#as he ties the Red Bull wins record

[f1]

FACTS AND STATS: Verstappen on a roll in the States as he ties the Red Bull wins record

The Miami Grand Prix saw a thrilling climax, as Max Verstappen chased down his team mate for a famous win from ninth on the grid. With Fernando Alonso once again finding himself with the two Red Bull drivers on the rostrum, it was a popular podium with the huge crowds. Here are the best facts and stats from a very busy race in Miami… Red Bull finished 1-2 on Sporting Director Jonathan Wheatley’s 56th birthday. Red Bull’s fourth 1-2 finish of the year is only one short of their record in a full season, set in 2022. Verstappen has now won from eight different grid positions since the start of 2022. The Dutchman is the first race winner from ninth on the grid since Niki Lauda at Dijon in 1984. Only five drivers have won from that position in F1 history. READ MORE: Perez concedes Verstappen’s Miami GP victory was ‘well-deserved’ after finishing runner-up Verstappen has tied Sebastian Vettel’s record of 38 wins for Red Bull. This was also Verstappen’s 24th consecutive finish since Melbourne 2022, the longest of anyone on the grid. It was Verstappen’s fourth consecutive win on US soil, having won the last two races in Austin, and last year’s inaugural Miami Grand Prix. Perez’s P2 was his best ever finish on his home continent of North America. Russell finished fourth, to match his best result of the season Fernando Alonso was third, his fourth podium finish in five races. The Spaniard has now scored more podium finishes this season than in his previous seven seasons of F1 combined. George Russell was fourth, which ties his best result of the season. Carlos Sainz is the highest driver in the championship without a podium this year. READ MORE: 'We are very, very far away' – Sainz and Leclerc exasperated by ‘incredibly difficult’ Ferrari SF-23 Lewis Hamilton came home sixth, to match his result from Baku. He gained seven places from his starting position. He also finished sixth at this race last season. Charles Leclerc was seventh, the same position as in Jeddah. He finished in the same position he started. Tsunoda returned to P11, a position he has occupied a fair amount recently Pierre Gasly was eighth, to score points in the US for the first time in his career. That also matches Alpine’s best result of the season – Esteban Ocon having finished eighth in Jeddah. Kevin Magnussen was P10 for the second time this year. Yuki Tsunoda finished 11th, the fourth time in six races he has finished just outside the points. In the other two, he has finished P10. There were no yellow flags, no Safety Cars and no retirements in the Miami Grand Prix. This was the 14th retirement-free F1 race in history, with 10 of those coming from 2015 onwards. HIGHLIGHTS: Watch as Verstappen eclipses team mate Perez to win Miami Grand Prix via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Reconsider

Requested: yes

Prompt: 35) "Can I convince you to stay?"

41) "Do that thing I like"

52) "You looked great out there today"

Warnings: smut, 18+, douchebag Max, teammate x teammate, possessive Max, oral (f!receiving), edging

Christmas Day 7

Y/n smiled as she took her helmet off. P2 in qualifying and it was what she expected to be her last race at Red Bull. While she loved the people there, she wasn't winning and that is quite frankly what she wanted to do. She didn't think she could do that having to play second fiddle to Max Verstappen. When she hopped out of the car, she was met with Lando who congratulated her and joked she should come to McLaren. She laughed along with him until she felt a poke at her shoulder and she knew exactly who it was. She turned to see her teammate with his helmet hair looking as hot as ever and a lazy smile on his lips. "You looked great out there, today. Pity you're not here next season." He said. Y/n smiled back and took her own helmet off. "Yeah, a real shame." She replied and placed her helmet onto the podium table.

Max moved closer and leaned down to her ear. Her heart beat in her chest. "Can I convince you to stay?" Max whispered lowly into her ear. She looked around at all the cameras snapping photos and videos of this moment, yet kept her composure. "Bold move." She replied, still smiling. He looked down to her lips. "I can."

As Y/n went around the media pen, she anticipated finishing up so she could get her convincing to stay by the dutchman. It wasnt the first time they would fuck and it probably wouldn't be the last. Neither of them did this for feelings, it was simply to blow off steam after sessions and it kept them both focused without getting frustrated. The team knew and they didn't care as long as it didn't interfere and it never did. Both drivers did their job, then left for a half hour only to come back as professional as they started the day. Sometimes, they'd even schedule to hook up in between weekends, just because they could and the PR would handle the media speculating about the closeness of the two. Their favourite was when the other would do well in a race or when both would DNF. It was good to celebrate, but it was good to angry fuck too. For today, however, Y/n didn't know which side of Max she would get.

She smiled as her last interview finished and she began walking towards her trailer. Y/n looked around slyly, trying to find where her beloved dutchman was and surely she saw him hanging closely by. She smirked and walked quicker to her driver room, lifting her phone to pretend she was answering a phone call to avoid questions from the fans and paparazzi. Shortly after she closed her door, Max barged in. "New record." Y/n joked. "What can I say? I like breaking records." Max said, walking towards her and almost immediately beginning to kiss her lips hungrily. Y/n unzipped her overall and wrapped it around her waist, her lips not leaving his, both their lips fighting for dominance. That was the problem for her. They fought for dominance both on the track and behind closed doors and that was a dynamic that wouldn't work for her.

