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#HOPE YOU LIKE THEM BENNY <3

lydiimae · 1 month

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The stars, the moon

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

18+ MDI!

Warnings: Talk of drinking, sexist old ideas about women, talk of sex, Anthony being a cutie shhh, oral sex, penetrative sex, dirty talk, body worship (f receiving), heavy praise, lovemaking more than hardcore sex oopsies

A.N: YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET TO ME ISTG T-T the love on my first two fics is so heartwarming. i'm so very glad you liked them both so much ^-^ Benny and Bridgerton as a whole are both so very important to me so i'm glad i did them both well. anyways my loves, this is an Anthony fic that i hope i can do as well as i did Ben. i was listening to Cosmic Love by Florence and The Machine and it gave me this idea! soooo here is an incredibly fluffy, (and smutty hehe) love filled Ant fic hehe<3 enjoy and thank you again <3 p.s that scene the gif is from sends my mind into a spiral CONSTANTLY my roman empire fr p.p.s I FINALLY GOT DIVIDERS, so now my fics will look a little cleaner i hope hehe >_<

Growing up next to the Bridgertons had been fun and eventful, to say the very least. You were there through every trial and tribulation their family had gone through, and them with yours.

You and your three sisters had always gotten along with the seven siblings. Being the youngest and most... rambunctious of them you had gotten along with Eloise and Benedict the most. They had views of marriage and duty that were similar to yours, and when you were younger you and Benedict would spend hours making doodles on the walls of the gardens at your estate.

Your sisters, who were much more of the traditional women you would often find in the ton, tended to be more akin to the eldest Bridgerton brother and sister. Daphne and Anthony, however kind and loving they both were, were always too strict or, in Daphne's case, too proper for your liking.

You had always thought of Anthony as the moon. He thrived in darkness and was often gone before you even noticed he was there. You never knew why he left balls early, or why you spotted him with that opera singer in the deepest corners of gardens or tucked away in libraries.

Until you grew up, that is. The first time you snuck out of the confines of your room was when you were ten and eight, right after the first ball of your first social season. Benedict had insisted on you sneaking out the window of your bedroom so you could tag along with him to a party a fellow artist was throwing, and you, out of pure curiosity, obliged.

You got there and had your first everything while Benedict was painting, or so he claimed, in another room. You kissed the lord, whose name you cannot remember to this day, and then you went beyond that. Sex. It was wonderful, you decided, and from then on you had much more of it.

Anthony was perceptive, he noticed the change in your behavior and one night even decided to ask Benedict about it. Benedict being Benedict told him everything in his usual carefree manner, not thinking twice about it. Anthony reacted quite strangely however, he just... turned on his heel and walked into his study, locking himself in for hours.

He avoided you at all costs from then on. It was strange, but then again, he was the moon. The moon cannot be out forever.

Anthony had always thought of you as the stars, a happy, mischievous young woman who thrived in the dark. You provided a light to every room you walked into that was too great for anyone to look away from. You were intricate, difficult to read and figure out, and yet you were also so intriguing that every man wanted to do just that.

You were also incredibly mischievous, he knew that from the moment you were born. Being eight years older, and a close family friend, Anthony was one of the first who got to meet you. You had always had that sparkle in your eye, like you were in on this grand plan that no one else was.

When you got older, it only got worse. You were constantly getting in trouble, whether that be drawing on your garden's brick walls with his brother or reading books about math or, fittingly, astronomy. Your father always described you as boyish, to which he would have to agree. You got into fencing when you were ten and two and immediately had a knack for it. When you were six and ten, you snuck off with Benedict and got taught how to hunt.

He was never attracted to your sisters as they were too... boring for his taste. They had interests in things like the latest fashion trends, or hairstyles, and he was sure that none of them had ever glanced at a book. It was quite comforting to know, that because of your foolish ways and thinking, he would never be attracted to you either. Or so he thought.

You were wearing a light blue dress when you entered your first ball, your arm tucked snugly with your father's. Your hair was pinned up more elegantly than he had ever seen it, a few of the still unruly, wavy strands fluttering in the breeze that your white fan made. Stunningly gorgeous in every way, and so ladylike. It was strange.

He had almost assured himself that he would never feel this way towards any woman like you, after all, his list of requirements for the next Viscountess was long and specific, to say the least. Yet there you were, walking towards his family, and he was very much sure he was attracted to you.

So when he noticed the jewelry you started using to hide the dark marks on your neck and the silly excuses you would use to leave balls early, it was worrying. He asked Benedict and his worst fears were made a reality, your innocence was gone. You were loose, in his mind. He could not, no would not, be attracted to a woman without her maidenhead. He refused.

The only way he could avoid that attraction was to avoid you at all costs, which is exactly what he did. He excused himself from every room you walked into, and every conversation. On the rare occasion that you somehow managed to worm yourself into a conversation with him, however, he gave short answers and cold glares.

His heart ached when he noticed your light dim after he left, but then again you were the stars. All stars have to burn out someday.

You found his insistence on completely avoiding you to be quite tiresome, after all, you considered him to be like a brother. An annoying, headstrong, arrogant, prick of a brother but a brother nonetheless.

You look over your shoulder to where he is talking to a young debutante, wishing that he would at least glance over. You would never admit it to yourself, but after his company waned you missed it quite a lot. You could talk to Benedict or Eloise, sure, but there was something about annoying Anthony that made your heart flutter and your cheeks flush.

"Miss L/N, are you listening?" The lord, who you were supposed to be listening to, asks. You quickly turn back to him and part your lips to make an excuse, but quickly think better of it. "No, my lord. I apologize, my mind seems to be running from me tonight." You mutter with a soft smile. He nods in turn before continuing to speak about his latest hunting trip, in which you have absolutely no interest.

