fingers, biting lightly in defiance. His thumb swipes under your jaw, a silent order to fall into line. You finally release his fingers and he trails them down your chin and along your sternum, leaving your skin glistening in his wake. Your chest heaves as he pauses between your breasts, letting you contemplate his next move.
"Max," you groan, fingers finding his bicep and digging in.
"I love how you say my name.” A hand snakes under the waistband of your shorts and Max tugs them down as he drops to his knees. "Like I'm the only one that gets to fuck you."
"Y-you are," you gasp out. You hadn't been with anyone else since the first time you'd fucked months ago. There was no need, not when he fulfilled your every desire and then some.
One finger sinks between your folds and your knees buckle. "I'm the only one that gets you this wet? The only one that gets to touch you?"
"Yes," you breathe, scrambling to thread your fingers in his hair. You let out a decidedly unsexy groan when his cap thwarts your plan. Grinning up at you, he rotates it so it's backwards on his head.
"Cap stays on."
"No, off." If this was about thanking you, that meant you got your way for once. You don't give him a chance to protest before plucking it off his head. Tossing it anywhere that resulted in getting a spec of dirt on the pristine orange was out of the question- instead you place the cap on your own head for safekeeping.
Once your fingers find their home in his tawny hair, you grin down at him. "That's more like it." You tug on his hair, urging him to get on with it.
"I'm not sure I enjoy this power shift." The comment is completely at odds with the way he rewards you with a flick of his tongue over your clit, your hips bucking involuntarily at the unexpected stimulus. "But maybe just this once."
HIs bruising grip on your thighs only becomes more intense when he spreads your legs to make way for his face. He buries his tongue in your cunt, feasting on you with the devotion of a holy man seeking forgiveness for his sins. Every flick of his tongue and nip with his teeth sends sparks across your skin, dragging noises from you that would embarrass you if it were anyone else between your legs.
But with Max, it didn’t matter. You both brought out different sides of each other, ones that didn’t care about what was proper or right and focused solely on pleasure. The moans and breathless, begging whispers only served as fuel on the fire.
You steal a glance down at him to find his attention already locked on you, his sea blue eyes dark with more than just the dim light afforded by the single bulb hanging above your head. He pulls back and your hips follow in a bid to maintain the bliss.
“Use your words. Tell me what you want, baby.”
The sheer use of the honorific nearly sends you to your knees. It had been an unspoken rule between the two of you to leave them out of your midnight meetups, neither of you wanting to acknowledge the emotion such words might carry.
The weight of it is still settling over you when Max uncoils to his feet. “If you don’t speak up I’ll walk right out that door and leave you to take care of yourself.”
“I-” He reaches for his cap and you snatch his wrist. His eyes flare and his plump, glistening lips twitch upward. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? You sure?”
You nod, guiding his hand to your breast. “Positive.”
“Why’s that?” His knuckles trail over your stomach, goosebumps rising under the thin polo.
“Because you want me just as much as I want you.”
“That’s awfully confident of you to assume.”
You meaningfully dip your gaze to where his hand had found its way under your shirt. “I think it’s safe to assume. You already know how I wanna be fucked, so why don’t you get on with it? Or are you stalling for other reasons?”
“I’m not stalling,” Max grits out, pinning you to the wall with his hips and driving his point home. “I just wanna hear you tell me what you want.”
“I want you to take what you want. You want to reward me? Make me remember it.”
The words unlock Max’s carefully contained lust, setting him loose. He nearly rips your shirt in his haste to get it off, throwing it aside. His mouth finds your neck as his hands deftly work to undo your bra, tossing it over his shoulder. He palms one of your breasts, rolling the nipple between his forefinger and thumb until it peaks. He does the same to the other before dropping back to his knees.
His baby blues swirl with unchecked hunger when he glances up at you. This time when his tongue finds your clit, you gasp. One hand spreads your lips to give him better access as he laps at your core, the other holds your hip in a bruising grip.
“Max,” you breathe and are rewarded with a hum that reverberates through your core. He nips at your clit, your fingers flying to tangle in his hair. He slips two thick, calloused fingers inside you without warning, the stretch causing you to groan. You never got tired of his fingers, even though you were aching for his cock.
He fucks you lazily with his fingers like you have all the time in the world. His tongue works your clit the entire time, dragging moans and incoherent jumbles of words from you. You grind against him shamelessly, head empty aside from the fact that you need him closer, harder, faster.
“You gave me such a good fucking car,” Max mumbles, just as lost in you as you are in him. “Always such a good girl for me, aren't you? Giving me exactly what I need to be a champion.”
Good girl does you in, sparks igniting behind your eyelids as you cum on his tongue. You have to push him away when his mouth becomes too much, the force of your orgasm leaving you on unsteady legs.
Max rubs himself through his jeans, panting as he stands. “Turn around.”
Your body moves to obey before your mind has caught up, grasping the edge of the shelf of cleaning supplies and sticking your ass out. The metallic sound of a zipper drags a whimper from your throat, the anticipation wearing on you.
“Please Max. Please.”
One calloused hand settles on the small of your back, pushing you farther forward until the metal of the shelf bites your bare skin. The tip of his cock glides across your fluttering hole and you rock back against him.
“Please fuck me.”
Max’s first stroke is heaven. He slams into you, filling you so fucking perfectly that neither of you can stop the moans that drip from your lips. Max sets a slow pace, ignoring your incoherent half sentences asking for more.
“This is my pussy, isn’t it?”
Your nod apparently isn't a sufficient answer. Max’s fingers tangle in your hair and pull you upright until your back is flush to his chest.
His breath is hot on your ear, his hips continuing their languid motions. “What did I tell you about using your words?”
“It’s yours.” Max’s hand slips from your hair to your throat, squeezing just enough for your head to go fuzzy. “Everything is yours, Max, I’m yours.”
Truer words had never been spoken. Somewhere between the endless hours of flirting and fucking Max had silenty stolen bits of your heart until one day you realized he held the majority of it in the palms of his hands. The confession hangs in the air and Max grabs onto it and runs with it.
“I want you up on that podium with me next week.” His grip on your throat becomes possessive, near bruising. “I want everyone to know how thankful I am for what you’ve given me, not just the car but this. You. All of you.”
You cry out when his thumb rubs rough circles on your clit. Max tips your head back enough that his lips can meet yours, tongues sliding together effortlessly in a dance as old as time itself. The kiss holds everything he could never bring himself to say.
I belong to you.
Because as much as you both tried to downplay whatever the hell this was, ignoring the thread shimmering between the two of you was getting harder to ignore with each passing day. Maybe one day you’d be strong enough to acknowledge it.
Today was not that day.
Your walls clenching around his cock is enough to tip Max over the edge, pulling out of you just in time to cum over your back. It takes him a minute to gather himself, only the sounds of your mutual labored breathing filling the cramped closet. When he finally moves, he reaches for the roll of paper towel above your head and helps you clean up.
You each silently collect your discarded clothing, facing away from each other to dress. The aftermath of a fuck always left you physically drained, but today’s romp had drained your emotional coffers as well.
Ayrton Senna during the French Grand Prix of 1986
Ayrton Senna during the French Grand Prix of 1986
ok i’m gonna write temptation but I think i’m going to do two, one in the readers POV one with landos POV, both will have a different ending with different people losing the bet!
greetings from silverstone
Anybody got a link to the footage of Lewis in the press conference/Interview where he talks about the racist abuse he faced after Silverstone?
To all of his fans around the world who are in need of a smile💛