"Please stay." Max said, unzipping his overall. Y/n's hand ran down his under armour before her hand lifted it and ran over his toned abs. "Will you let me dominate?" She asked, lingering dangerously close to his lips. "In what way?" He asked. He moved his forehead closer and they ended up touching. "You know what way. I want to beat you." He chuckled and let his own hand drop to her hips and pulled her closer. "And why would I let you?" Y/n turned and looked out the one way glass, before she took her hair tied off and let her hair fall. "Well it's more of a 'you scratch my back, I scratch yours' kind of thing." She explained, moving her hair over to one side, knowing Max was right behind her to begin nipping at her neck and he did just that. She grimaced as her teammate's hands glided up under her fireproof shirt and began caressing her breasts. "You know I can't do that. But I can let you dominate and beat me in my apartment." He whispered. Y/n turned again to look back to him. "That's a pity." She began pushing the driver backwards before he fell back onto the sofa.

Max couldn't comprehend what was happening before Y/n hopped on top of him and began grinding. They both felt his erection growing within seconds. They looked down and grinned. "Are you gonna take care of that?" Max asked, biting his lip and sighing as Y/n lowered her hand cupped the clothed area. "Do that thing I like." Max begged. "You're meant to be convincing me to stay and you want me to pleasure you? I may have to go sign with Mercedes now, I'm afraid." She chuckled. "You're acting like that would change what we're doing." Max replied boldly. "It might not, but I'm sure whoever my teammate is would love to do what you're doing. And maybe they'd do it better-" Max hopped up and lifted her over to the counter and slammed her down with such force, she felt shaken. Max spun her around so she was leaning against the counter before he grabbed her wrists, holding them behind her back and pushing down. "No one would do you better than I do you." He growled. "Prove it." She replied. Max grinned and undid the lower part of his race suit. "You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow, nevermind drive." He tugged at her race suit, chucking down to her ankles and taking his length out and delving into her. She gasped. He didn't give her a chance to adjust to him this time. She was getting angry Max, and that made her smile. His thrusts were deep and hard, just as she liked. He loved the sounds that fell from her mouth. Strings of curses, followed by his name. Heavenly. He let go of her wrists and wrapped his hand around her neck, pulling her back towards him. "Look out there, shcat." He demanded. Y/n looked out at the people walking around the paddock. She even spotted some drivers still doing their interviews.

"You're so loud, I wonder if the media pen knows how good I fuck you yet." He whispered into her ear. "Just keep going." She pleaded. His spare hand spanked her, making her moan in bed pain and please. "Look in your mirror, I want to watch you." He watched as her face contorted with each thrust she took. Her moans grew louder and louder before she crumbled and her knees nearly gave out. Her finger nails dug into the wooden countertop as her mouth fell open. Max leaned closer. "I'm not finished yet." She groaned. "I can't. Fuck me, I-"

He pulled out and pulled her up onto the countertop before dropping to his knees and looked up to her. She looked down to him through hooded eyes. "You wouldn't." She huffed. Max boldly kissed her thighs, inching his way closer and closer to her soaked pussy. "Max, don't tease me." She pleaded. "You wanted convincing, you're getting it." His mouth got to work, making her crumble yet again. Her fingers tangled in his dirty blonde strands of hair, her grip tightening with each swipe of his tongue. He grabbed her thighs and threw them over his shoulders. "Max, Max I'm gonna cum again." She whimpered. Max stopped and looked up at her. "New record." He smirked and stood again, her legs still on his shoulders. He stroked his cock, leaving it at her entrance. "Can you just fuck me?! I don't know what the problem is!"

He pushed in and started a quick pace. Y/n's fingers dropped to her clit, rubbing it to match the rhythm of Max. "Who's my good girl?" He asked. Y/n couldn't speak. She could only hum in response. "I can't hear you, schat." He said, edging her on to answer. "Oh my god, me! I am!" He grinned. "Max, can I cum?" She asked. "Wait for me, schat. You're taking it so well for me." She took her legs off his shoulders and sat up, gripping his shoulders now and kissing him again. She moved her hips to meet his thrusts and in no time, Max began moaning and his thrusts became sloppy. "Can we cum now, Maxie?" She pouted with a strained voice. That was enough for Max to come undone. Her begging and her using his pet name. "Ugh, fuck- yes!" He replied before they both came undone, holding onto eachother. As they rode through their orgasms, they simply kissed before Max pulled out and the pair went to change and get ready to leave the track. "Look, you've been a good teammate." Max said. "Well, yeah. I don't think any other teammate would suck you off in between sessions." Y/n replied. Max smiled and looked back but she wasn't laughing. She was tying her race boots. "Y/n, besides that. I mean this, you've been one of my better teammates." Y/n watched as Max walked towards the door and he looked back. "Just, consider re-signing?" He said, before closing the door and leaving.

A week later, Max scrolled through his phone when he came across an Instagram post.

Y/L/N RE-SIGNS WITH RED BULL FOR 2024 AND BEYOND

Max grinned and opened his messages

Congratulations on resigning. We should meet up to celebrate ; )

[ef-1]

WHERE is the AD18 post you liar 🤕 jk ilysm pls take your time I'm just curious

sorRY I FORGOT OKAY

let me preface this by saying that there really wasn't anything notable about AD18 (Fernando was "retiring" but we knew that for months in advance, Charles was replacing Kimi at Ferrari but we knew that for months in advance, it was Daniel's last race at RB but we also knew that for months in advance etc) most of what I feel about that weekend is probably nostalgia but. It was the ✨️vibe✨️ the vibe was so immaculate. Drivers used to say that the last race of the season feels like the last day of school but 2018 really just captured that sentiment, no one wanted to be there but in the best way possible you know?