You excuse yourself when he is done rambling and make your way toward the Viscount, wanting to finally know the real reason why he has made it his life's mission to avoid you. You wish, so desperately, to see the moon again.

He sees you coming and his heart tightens, you look as beautiful as always. You are wearing dark blue, a gorgeous dress he thinks, and your hair is done up just how he likes it. You have on gold jewelry, which sparkles in the low candlelight with every step you take.

He should talk to you, he really should, and yet he cannot bring himself to. You are not the kind of woman he wishes to make the next Viscountess, not even close to checking off any of the boxes he has on his long list for what a woman should be.

So, instead, he settles for leading the young woman he is speaking with to the dance floor. He passes you without a word but falters momentarily when he catches a whiff of your perfume. Your scent, even.

You had always smelled, however strange it might sound, so comforting. Your family's colors were a light purple, the crest having two bunches of lavender flowers on it. You smelled the part, always having some semblance of lavender to you that wafted through the room whenever you entered. It wasn't strong, no, but it was just enough to get his heart racing. It wasn't just lavender that made it so intoxicating, there was something else there. Something that he could only describe as just... you. He smiles to himself at the many fond memories that come with it.

He catches the young woman looking at him in confusion and quickly puts on a straight face, continuing to walk her to the dance floor, but not before noticing the look of despondency on your face. His heart aches, but it must be done. He could not let himself fall for you, no matter how much he longed to see the brightness of the stars again.

Your heart breaks when he walks past you with nothing but a faint semblance of a smile, and for whatever reason, you feel yourself tear up. You wonder if you had done something wrong, or said something in a passing conversation that had rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps even entertained a man he had trouble with. Whatever it was, you did not like the unfamiliar feeling his avoidance brought.

Something that you had always hidden from everyone, including yourself, was your feelings. You felt no need to be a woman who expressed love openly, nor a woman who got teary at the slightest inconvenience. It is why you liked the parties you went to, sex and alcohol were wonderful to drown out feelings that you would rather not feel. Something else you had always hidden or shoved down, was your feelings for Anthony.

He was gorgeous, that much was obvious, what with his grey eyes and his thick brown hair. The things that you didn't like, such as his ignorant views of women, or his want to always be the best, were often drowned out by the fact that the man was extremely loving and protective of those he cared about. Not only that, but he was like you in that he was truly sensitive when he did not try and shove it down. He made you want to sing his praises from every balcony in London, to profess your love in front of all of the ton so everyone could see that he was yours.

You realize you have been standing in the same spot for what has to be at least five minutes now, and that a tear that had escaped in your reminiscing has now made it down your cheek. You quickly walk out to a balcony and lean on the railing, and for once, you allow yourself to cry.

He finds you after his dance with the incredibly boring debutante he decided to occupy himself with. He didn't want to find you, but his feet automatically found themselves to you. As if something deep inside him was naturally drawn to you and your stupid free-spirited nature.

He crowds around your back. "Is everything alright?" He whispers and is completely taken aback when he sees your face. You look up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks. It was surprising to say the very least as he cannot remember the last time he saw you cry. "My God, Y/N, what happened?" He asks, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder.

"Why do you hate me?" You whisper back, and he is even more surprised than before. Hate? God he could never hate you, sure he avoided you, but he could never truly hate anything about you. No matter how much he tried.

He was just standing there like he had not been avoiding you for the past two months. Like he had not ignored your every attempt to speak with him, like he had not completely shattered your soul. It made you so angry that you could not stop the foolish words slipping past your lips.

"It is as if I have committed a cardinal sin, as if I am some heathen you cannot stand to be around and not a woman you grew up with." You say, taking a deep breath as heartbreak shifts to anger. "It is not fair. I have wracked every corner of my memory trying to figure out what I have done wrong and still, I turn up with nothing. I..." You falter and turn to look up at the stars. "You are so distant. I find myself aching without you, Anthony. Like a piece of my soul has broken off with your disappearance and is with you for eternity." You whisper, closing your eyes briefly before turning back to him.

"I ask you again, why do you hate me? What have I done?" You plead, searching his eyes for any semblance of his old self. His eyes widen in response and he takes one of your hands. "I do not hate you. God Y/N, how could I ever hate you?" He breathes and your heart flutters at the look in his eyes. As if you are the only woman on earth. He has returned back to you. The moon has risen again.

"I... I have tried to hate you, yes, but every time you are near something in me longs to touch you in ways that would make any lady blush. I hate that you make me feel this way, so foolishly in love that I can barely form a coherent thought, that the Viscount I am becomes but a memory, but I could never hate you." He confesses, bringing his hands to your waist.

Your eyes water as he continues. "You are a loose woman, or so I so foolishly tried to make myself believe. I ignorantly put that label upon you so I could have a reason to not profess from every rooftop in London how much I adore you and I can never forgive myself for it." He whispers, wiping the tears that have somehow escaped your eyes without your knowledge. "I will never be able to profess how sorry I am, but I can hope that in time you can forgive me for how foolish I have been." He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

"How long?" Is all you can manage to croak out in return to his beautiful confession, resting your hands atop his shoulders as your eyes flutter shut. "Since I was a young man, darling. Far too long I have kept it from you." He whispers back as your heart flutters at the title he has given you. "I have loved you since I was a girl." You whisper back. "So I suppose we are both fools." You grin.