Formative event for me personally was Sebastian and Lewis trading helmets. I think what makes #sewis compelling now is how far they've come. But how far they've come also has the added disadvantage of neutering and sanitising what Seb and Lewis were back in the day. I mean 2018 literally started in Aus with Lewis telling Seb he wanted to wipe the smile off his face. At the beginning of 2018 Lewis was a 4 time champion, tied with Seb. Seb said again and again and again that he had a vested interest in Lewis not winning anymore championships, for his sake and for the sake of protecting Michael Schumacher's record. Anyway it was like. WILD and heart-warming and a very big deal

Re: Fernando retiring. So like. At that point, his last race of his career*, Fernando had already shat on McLaren in literally every fucking conceivable way, calling the engine an f2 engine (gp2), when asked about the very expensive updates on his car he replied "feels good. Much slower than before. Amazing". And ofc in AD18 he couldn't leave without one last jab, his race engineer was trying to gas him up to fight for p10 and he's like "you can fight for that 1 point ☝️ Fernando🔥🔥 1 point is on the table💯" to which he replied "👹I HAVE 1 THOUSAND AND 8 HUNDRED POINTS⁉️👹"

Re: re Alonso retiring, they painted him an ugly ass mural (support artists pls but it looked funny) in the driver's meeting room and during the important drivers debrief while Carlos was giving a lecture about safety or something Daniel lost it and Fernando filmed him losing it

nothing will ever go harder than this im afraid + obvi it was the champions sending Fernando off with 🍩 but fate is a fan of aesthetics so Kimi who was supposed to do donuts with them retired from the race (I think it would have thrown off the composition of the photo with 2 red cars so I'm glad)

Lewis offering Seb a Monster and Seb replying "I prefer Red Bull" (<-I Died that day)

During the last Team Principal conference of the year, of course they sat Christian and Cyril next to eachother. And of course they asked him about losing Daniel and the renault engine, to which Christian decided the best way to answer that question is to remind Cyril that while they're both basically the same age, when Christian was the youngest TP in F1, Cyril was working in the kitchen 😭

In conclusion it was chaos and I loved it so much and it will forever hold a v special place in my heart

[sennaverstappen]

ROUND 22/23 ⸺ las vegas grand prix ✩ 19.11.2023

maple's rating: ★★★★ (9.5/10)

☁︎ click read more facts, highlights & experiences ☁︎

✩ facts

red bull today broke mercedes’ single-season record of 19 wins in a year (set in 2016)

max tied sebastian’s 53 career wins, putting him third in the all-time list behind michael's 91 and lewis’ 103

max is the first driver ever to win in the same country three times in a single year after his us victories in miami, austin and now las vegas

max today won what was the 1,100th world championship event

today was charles’ fifth podium finish of 2023 for ferrari

checo lost a place on the final lap for the second consecutive race

it was checo’s first podium since the last red bull one-two at monza seven races ago

esteban took p4 from 16th on the grid – he has only finished higher once this season (third in monaco)

with p6 for ferrari, carlos has leapfrogged lando and fernando in the standings and moved into fourth in the drivers' championship

lewis’ p7 finish for mercedes means he will definitely finish third in the drivers' championship

fernando, who finished in p9, is the only driver who was alive the last time f1 raced in las vegas in 1982

✩ raceweek highlights

max fucking hating this entire premise 💀💀💀💀💀💥💥💥💥

LESTAPPEN GAY IN THE MEDIA PEN. SOMEHOW 💕💕💕💕💕💕👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 WHAT THE SCALLOP

carlos ran over draincover 😨😨😨

THE SPHEREEEE 💗💗💗💗💗

mclaren ass 💔💔💔

traffic 🥹🥹🥹🥹

checo out 😪😪😪 lewis out🤔🤔🤔

LOGAN THROUGH TO Q3 💥💥💥💥💥‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

max almost hitting the wall 😭😭😭

LOGANNNN 🦅

MAX TERRORISM ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

CRASH 🫵🫵🫵

fernando damage 😧😧

yuki up nine places

lando‼️‼️‼️‼️ in the wall 💔💔💔💔

lestappen fucking fighting on the radio 😭😭😭😭

5 second penalty 🤣🫵 ‘send him my regards 💗💕💕💗💕💗’

charles overtaking max‼️‼️‼️

GAX FUCKING CRIME. GEORGE 😒😒😒😒😒😒

checo leadingjdjjajajhsjhsjsi

pierresteban BATTLE‼️‼️‼️‼️👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

MAX LEADING ‼️💗‼️💗‼️💥💥💥

charles mistake -> checo overtake 😭😭😭💀💀💀

1.9 stop!! mclaren!!!

THE LAST CHARLES OVERTAKE 😭😭😭

MAX WINNNSSS 💕💕💕💕💗☀️☀️☀️☀️💌💌💌🌷🌷✨✨✨✨🪽🪽🪽🪽

max singing on the radiojfishsijs 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

THE CAR RIDE. I CANTJFJSJHSJSJSJSJ

✩ maple's diary

[valyrfia]

Funny in retrospect now how many people were convinced RB should keep Checo because it wouldn't matter, Max would win the championship on his own anyway.

RB definitely got a little too comfortable lately and put everything into Max and didn't think a team would ever actually put two top drivers together. And honestly, I don't blame him, we all thought that.

So I bet Christian is panicking a little and scrambling to secure someone next to Max for 2025 now.