He chuckles at that, his hands rubbing small patterns into the small of your back. "Always the witty one, hm? You are truly as bright and as mischievous as the stars, my love." Your heart hammers in the stars, at the way he calls you his love but even more than that, he thinks you to be the stars. "You and I have similar minds, Ant. I always thought you were like the moon, so serious and so attuned to darkness. Yet, so beautiful." You confess, opening your eyes to look into his own. Your cheeks flush at the sight that lies before you.

He is grinning, as if you had just given him the world. He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, to which you eagerly return as your eyes close and one of your gloved hands cups his cheeks. He pulls away after a moment. "The moon is nothing without the stars." He whispers, and you smile softly. "I shall ask your father for your hand come tomorrow if you let me." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your brow.

Your heart flutters and you cup his cheeks. "I would love nothing more than to marry you, Anthony Bridgerton." You whisper and he grins, pressing his lips to yours once more. This kiss is more intense than the first, more confident as he knows that you are now officially his. You wish for nothing more than to melt into him, become his both body and mind for the rest of your days. The thought sends shivers down your spine, making your core heat up at the thought of finally sharing your most intimate self with the man who has plagued your thoughts for years.

As if reading your mind he pulls back, but only just. "Might I invite you back to my bedroom, my star?" He whispers, dipping his head down to press a kiss to your neck. You let out a shaky breath at the feeling and nod eagerly. "Please do." You whisper back and he grins, straightening back up and grabbing your hand before pulling you out to where the carriages are. Not before muttering something to Benedict, who smirks playfully and winks at the two of you in return.

One carriage ride full of open-mouthed kisses and love marks later and you are getting lifted out of the carriage and carried into the Bridgerton estate. You had so many fond memories here, you are elated that you would have the privilege of raising a family in the big estate. The thought of a family with Anthony makes your chest feel tight with emotion and you bury your face in the crook of his neck to calm yourself.

He notices the change of emotion as he carries you through the front door, ignoring the many questioning glances the both of you receive from the servants who still linger in the hallways, and kisses the top of your head. "What is it, darling?" He murmurs in your ear as he walks up the stairs, toward his bedroom.

"I am only being sensitive as I envision our future that I have for so long ached for." You whisper back, pressing a kiss to his neck to assure him that nothing is truly wrong. He groans a bit and smiles down at you as he ducks into his bedroom and places you on the bed. "It shall be a grand one. One filled with happiness and light, I assure you." He hums as he locks the door before climbing over you and peppering your face with kisses, which makes you giggle softly.

He moves his hands to your hair, taking out all of the intricately placed pins so he can see it in the state he loves the most, untamed and unruly, just like you. He runs his hands through your hair once he has it down, pressing kisses down your neck and to your collarbone which he bites. You whine softly at the feeling, but more so at the fact that you know he is going to leave marks. The thought of parading around a ball with his lovebites on your skin makes your cunt dampen and your thighs rub together in an attempt to relieve the ache that settles in your core.

He feels the movements of your body below him and groans as your knee brushes against his clothed cock accidentally, making him harden further than he already has. He continues to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as his hands move under you. He pulls you up to a sitting position and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the soft noises he draws from you as his hands move to your back to work on the buttons that hold your dress up.

His tongue slides into your mouth and he lets out a groan as he exposes your bare back, the choice you made to forgo any undergarments becoming the smartest one you made all day. He makes quick work of your dress, parting from your lips as he throws it across the room. "Christ." He growls when he sits back and gazes at your naked body.

Your nipples are peaked from both the cold air of the room and the arousal caused by the way he is gazing down at you. The look of pure desire in his eyes makes you flood down your thighs, which he picks up on instantly. He grins, almost a cocky grin, before removing his clothes from the upper half of his body.

He bends down when he is bare-chested and kisses from your collarbone, down to your right breast. He sucks on the soft skin just to the side of your hardened nipple, making your hips cant up and into his, a whine escaping your lips. He chuckles deeply and moves a hand to yours, so you can have something to hang onto, the other moving to hold your hip down.

He pulls up briefly and rests his chin on your chest, gazing up at you adoringly. "You are perfect, Y/N. Every mark, every blemish, every imperfection is so gorgeous. So perfect for me." He murmurs and you flush, squeezing his hand in yours as a silent thank you as you are unsure if you could even form a sentence now. "Mine." He murmurs with a soft smile before returning his attention to your breasts.

He takes your nipple into his mouth and you cry out at the feeling of his tongue swirling around the bud. You squeeze his hand and your back arches up into him, making him groan. He pushes you back down, all while his mouth sucks and swirls at your sensitive nipple, and rubs soothing circles on your hip with his thumb.

After a moment, he moves to your other breast, giving that one just as much attention. You whine as he bites down softly before pulling up and beginning to mark each of your breasts. He lets go of your hip and smears his hand down your thigh, gently parting your legs as he kisses down your stomach.

You gasp as he gives a kiss to your naval and look down just as he flashes a cheeky grin. He continues his trail of kisses right down to your patch of hair, your free hand grasping at the sheets while the other squeezes his. You cry out when he licks a stripe up your slit, his tongue pressing onto your swollen clit.

He takes the sensitive bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it slowly, his hand moving back to your hips when you whine and try to grind against him. You roll your head back, pressing it into the pillow. You get a whiff of his scent and it sends a zing of pleasure to your abused clit just as he moves his mouth down to your swollen hole to drink from you like a man starved.

You moan into his pillow, taking the fabric into your mouth and sucking as pleasure ripples through your entire body. He moves his mouth back to your clit as he pushes one of his fingers into your body, groaning at how tight you are. You cry out, the sound still muffled by his pillow, at the feeling of his finger and the vibrations his noises send through your body.

He adds another finger and begins to curl them into your walls, hitting that spongey spot that makes you scream. Your toes curl as he pumps his fingers in and out of your body in tune with the swirling of his tongue against your clit. You finally take your face out of his pillow. "Close... Fuck please please please, Anthony." You babble as you begin to see stars. You come screaming his name, his fingers gripping your hip so hard you're sure you will be marked there too.

He cleans you up with his tongue before returning to your lips and giving you a swift, but sweet, kiss on your lips. He sits up and slowly rids himself of his trousers, his cock standing proud against his stomach. The sight makes you mewl and spread your legs even wider in anticipation of him filling you until his tip meets your womb.

He settles between your legs and takes both of your hands in his, pressing his forehead to yours. "I love you, Y/N." He murmurs. "I love you, Anthony." You return, and his lips are on yours. He slowly pushes his cock into your body, groaning into your mouth as you moan into his. He bottoms out and lets you adjust, kissing down your neck to your shoulder.

You gently push your hips down as a signal that he can move, and he grins against your skin. He begins to slowly rock in and out of your body, groaning at the noises he draws from your cunt. "Faster, Ant. Please." You gust into his hair, squeezing his hands tight in your own.

He does not need to be told twice. He begins to slam into your body, making your toes curl as you scream out. He continues his brutal pace, the sound of body meeting body filling the bedroom. He presses his forehead to yours just as your eyes shut. "Look at me." He whispers, stalling for a moment. "I want to see how good I make you feel. I've waited far too long for you to hide, my love." He breathes, and you open your eyes.

He gives that stupid arrogant smirk before beginning to thrust into you just as hard as before as if he never stopped. Your mouth hangs ajar, your mind too focused on the feeling of his cock to even try and stop the moans that flow freely from your mouth.

He moves a hand down your stomach, his thumb finding your clit and circling to the rhythm of his thrusts. He growls when you clench around his length and moan his name. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck. "Come with me." He whispers, biting down on the skin.

The action sends you over the edge. You come for the second time, screaming his name and he follows soon after, painting your insides with his seed. He works you through your orgasm before pulling out and nuzzling your neck.

After a moment he climbs off of you and saunters to his bathroom, leaving you dazed on the bed. You turn your head and press your face into his pillow once more, letting his scent calm you down. He returns a moment later and laughs warmly at the sight. You blush at the noise and look up at him. "Funny that," He says, gesturing to his pillow as he cleans your thighs with the washcloth he brought out. "I did the same thing today." He grins.

"Mmm. When was that, hm? Did you sneak into my bedroom?" You tease and he grins, shaking his head as he places the washcloth on the bedside and crawls into bed. "No, though I am flattered you would think I would be so bold." He hums, pulling you under the covers with him and taking you into his arms.

You smile softly and bury your face into his neck, closing your eyes. "I did it when I walked past you at the ball. The young woman I was talking to thought I went mad. I had to stop and think of all of the fond memories I have of you." He murmurs as he rests his head atop yours, kissing it softly before closing his eyes as well.

You smile softly at the thought of him stopping mid-step just to think of you. It warms your soul. "I love you." You whisper, slowly nodding off to the sound of his heartbeat.

"And I love you, my star." He whispers before following you into a deep slumber.

The moon truly cannot thrive without the stars.

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luxurychristmaspudding · 28 days

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watch | JM x FM x SG x f!Reader

summary: after showing frankie what he was missing, something seems to have been awoken in you all. with joel away on a contract and santi called out of town, you're left in frankie's care. except one rule still stands - you can't touch.

read part 1, listen, here BONUS: al's handy guide to reading watch

grouping: f!reader x joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia

rating/warnings: 18+. MDNI. no outbreak (tlou) - but based after the tf mission. alright, buckle in. softdom!joel, softdom!santi, sub!frankie, sub!reader, lil bit of softdom!reader and bratty!reader as well hehe. drinking, pet names (inc. little/baby girl, baby boy). rules get broken (surprise!), praise kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it!), exhibitionism, voyeurism, public fingering, blowjobs (m receiving and giving), rimming, mutual masturbation, phone sex, use of toys (f&m), consensual somnophilia, cumplay, edging, facesitting, anal fingering (m), mfm, anal sex (m receiving), tiny bit of breath play (not reader), light bondage, brief gagging, very high sex drives but who can blame them, once again so many orgasms i lost count, and in the immortal words of @thatredheadwriter, 'so much fluid exchange I think a hasmat team should probably go in to clean it up' reader wears dresses and has hair, but has no other descriptions. no use of y/n.

wc: 25k (i know, i'm so sorry)

an: many many many thanks to the peeps who waited an age for this. you've all been so patient and kind and i hope you enjoy! for @schnarfer, @swiftispunk, @5oh5 and @janaispunk who, without their constant encouragement and recommendation, this may not have happened at all <3 dividers as always from the wonderful @saradika-graphics

In the weeks that follow, you wait for the ball to drop.

You wait to feel weird about what the four of you did, for the kick of it, for Joel to reveal that he actually wasn’t that sold on it. You wait for a text or call from Frankie or Santi to say it was nice knowing you, but it was a little much, a little weird to see you around now.

It doesn’t happen.

You stay slotted into Joel’s life like you were always meant to be there. You stay over at his, he stays over at yours. You spend lazy Sunday mornings making waffles or pancakes and getting fucked dumb. He brings you flowers when work is hard, you rub his shoulders when he’s had a rough day on site. Your body is marked beneath your clothes with his bruises, the shape of his teeth, and his is marked by yours, the scratch of your nails traced delicately down his back.