Currently, the imminent downfall of Red Bull is my Roman Empire. They may be on a high given Max's record-breaking year, but don't be fooled. It seems like they might've already hit the downforce ceiling on the new regs (meaning they're basically sitting ducks in the aero department waiting for others to catch up), they're losing a bunch of their engineers who worked on these miracle cars to Ferrari, and whether Max fully retires from F1 or not, I don't see him staying at the team past 2028.

Red Bull are fine for now, and will probably win the championships next season if we're being realistic, but the Charles/Lewis/Fred powerhouse at Ferrari is going to start being a very real issue very soon and Red Bull don't really have any star material waiting either in the wings or in the junior series, as opposed to Merc who at least have Kimi Antonelli. Liam Lawson could be a good addition to the main team, but he needs time in a junior team first and Red Bull are likely to be hesitant to make the same mistake they did with Alex Albon. Additionally, Liam Lawson is an excellent driver, but isn't on the same generational talent level as Charles/Max/Lewis, and even if he had a season in Alpha Tauri now, would still be a little too green to try and partner Max Verstappen in Red Bull against Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc.

I think Red Bull's likely long-term plan is to move Daniel up til the end of the new regs, then try and poach either Lando or Oscar from McLaren, or both. I think Oscar would be their first choice and Mark Webber would be a factor to consider in that move (although I don't know enough about the Mark and RBR situation to comment on whether his past with RB would be a help or a hindrance to them trying to get Oscar).

But yeah, in hindsight, this has been why Christian Horner has been so desperate to try and sign Lando, and also why Lando was quickly tied down by McLaren so soon after Charles's contract was announced (@thearchercore has an excellent analysis pointing out why Lando's contract signing and announcement had to be have been rushed once news of Charles's broke), likely someone got wind of this coming and Zak Brown very quickly spotted that this was going to leave teams who have clear n1/n2 line-ups in a dire situation.

TLDR: Red Bull dominates for now but their days are certainly numbered

[fandoms-are-the-answer]

Results of the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix 💙🧡❤️

And what a weekend it was for Max Verstappen!

He clinched his 8th consecutive pole and ties with Ayrton Senna on the record of most consecutive poles in F1 history! Coincidentally at the same weekend the entire paddock is remembering Senna and Ratzenberger.

On Sunday, Max broke another, new record by winning 2 races on one day 🎉

In the morning, his sim racing team Redline won the Nürburgring 24 hours with car #20. Max did his stints for this race from the Red Bull Racing motorhome, taking brakes for his F1 qualifying and the race 😁

Later on Sunday, Max then also won the Imola GP!

He did have to work for this win, since both Mclaren and Ferrari were close on his heels. Lando finished second, only 0,7 seconds behind Max. In third was Charles Leclerc, followed by the secone Mclaren of Piastri and Ferrari teammate Carlos Sainz.

Leclerc became the first Ferrari driver on the podium at the Autodrome Enzo e Dino Ferrari since Michael Schumacher in 2006 at the San Marino GP.

[presdestigatto]

I doubt Charles and Max ever could be friends. Both are too competitive and I feel like Max would stop being too nice to Charles once things doesn’t go his way. I know everyone believes it’s Charles who would hate Max again if they start to fight for Championship again but for me it’s Max, he already showed annoyance toward Charles in those moments.

Hey anon! Thanks for sending something in, but damn, prickly topic. I have some time on my hands now so I’m going to go extra in depth with my thoughts on this

It’s quite difficult to speculate on the future state of their relationship, because we’re dealing with a lot of hypotheticals and we quite literally only know what they decide to show us, publicly. For all we know, they could secretly be besties who text every night. Though, I do agree with you (or what you implied) that they aren’t friends on a personal level right now. Honestly, I think they don’t have much in common beyond racing, if you look at their friends and their passions outside of motorsport. But then again, racing is and has always been a huge part of who they are, it is pretty much the core of who they are right now, and as drivers, Max&Charles are very similar. So outside of racing I don’t think they interact much, but within racing I see their relationship as two people who vibrate on the same wavelength. And that produces, yk, the Maxsplaining and Leclerifying.

As for whether there will be hatred between them if they have a tense title fight, I tend towards not at all, or not to a level that destroys their relationship as friendly colleagues. First, the stakes going into 2024 are simply not equal. If this were Charles and Max fighting for their first title, and only one of them could get it, I would place my bets on a Lestappen downfall. I do agree with you that both of them are crazily competitive, but Max has already won… trice. I’m not saying that this means he doesn’t want to win anymore, but he quite literally doesn’t have much to prove left. He’s just had the most dominant season in the history of the sport, the next step up would be like a complete win whitewash and I’d actually quit watching f1 forever if that happens. I don’t feel that Max is the sort of driver who’s aiming to break records for WDCs held, and I’m basing this off his comments about retirement and being bored at the front this season. From what I’ve seen, Max is a racing nerd. To him, the thrills are just as important as the accolades and that’s significant because he’s already collected a bucketload of accolades. And so I don’t think a 3 time WDC Max would resent Charles for giving him a close title fight. I also feel that from his comments in interviews about acknowledging that “everyone can be stopped”, his ego isn’t as large as some people make it out to be. But I also can’t really think of any recent instances of Max showing irritation towards Charles apart from on the radio in Vegas 23, and the overall race proved that Max does enjoy Charles taking the challenge to him. It’s probably because I don’t follow Max too closely, so feel free to update me haha.