You spend your time orbiting around each other, close and safe in the bubble you’ve built, warm and soft in the afternoon sunlight that streams through the curtains on your days off, eating in and eating out. He becomes more familiar than anyone else has ever been with the inner workings of your mind, the inner workings of your body. He introduces you to his brother, Tommy, and his wife, Maria. He talks about you to Sarah, and she says she’d love to meet you next time she’s home from college. He makes space for your books on his shelves, and your clothes find a way into his wardrobe; his squeeze into your drawers, a spare toothbrush for him in your bathroom. He kisses you, hot and open mouthed when he drops you off at work, does the same when you find his truck waiting outside for you when you’re done. He asks how the boys are when you come home from drinks with them, listens with sparkling eyes when you tell him Benny’s latest hookup is from the bar you used to work at, the place where they first met you. He chuckles and tells you he's glad Santi introduced the two of you when he did, before any of the others swooped in and took you for themselves.

Sometimes, you think he forgets about the night that Frankie asked you out, the conversations that followed. How close it could have been.

But that's naive of you. Naive of you to think that he doesn’t see, doesn’t seek out the claim that Frankie and Santi have also made on you. Because he knows. In some infuriating, impossible way, he always knows.

He shows you he knows one morning, when you have already been awake for what feels like hours, watching his broad chest rise and fall with deep, sleeping breaths.

You trace the curve of his nose with your eyes, the scruff of his beard, the way his curls have grown out. Luscious and thick, spattered with grey, curling down into the nape of his neck. His lips look so warm, so soft, that you’ve been challenging yourself, seeing how long you can go without kissing him awake. Seeing how long you can go with just remembering how they felt between your legs last night, wet with spit and your release as he soothed you through orgasm after orgasm, kissing your thighs, sucking marks into your soft flesh as he held you down with one thick palm braced against your belly, the other with its fingers gently pumping in and out of you. The deep timbre of his voice when you made yourself look at him, his praise, good girl, there she is, doin’ so good for me, sweet girl through your tears, as you begged him, begged him for something else, something more. More, daddy, you’d pleaded. You'd needed something thicker, something deeper. You always do.

You squirm beneath the sheets, pressing your thighs together. Try to think of anything else. The green of his bedroom walls, the boots you know will be at the end of the bed. His trinkets on the dresser - the watch Sarah bought (and fixed, many times) for him, the picture of him and his family at Tommy and Maria’s wedding, your clothes scattered about the floor, the chair in the corner of the room, the chair where he sat that night, as he watched, as he watched you -

You roll over onto your side to look away from it, squeezing your eyes shut, barely able to control your whimper. You’re slick between your thighs, too warm as your wetness mixes with the cum still drooling out of your cunt. You try and count his freckles instead, starting from his forehead to his cheekbones, down to his neck - his neck - his shoulder, the bite mark you left there as he spilled himself into you, the hand resting on his chest, his thick fingers, his fingers -

It’s no good. It’s no fucking good. He needs to rest, so you take a deep breath and steel yourself. Coffee. You’ll head downstairs, you’ll make coffee, and when he’s slept enough you’ll talk him through everything you’ve been thinking about, and he’ll make it better. Starting with his tongue.

You press your hands to the mattress as you start to raise your torso from the bed, and almost immediately at the shifting of your weight, Joel’s hand shoots out to grab you.

‘Where you goin’, pretty girl?’

You smile, smug. So he's awake. And you know, with his grip like this, you’ll get anything you want from him.

‘Coffee,’ you say, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to his soft lips. He returns it, eyes still shut, hand shifting from your forearm to your bicep, to your shoulder, to the back of your neck. He holds you there as he draws his tongue across the seam of your lips, and with a groan you let him in. The bristle of his moustache tickles as he licks into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth as his free hand skates between the sheets to skim over your bare thigh. You shift against him, bringing your calf over both of his legs. The movement brings his hand forwards, dipping between your legs to trace two fingers up through your drenched cunt. You moan loudly against him, and Joel chuckles.

‘Last night not enough for you, little girl?’

You hum against him, shaking your head. He retracts his fingers.

‘Words, baby.’ He reminds you.

‘No, da-’ you start, but as soon as your lips part he has his fingers on your tongue. On instinct, your eyes flutter shut and you suck them, swirling your tongue over the thick digits, savouring the taste of you both.

‘Rude to talk with your mouthful, sweet pea,’ he murmurs, ‘Somebody oughta fuck some manners into ya.’

With his fingers still in your mouth, Joel turns you onto your back, bracing himself away from you to watch you continue to suckle on his fingers. He pushes them further back, further, further, only to watch you begin to gag around him.

‘Good girl,’ he says, withdrawing them, spit-slick, before bringing them back to your pussy. He watches your face as he pushes them easily inside, the crease between your brows, the way your jaw slackens, the way your eyes widen as he curls them into your sweet spot. He nods, pleased. ‘Think you’re wet enough to take me already, baby,’ he says, swiping them over your clit. You jolt, moaning again at the feeling. ‘What do you think?’

‘Yeah, daddy,’ you sigh, ‘Ready for you.’

Joel chuckles.

‘Always so ready f'me, isn’t she, princess?’ He says, lining himself up at your entrance, gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on him. He doesn’t expect an answer this time. ‘Yeah, always dripping for me, aren’t you? Poor baby girl. Poor baby girl and her messy little pussy.’

He feeds his cock to you slowly, so slowly. You whine and arch against him as he does, brain trickling away from you, already so given in to the sensation; mind deliciously blank, nails scratching at his forearms as he cages you in, thrusting deep, bottoming out. When he sees your eyes roll back, he picks up his pace smoothly, thrusting faster and harder, deeper. You moan out a long daddy, and he huffs in amusement.