As for whether Max would U-turn on his love-peace-Charles agenda if Charles presented a real title fight to him, ignoring my somewhat shallow Max knowledge, I’d point to Bahrain 2022 as an example that Max isn’t that insecure. It was the first race of the season, the Red Bulls DNFed, Charles won, but they were still all smiles and Max even took the initiative to come up to Charles to chat (on live tv). This ties back to the point above, that the stakes for Max aren’t as high anymore so we see less Mad Max. I’d also add that Max has been very consistent in showing that he sincerely admires Charles’ skill as a driver, I’d go as far as to say that Max respects Charles the most in the current grid. I’m pretty sure you can pick any year from 2018-2023 and Max has done at least one interview in which he praises Charles’ talent. And this brings me to what Max said in 2018 predicting that he and Charles will be “like Hamilton and Vettel, fighting for titles in the future”, which aptly illustrates how Max&Charles are, in my opinion, the most prepared to have a tense title fight without developing personal grudges. People like calling them the reverse Brocedes, I can certainly see it. Circling back to the very first point about them not being friends, they have always been rivals first. They’ve had over a decade of experience going into races and championships and seeing the other as “Max/Charles, who I have to beat”. They’re competitors with a healthy amount of hard-earned respect for each other, and I do believe them when they say that they’ve matured beyond petty rivalries. That is basically the tl;dr of this very long thing.

I don’t see why Charles, who is going into 2024 with the awareness that he’ll have to beat Max to win the WDC, would become resentful of Max in the process. Likewise, I don’t think Max, who has already proven himself, would be mad that his childhood rival who he rates very highly, beat him to a title. I think it’s important that they aren’t friends, as you said, because then there are no expectations or trust to betray and their professional relationship can be maintained.

The only scenarios I see happening where they fall out because of the title fight are if 1) either one of them decides to drive dirty and the FIA turns a blind eye (haha.) 2) they magically regress into their 15 year old selves and Charles shoves Max into the marina in Abu Dhabi in Val D’Argenton 2.0

[umseb]

Hardcore Cycles Builds a Championship-Caliber Chopper for Sebastian Vettel

In case you weren’t tuning in this past weekend, Sebastian Vettel bludgeoned the Formula 1 field one last time for 2013 at the Interlagos circuit in Sao Paolo, Brazil. In doing so, the 26-year-old German phenom tied the records for the most grand prix wins in a single season (13) and the most grand prix wins in succession (nine, with a chance to set a new record if he can win the 2014 season opener). Not a bad way to end the season of your fourth consecutive world championship. So, how does Infiniti Red Bull Racing’s superstar shoe plan to spend his off season? Well, we’d guess he’ll be spending some time with family and friends, and enjoying being able to sleep in on the weekends. But we also wouldn’t be surprised if the self-professed motorcycle nut spends at least a little time riding the sweet chopper you see here.

Built by Vettel’s countryman Marcus Walz and his team at Hardcore Cycles, this regal blue bike was actually built in 2011 to commemorate Seb’s first world championship in 2010. But other than the rear fender art denoting only the 2010 title and Vettel’s car number from that season – 5 – on the stylized lower leading edge of the frame, this proper chopper (based on Hardcore Cycles’ Dragstyle model) looks bang-up-to-date. The spokes of the one-off wheels incorporate Vettel’s personal logo, as does the embroidery on the Alcantara saddle. The heads of the rumbling V-twin engine feature carbon fiber detailing, and the swoopy airbox is also carbon fiber and is emblazoned with the German flag and “S. Vettel,” just like the champ’s office. In addition to the deep blue paint that matches that of the Red Bull F1 cars, both sides of the gas tank features pinstriping that forms the outline of the energy drink conglomerate’s charging bull logo. And a list of the tracks that comprised the 2010 F1 schedule encircles the seat. Throw in all the other cool touches you expect to find on a Walz design (such as the lovingly machined, drilled gearshift and clutch arms and footpeg supports) and you have a bitchin’ belt-drive bike that any motorcycle enthusiast – super successful racecar driver or otherwise – would be proud to own. Is this bike the reason Vettel keeps on winning? Don’t be silly; his prodigious talent, dedication to his craft, dedication from the team, and some truly kickass car designs from the fertile mind of Adrian Newey are the sources of the kid’s success. However, that’s not to say that wanting to finish races as quickly as possible so he can get home and go for a ride sooner doesn’t have anything to do with his dominance…

[utopiaskids]

Manchester City vs. RB Leipzig: UEFA Champions League Round of 16 Match Preview

On Wednesday, February 22, 2023, Manchester City will face RB Leipzig in the first leg of their UEFA Champions League Round of 16 matchup at Red Bull Arena. Manchester City, who made their first-ever Champions League final appearance in 2021, finished atop their group with a record of 4-2-0. Meanwhile, RB Leipzig lost their first two group stage matches but bounced back with four consecutive victories to secure a spot in the knockout phase. According to the latest Manchester City vs. RB Leipzig odds from Caesars Sportsbook, Manchester City are the favorites with odds of -122 (risk $122 to win $100), while RB Leipzig are the underdogs with odds of +325. A 90-minute draw is priced at +260, and the over/under for total goals scored is set at 2.5. SportsLine soccer expert Martin Green has analyzed the match and shared his picks and predictions. Green, who has been a professional sports writer and handicapper for years, has generated almost $33,000 for $100 bettors since the 2017-18 season. He recently crushed his World Cup predictions on the Early Edge, correctly backing the USMNT to advance, Kylian Mbappe to win the Golden Boot, and Netherlands, England, and Argentina to win their groups. The Citizens' defense has been impressive in the competition, as they finished group play tied with Bayern Munich for the fewest goals allowed with only two. Manchester City have kept four clean sheets in the Champions League, including three straight before defeating Sevilla 3-1 in their final group match. The team has allowed more than one goal in just one of their last eight matches across all competitions. Striker Erling Haaland has been Manchester City's top offensive player in the Champions League, scoring five goals in four games. The 22-year-old Norwegian is tied for third in goals in the competition and leads the English Premier League with 26 goals in 23 matches. Winger Riyad Mahrez and forward Julian Alvarez have each scored two goals in the competition as well. RB Leipzig have outscored their opponents 12-3 during their four-game winning streak in the competition. Christopher Nkunku and Andre Silva have scored three goals apiece, with the latter also recording three assists. Silva played a significant role in Leipzig's 2-1 victory against Manchester City in the group stage last year, scoring the decisive goal in the 71st minute. Nkunku, who returned to action in the Red Bulls' victory against Wolfsburg on Saturday after missing three months with a knee injury, is second in the Bundesliga with 12 goals. Timo Werner is the only other player on the team with multiple goals in the Champions League, having scored twice while adding a pair of assists. The 26-year-old striker is Leipzig's second-leading scorer in league play with five goals after recording only four with Chelsea of the Premier League last season. The match promises to be an exciting and closely contested affair between two top European teams. Fans around the world will be tuning in to see which team can gain an advantage in the first leg and move one step closer to the quarterfinals. Read the full article

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

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[f1]

British F1 Grand Prix 2023 Results: Max Verstappen Wins; Lewis Hamilton Finishes 3rd

Mark Thompson/Getty Images Max Verstappen may never lose another race. The two-time reigning Formula One champion extended his winning streak to six races with Sunday's victory in the British Grand Prix at Silverstone Circuit. Verstappen finished comfortably ahead of Lando Norris, with Lewis Hamilton joining them on the podium in third place. The crowd let out a loud cheer when Norris quickly moved into first place as the race got underway. Alas, the fun for Norris and his fellow Brits was short-lived. Verstappen climbed back into first on Lap 5, and the gap between the pair grew significantly in no time. Given the extent to which Verstappen is dominating the circuit, Norris will be happy with a runner-up showing. It's his first trip to the podium in 2023. Hamilton will likewise be content with his final result. He started from the seventh position after posting a fastest lap time of 1:27.211 during qualifying, so moving up four spots to claim third was a strong performance. Both Norris and Hamilton would've loved to snap Verstappen's winning streak on home soil, but "Mad Max" is simply irresistible at the moment. Red Bull Racing as a team is on a different level. Their 11 consecutive checkered flags dating back to the end of last season ties the all-time record set by McLaren in 1988. When it comes to both the drivers's and constructors's titles, the only drama is how early into the campaign Verstappen and Red Bull will have them sealed up. Formula One will take a week off before the Hungarian Grand Prix on July 23. Verstappen will look to defend his title at Hungaroring in Mogyoród. He crossed the finish line nearly eight seconds ahead of Hamilton last year, so it could be another anticlimactic affair. via Bleacher Report - Formula 1 https://bleacherreport.com

[fcb-mv33]

I keep seeing LH fans saying that in ten years no one will know who Max Verstappen is but Lewis will always be remembered and I just want to point out how wrong that is.

First let me just say that Lewis has done a lot for the sport in terms of advocating for diversity but also being one of the best drivers of all time.

But you also need to admit that Max has done a shit load at the age of 24. He holds records. He’s in the top 10 drivers with the most podiums. He is a genuinely talented driver who is doing exceptionally well in what was predominantly a Mercedes dominated era. And yeah, so what if he doesn’t win 7 titles, only two people have, it’s not something that everyone can achieve. Whether it be cars, age, injuries, or just because they don’t have it in them.

But just because he’s not a 7 time world champion, does not mean he’s not holding his own to absolute legends in the sport. He’s been praised by several past champions, including Lauda (and Hamilton might I add).

He’s part of the new generation of formula one along with Norris and Leclerc and guess what, he’s going to stay.

That is such bullshit its hilarious from them because a driver like Max wont be forgotten 😂😂

Max is legit the youngest ever person to join F1, the rule had to be changed because of him, youngest driver to win a race, most podiums and laps lead last season and is in the top 10 record podiums of 63 at 24?? If Red Bull continue to give him a great car he is gonna have a shit load of records when he decides to leave. He is tied with Nico R, and Nelson Piquet for race wins at 23 and if he wins 5 more he goes into the top 8....ahead of drivers like Niki Lauda and Jackie Stewart....if he wins 10 more he goes ahead if Fernando as number 6....and he will, he will win so much cause he has years left.

Drivers like Max will genuinely never be forgotten no matter how much a certain fan base want him forgotten it is never going to happen, he is 24 and he is one of the best talents, a generational talent is what former drivers have said about him, you don't have to like Max but they cannot act like he is not one of the best.