‘Does daddy feel good, sweet girl?’

You gasp out a yes, fuck, daddy, and he hums in response.

'There she is,’ he says, ‘Didn’t need coffee, did ya, baby? Just wanted daddy. Just needed your daddy, hm?’ You nod furiously, tongue loosened by the heavy weight of him inside you, babbling away about how good he feels, how deep, how big he is. You lock your ankles around the bottom of his spine to pull him closer, and he groans, head dipping to yours. ‘Yeah,’ he breathes, ‘You take what you need, baby. Just wanna get fucked, huh? Woke up dreamin’ a me? Dreamin’ a me fuckin’ you full of my cum again, babygirl?’

You moan again, neck pulling taught as you arch further, pull him in deeper. The coil deep in your belly tightens, jaw clenching as you scratch at him, as you tug the hair at the nape of his neck.

‘Poor baby, can’t even get her words out,’ he coos, and like he wants to prove his point, he pushes even deeper, tip kissing your cervix, the bruising feeling making you gasp, making you plead, making you beg as you try and move your hips away from him. He brings his hand away from your face to your waist, keeping you in place.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he smiles, rocking in and out of you again, ‘I know you can take it, just relax f'me. That’s a good girl. I know it’s big but you can take it.’

You clench around him, painfully, try to mumble out how close you are, but you can’t even summon the words. In this room, he is all you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel. The slickness of it, the heat, the burning pleasure rising inside you as you writhe beneath him.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he murmurs, ‘You’re close already, huh?’ You hum, body tight, so close, so close, head so empty. ‘Yeah, you are. Fuck, love when you get all stupid on me like this. You like getting fucked dumb on daddy’s cock, baby? Can you feel me all the way in here, sweetheart?’ he asks, moving the hand on your waist to press against your lower stomach. You clench harder as he presses down, the coil tightening, spiralling, and you’re right there - ‘Wish you could fuckin’ see yourself right now, baby. Wish you could see how pretty ya look getting fucked. You like being watched, don’t ya, darlin’? Yeah. Want Santi and Francisco to watch again, baby?’ You gasp at his words, surprised, vision blurring, hurtling towards your climax, the build up scorching, impossibly long. ‘Sure you do. Or d'you want Santi to fuck you again, make you scream his name while he’s inside you, huh?’

Fuck, okay. Okay -

‘Yes, daddy -’ you breathe, pussy fluttering around him, the beginnings of your orgasm.

‘Santi? Or is it Frankie, baby? You want his mouth on you, want to feel him stretch you open? He’s big, isn’t he? Wanna see how he feels, if he fits like me?’

He is, you remember, he is, and you could try. If you can take Joel, you can take Frankie, and oh, what a thought -

Your body pulls tighter, aching, painful, and you cry out.

‘Shit -’ you moan, ‘Shit, Joel, I’m -’

‘Come, babygirl,’ he tells you. ‘Come all over my cock, princess. Get it nice and wet, just how daddy likes it.’

You burst aflame beneath him with a shout, body jerking as you hiss and gasp, gripping him to you as he fucks you through it. You whimper with every thrust as he keeps talking through gritted teeth, thrusting harder.

‘Yeah, that’s it. So sweet, baby. Good fuckin’ girl. You want them again, darlin’? Want to play with 'em? Want to watch 'em play with your daddy?’

A needy whine slips past your lips as you picture it; Frankie on his knees, Santi on all fours, and you grow even wetter at the thought, the slick of your orgasm and Joel’s words making the prettiest noises.

‘She likes that,’ Joel says, almost to himself, ‘Yeah, she likes that. Dirty girl. Dirty girl, wanting all three of us, wanting to watch, hm? Wanna touch, baby? Wanna see how it feels?’ He looks so fucked out on top of you that even you’re not sure if he knows what he’s saying, what he’s asking you. But you gasp out a yes anyway, something warm and quick trickling up your spine, tightening your cunt again.

‘Another one,’ he grunts, ‘Another one, darlin’, and I’ll give you what you want.’

You don’t need to be told twice. Your second orgasm rips through you lightning fast and white-hot, so good that you hear ringing in your ears, so tight that Joel stutters inside of you, groaning, breathing your name as he pumps and spills and twitches. You’re both breathing so heavily that it’s all you can do to lie there, licking your lips as Joel pulls out with a moan and flops beside you. A breathless little giggle escapes your parted lips.

Joel reaches across your body and tugs you by the arm until you’re nestled into his side. Too hot, too breathless, but you breathe him in all the same, tracing patterns on his chest.

The room is quiet as you both come down from your highs, your eyes falling closed as Joel presses a kiss to your hairline. Your brain tries its best not to think, not to read into it, but even through the exhaustion, his words come back to you.

Watch, touch.

You have to know. You have to ask, now, want to know, want it, want it, want it -

‘Do you - do you want to do it again?’ You stutter.

Joel puffs out a laugh to the ceiling.

‘You’re gonna have to give me at least ten minutes, baby.’

You laugh and nudge his side with your fist.

‘No,’ you smile, ‘No. The - the thing you said, about that night -’

He raises an eyebrow, and you bare your teeth awkwardly.

'You know - that night.'

‘Mm?’ Tease.

You lean further onto his chest and take his skin gently between your teeth. You nip, and he relents. You lean back slightly to look at him.

Joel smiles at you, crooks his head so he can nibble at your ear lobe.

‘Baby, I’d love to.’

The sound that leaves your lips is obscene, and you don’t care. Fuck, the thought of it. The three of them together, the four of you together.

‘All we gotta do is send the text,’ he says, ‘Could send it now and they’d be here in the hour.’ He chuckles. One of his hands moves down to your thigh, hooking it over his hip before moving to your ass to rock you against him. You groan into his shoulder. Your next question leaves your lips before you can even stop it.

‘Did you - did you mean what you said, about you and Santi and Frankie?’ You ask. It sounds clumsy, almost like you shouldn’t be asking. Fuck, maybe you should have waited for him to bring it up. You tense, waiting for his reaction.

Joel opens his eyes again with a small smirk, peeking down at you down his aquiline nose. His movements still.

‘Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.’

You draw a quick breath and hold him closer. You won’t ask anymore questions. Try to push away thoughts of what Joel could do with his hands, his mouth, his cock, of what the two other men could do with theirs, what it would be like to watch, what it would be like to feel -

‘I’ve never… I’ve never done it before.’ Joel says, quietly.

You pull back from his chest and watch him watch you. His dark eyes are honest, wary, and a question forms on your lips. He said he had been with multiple people in the past, it was something he’d done, something he was clear he had enjoyed -

‘With a man. I’ve never… done anything with a guy.’

Your stomach swoops at his nervousness. You feel your brow crease, a hand reaching up to touch his cheek.

‘That’s okay,’ you whisper, ‘That’s… I didn’t realise, that’s all. ‘M sorry if I pushed you.’

Joel shakes his head. He hums beneath you, a deep rumble in his chest.

‘Y’didn’t. You ain’t.’

You stroke your thumb along the patches of his beard.

‘Do you… want to talk about it?’

Joel closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath.

‘I’ve thought about it. For a while. Watching people, watching you. I’m… curious.’

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

‘That’s normal, baby,’ you whisper, ‘So normal.’

Your mind flashes back, back to how tender he was with you, with Frankie. His warmth towards Pope as the four of you cleaned up afterwards, as you dressed in the comfiest clothes you could find. The way his eyes lingered on your body, Santi’s body, Frankie’s, the curiosity you glimpsed as you snacked and rehydrated, the goodbyes as they slipped out the door.

It makes sense.

And it’s even better to know that all this time you’ve been imagining it, he has, too.

‘I’d like to try it,’ he says, blinking at you. ‘With them. With you. If that’s okay?’

You clutch his face tighter, tender, warmth blooming in your chest at his trust. You smile wide at him, and he visibly relaxes. Tears threaten in your eyes.

‘Yes,’ you breathe, ‘Yes. Of course it is. I… it’d be more than okay.’

He swallows.

‘You sure?’

You untangle yourself from him as much as possible, but he keeps an iron grip on your waist. You settle on your elbow.

‘Of course I’m sure, baby,’ you soothe, ‘Of course I am. I’m glad you told me. It’d be - it’d be an honour - it’s very brave of you to -’

Joel cuts you off with a snort, pulling you roughly back against him. He holds you tight within his grasp.

‘Very brave -’ he chuckles.

‘It is,’ you insist, muffled against his chest, ‘It is, and if there’s anything you want to try -’

He pulls you up so your face is level with his, and shuts you up with a firm kiss. And when you lick him a little while later, tongue pressed up, pressing in to his tight ring of muscle, you find that there is plenty he wants to try.

And plenty you want to help him with.

———

Will greets you first at the bar that evening, and you quickly lose yourself to the rhythm of the night.

The five of you are tucked back into your usual booth, bottles and glasses crowding the table, the noise of other patrons bringing you closer together, knees knocking, hands over forearms to claw yourself further into the conversation. You talk for hours, work tales being swapped, gossip about old friends, former lovers. Will and Benny seem particularly interested in your romance with Joel, and you happily fill them in, telling them about the barbeque you had round Tommy and Maria’s, how you’re meeting Sarah next time she’s home from college, and how Joel will be away on a contract next week. Frankie and Santi listen in with gleaming eyes, half-smiles of their own, sharing secrets across the table that only you are privy to. It makes your stomach tighten, your panties damp.

And the way Frankie watches you, it’s like he knows.

Seats are switched throughout the night after bathroom breaks and drinks collections, but Pope always finds a way to be close to you - a hand on your thigh, a squeeze of your palm, the press of his shoulder against yours. He stacks a small pile of peanuts on the table between the two of you, hidden behind a glass, and at any opportune moment you can, you take turns flicking them at Will or Benny. With every small, yellow projectile that smacks against their chests, arms, sometimes even faces, Frankie racks up a tally on a napkin. The game is all but lost when Benny looks at up the ceiling and asks in disbelief whether it’s raining fucking peanuts, and you and Santi collapse into fits of giggles. Benny stares at you in blank confusion, furthered by Will’s growing rumble of laughter - until he finally fixes stoic Frankie with a betrayed look, noticing the tally half-hidden by his palm, and cries out an accusatory -

‘Is that you?’ Which sends Frankie over the edge, too.

When places switch again, Will makes sure to gather you in a headlock in his strong arms and grind his knuckles roughly into your scalp. You yelp with laughter, giggling against each other, sinking into the dirty leather as Will muses on how much of a bastard you are, wondering out loud how your skills as a former bartender allowed you to outsmart ex-Delta Force operators.

Frankie watches with his usual boyish charm, his eyes crinkling at the edges, warm and molten and wanting when they meet yours. Your tongue burns with the things you want to tell him, with what you and Joel had discussed, eventually in great detail, in bed at home. But you bite the words back, knowing what is and what isn't yours to share. Instead, you lean into Santi’s touch, scraping your nails along his jeans until he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, biting his lip in a wicked grin. He excuses himself soon after, and with his departure, Benny calls for a round of pool.