[sir-lancelot-strulovich]

a little f1 history lesson about lewis championship with mclaren (i say a lesson because i am writing a paper about a part of the history of f1 and i am finishing my history degree, if anyone wants more info on that, hit me up)

when lewis won his first championship with mclaren in 2008, it was completely different to the ones he has won with mercedes. and i am here to tell you about it.

i am not taking the credit away from him in anyway whatsoever, but f1 has changed a lot in those 13 years, cars have changed, regulations have changed and drivers have changed.

in 2007, in lewis' rookie year, he came second in the championship, 1 point behind kimi and tied in the points with fernando (he was tied in wins, but had more second places than the spanish driver, so that put him above in the championship). some say that because of spygate that year, both lewis and fernando were not allowed to win the driver's championship as a punishment, so they lost on purpose. mclaren was a dominant car, having both drivers in the top 3, but were disqualified from constructors' championship because of spygate.

in 2008, when lewis won the championship, he won by a point from massa. massa actually had driven the perfect championship but was fucked but due to exterior circumstances and ended up being the second driver most affected by crashgate (only behind nelsinho). Brazil 2008 was a representation of felipe's championship (do everything perfectly, but still lose due to something that was not under your control). mclaren was again one of the best cars (according to the constructors' standings, the second best), and it was the year that lewis probably had his weakest teammate in heikki kovalainen (sorry heikki fans, but i think he finished 7th or 8th in the standings compared to lewis 1st, and again, i am not taking away the merit of lewis' dominance over his teammate).

from 2009 to 2012, the years in which lewis was in mclaren, things started to change in mclaren and started to change to lewis as well. in the f1 world, brawn gp showed up in 2009, with their double diffusers, and took the paddock by storm. red bull racing also started to show strength having their first f1 win (also, fun fact, in 2008, when seb won with Toro Rosso in monza, it wasn't decided yet if red bull or toro rosso would be the number 1 team in the red bull family), and mclaren wasn't a dominatn car anymore. lewis still dominated his teammate (heikki finished in 12th) but he finished 5th in the championship, behind both brawns and red bulls. mclaren finished 3rd in the constructors (throw back to the controversial lance statement, being the goat might mean you can get 3 or 4 places more in the car, but still is tough af, specially to do that consistently due to the car you have. but lewis is a goat, and did get more out of the car). in 2010 jenson joined as his teammate, a breath of fresh air for lewis having another defending champion as his teammate so he was back to having someone to fight against. lewish finished 4th that year, behind 2 red bulls and a ferrari, jenson right behind him in 5th. this was the beggining of red bull dominance era. mclaren wasn't a dominant car.

2011 was a strange year for lewis (@formulinos wrote about it beautifully, detailing lewis and nicole's relationship and how all of that was a huge mess, so go read that). i guess this was the year in which all that mess affected him the most, cause for the first time he was beaten by a teammate. lewis finished in 5th in the championship, while jenson was 2nd. this was probably lewis' worst season since his debut in 2007 and it also shows that even the best of the bests can have a tough time sometimes (and still become a fucking goat a couple of years later). according to the constructors, mclaren had the second best car

In 2012 lewis was back to beating his teammate (by 2 points, lewis in 4th, jenson in 5th). Kimi was back in f1 with lotus, both ferrari and mclaren were being shitshows, but ferrari was the better shit show and came in second in the standings (or also, Fernando was in his best form of his life, made a shit ton of points, and if he was in the dominating car *cough cough rbr which he could have gone to instead of seb in 2009 but I can tell you all about it on another day* he would have won that championship). that is another example of a fucking great driver unfortunately not winning the championship due to an inferior car.

from 2013 on, lewis was in mercedes and we all know how that went with mercedes taking dominance in the hybrid era and lewis only being beaten again by a teammate in 2016, which is a whole other story. but what i wanted to say from this is, lewis is (in numbers he is of all times but also in many other ways) the best f1 driver of this generation (i won’t say of all times in general just so i don’t have to get In another argument because it ends up being much more subjective), even tho there was a 5 year gap between his first championship and his second (which if I am not wrong, its a record in f1 for being the longest gap, or is it schumacher’s? my math is really bad when it comes to years), because it is impossible to be dominant and win a championship if you don’t have the best car on the grid. just like in 1993, which you had senna in the form of his life, but he still lost on the championship to prost who was in a williams that can be considered one of the best f1 cars of all times, not even the fastest driver of all times (talking about raw speed) could beat Williams electronic suspension that was driven by another fucking great driver.

this is also to warn people that, if for whatever reason, in 2022, mercedes loses its dominance due to regulation changes, or lewis goes to another team (you never know, he might want to partner seb in aston martin), or even he decides to drive in another category just for the sake of it (imagine lewis in formula e), he might not be the champion because it is FUCKING HARD to do that if you don’t have the best/dominant machinery, and lewis not winning in the near future will not mean that he is losing his speed.

(sorry for any spelling mistakes or runover sentences, i did not proofread this and I haven’t written this much in english in a while)

[ef-1]

+ for posterity I hope people know how inextricably linked McLaren's passive and active malice is to the erasure of Daniel's credentials in the public domain. he was seldom defended last year. And never this year.

On November 3rd 2020, 58 days before Daniel became a McLaren driver, Ross Brawn, F1's managing director, dedicated part of his last column of the year to Daniel saying “Daniel Ricciardo is a brilliant driver, and one of the very best in Formula1 [...]I hope McLaren can give Daniel a car he deserves next season. He’s a great member of the F1 fraternity.” And reiterated that Daniel is a championship contender whose never been in a contending car

He's tied for second place with Lewis for most wins starting outside the top 3. For reference, first is Alonso and Raikkonen, he's tied with Lewis for second and 3rd is Schumacher. 4th is Jenson Button. All champions while he's never been in a championship contending car

McLaren letting the *Daniel is not a very adaptable driver* narrative run rampant when in his supposed "bad" first year at Renault in 2019, he ran out the incumbent driver and produced unimpressive feats like going from 20th to 4th on two occasions.

Broke Renault's 10 year podium drought. Twice.

People genuinely running with that bizarre conspiracy that Daniel is poor in the technical realm of F1 when Cyril, who had no reason to defend or protect Daniel after he announced his departure said that the technical breakthrough Renault had was solely Daniel's doing and the only reason they were even able to compete for 3rd in the championship + "Daniel will be competing with a stronger team next year thanks to his own efforts"

The first driver in 8 years to score multiple fast laps without being part of a top 3 team, a record previously held by Raikkonen

In 2019 Nico Rosberg revealing that during briefings Mercedes drivers would ask not to be released around Daniel after pitting because if he's in front of you he's not going to let you through and if he's behind you he's overtaking you.

Helmut Marko, known cunt and crackhead, admitting that the only time they've had 2 drivers matched in performance at Red Bull was during the Ricciardo-Verstappen line up.

People saying he was too arrogant and egotistical (¿¿¿) to gel with the team like. When was the last fucking time a driver went to another teams garage to apologise to another driver's mechanics for a racing incident he was NOT penalised for, during a wet session, where Carlos Sainz himself said Daniel couldn't have changed the outcome if he tried.

In his first year in Red Bull, during the most radical regulation change in recent f1 history, he was the only driver besides mercedes to win a race. He won 3 races.

This is Daniel's calibre, and no amount of historical romanticism from McLaren or their paid shills will ever change that.

[sennaverstappen]

ROUND 23/23 ⸺ abu dhabi grand prix ✩ 26.11.2023

maple's rating: ★★★★ (8.0/10)

☁︎ click read more facts, highlights & experiences ☁︎

✩ facts

max won in abu dhabi for the fourth year in a row – he had never previously won four consecutive races at the same track

max’s 54th career win means he surpasses sebastian for third on the all-time win list, behind only michael’s 91 and lewis’ 103

max ends the year with records for the most single-season wins (19), most consecutive race wins (10), most podium finishes (21), highest points total (575) and largest championship-winning margin (290)

max's 11th hat-trick weekend (win, pole position and fastest lap) ties him with jim clark, with only lewis (19) and michael (22) on more

max today became the first driver in history to surpass 1,000 laps led in a single season

max’s 1,003 laps led this season exactly equals the total led by mclaren in their 1988 season with alain prost and ayrton senna

max was the only driver to complete every racing lap in the 2023 season

charles finished second behind max in abu dhabi for the second consecutive year

checo was classified in p4 for red bull after he lost positions following the chequered flag because of a five-second time penalty (he also lost positions on the final lap of the previous two races)

this was the first season-ending race ever to end without a single retirement

✩ raceweek highlights

me seeing fp1 and fp2 and fp3 results and going ITS JOEVERRR 😭😭😭😭

TRACK LIMITS 💀💀💀💀💀

carlos out of q1 😭😭

LEWIS OUT OF Q2 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

max fuckass lap 😭😭😭

CHARLES STARTTTT

checo lewis contact 😭😭😭

mclaren lando awful pitstop 💔

ferwis battle‼️‼️‼️💗💗💗

YUKI OVERTAKING LEWIS 😭😭😭

MAX WINS THE GRAND PRIX🌷🌷🌷🌷💌💌💌💕

✩ maple's diary

[ellie-mayflower]

People hate Horner and Marko in RB for the inferior treatment of second driver not max. The ones who do hate max for it are well... they don't make sense.

I’ve never understood this argument, it’s the only team that has a proven repeated record of not doing that at the front of the grid? Again, why would they fight so unbelievably hard to keep Dan if all they wanted was a weak second driver to kick around? Why sign Checo now if not to push Max?

I mean who knows, in two years it could be Yuki who fills that seat and ends up being quicker than Max. But Yuki wouldn’t be here if the program kept everyone frozen in place forever because uwu and we wouldn’t have the quarter of the current grid who came up through the RB ranks.

When Dan came in as a junior against a Seb who was fresh off his 4th championship win, when Red Bull and especially Christian and Marko were nothing but completely and utterly in love with Seb - they were treated equally. How else could Dan so immediately prove himself quicker?

Both Dan and certainly Max who moved up mid-season started at RBR in cars that were designed around the established driver at the time, they both adapted without blinking and proved they were right for the job.

The junior program has always worked like this, F1 itself has always worked like this. Where is the fairness to the two teams and the junior program and the sport and the drivers themselves in keeping on a driver on who can’t make the grade? Where is the compassion, the mercy in that?

It’ll always be fashionable to hate Christian and Marko and I mostly sometimes occasionally manage to ignore it because what does it matter what people say when the truth is that even all these years later Marko was still Seb’s first phone call after getting dropped by Ferrari and Dan was still making silly bets with him when he was at Renault, when both those drivers (whose departures from Red Bull were filled with so much tension and disappointment and anger) still come back to him and Christian time and time again for advice and comfort and support long after any contractual ties were severed.

Even Mark, who was so angry at them both all those years when Seb was outshining him, who undoubtedly qualifies as a supposedly mistreated second driver, even he relaxed once the haze of battle lifted and he could just accept that Seb was faster and that if he was the faster one everything would have been the opposite.

Would any of that be the case if they were such awful people?

But that doesn’t fit people’s narratives so what is there to do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