He’s already slipping out of the booth before you can protest, Will following closely behind. Frankie steps out, too, rounding your side and holding out a hand for you. You accept it, stepping out in front of him so you’re pressed chest to chest. He lifts his palm to your cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to your hairline. You press his bicep in thanks before turning back to the table, hinging at your hips to grab both his drink and yours, taking extra care to subtly grind your ass into his crotch. His palm comes to rest at the top of your thigh, holding you there for just a moment, before moving to your waist. You turn back to him. He leans in close.

‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do to us tonight, hermosa,’ he breathes into the conch of your ear, ‘But it’s working.’

You grin at him as he moves his hand from your waist to the plush flesh of your ass, squeezing gently before letting go. You take a sip from your beer, reaching up to take the cap from his curls and nestling it backwards on your own head.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

His answering smile is dirty, thrilling, and he follows you as if on a leash to the pool table the brothers have secured.

Santi joins you soon afterwards, his cheeks a little flushed, a fresh drink in his hand. You’re split off into the most unfair teams possible; Will, Benny, and Frankie taking one cue, and you and Pope with the other. Frankie racks up the balls with swift, deft movements, taking the cue easily in his massive hands, the wood resting between his thick fingers. You feel your body warm as you watch him, still wearing his cap, trying to squeeze your thighs together inconspicuously. You bring your cool bottle to your neck as Pope winds an arm around you, letting his hand settle at your hip, stroking and pinching the flesh there. You don’t look at him, but you sigh deeply, and he lets his head knock against yours, pleased. With Frankie shooting first, there’s no great rush to grab your cue and be prepared.

You watch as he pots ball after ball, mouth curving in a playful scowl as he shoots you a grin after each one, moving around the table with so much grace and ease that it starts to make you a little dizzy. Benny and Will cheer him on with loud hoots and shouts, and Pope makes sure the two of you boo him like a pantomime villain with every flick of his wrist. When he finally fails to sink a shot, Pope passes you the cue, and you take your time lowering yourself to press your chest to the green felt, inhaling deeply. You’re warm, relaxed, a little buzzed, more than a little horny. You wiggle your ass a little, and Will laughs, shouting something about how your distraction technique won’t work, and he’s right. It quickly backfires when Frankie sweeps around the table, pressing one half of his body over yours as he directs you on how to hold the cue, how to position it, how to cradle it in your fingers like he does. When he’s sure you’ve got it, he breathes into your ear for you to pull your elbow back with just the right amount of leverage, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that break out along your neck and shoulder.

‘You’re ready,’ he whispers, and just as you begin to snap your wrist forwards, he presses his firm cock into your thigh.

Your quick inhale stutters your movement, and you watch as the tip of the cue just catches the edge of the ball, sending it spinning off into a barren corner of the table. You stand and spin to Frankie.

‘You asshole!’ you cry, indignant and hot, pointing a finger at him as he snatches his cap back from your head and retreats. ‘You - jogged me!’ Frankie spreads his hands in front of him, pouting, his bulge only just covered by the front of his button up.

‘I tried my best.’ He grins.

‘Don’t worry about it, kid,’ Will calls from the other side of the table, ‘Fish is known for being good with his hands. Even when he uses them for evil.’

The men laugh as Frankie flushes, knocking his fist into Will’s belly. Despite yourself, you laugh with them, enjoying watching him flustered as Will gasps out his laughter. Pope leans in close to whisper in your ear.

‘Good with his mouth, too.’ And all the air is sucked from your lungs as you feel your own face heat. Santi laughs louder next to you, taking the cue from your hands so you can grasp your bottle instead. You watch as Benny misfires, then Pope, still giggling at his own joke, before Frankie takes over again, sinking each one until only the white remains. Not that you notice, finding yourself now caught up in the way he bites and wets his lips, how plush they look, how they’d feel pressed to your thighs, your tits, your clit -

Benny snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, waving you back to reality.

‘Ground control to Major Loser,’ he grins, ‘Frankie whooped your ass, in case you weren't paying attention. It’s your round.’

You scoff playfully at him, whirling on your heel back towards the bar, but not before catching Pope’s eye again as he smirks at you, leaning against the table next to Frankie.

You flip them off as you work your way through the crowd.

When Frankie parks his truck outside Joel’s, all the lights in the house are off.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, and Frankie eyes the front door a little warily, eyes narrowing at the distance between. You giggle at him.

‘Frankie, baby, the boogeyman is not going to get me in the space between your truck and the door.’

He frowns at you all the same before unbuckling his own seatbelt and jumping out the driver’s side. You roll your eyes at him as he bounds round the front of the truck, swinging your door open and helping you out. He grins at you.

‘I know,’ he says, ‘I know, just - let me do it. Humour me.’

He swings your hands between you as you walk up the front yard, and you try to stifle your giggles as you slot the spare key into the lock. It’s unlike Joel to not wait up for you, but you’d made sure to tucker him out before you’d left. You’re glad he’s finally getting the rest he needed.

The door swings open in front of you into yawning darkness, and Frankie gives your hip a squeeze.

‘You’re sure Joel’s home?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you nod, flicking the hallway light on. ‘He’s probably just asleep. It’s late, and -’

‘You probably spent the first half of the day making him see God, I suppose.’ He finishes for you. You smack his chest when you see his shit-eating grin, but aren’t able to wipe your own from your lips.

‘Obviously.’ You smirk.

Frankie laughs quietly as you shut the front door behind him, letting his hands wander from your hip to your waist, up and down the span of your back, pulling you towards him. You can still feel him, warm and half hard against you, and a soft moan slips from your mouth in response to his small grind. He smiles again, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull to his chest as he rocks you back and forth, letting you feel everything while having nothing. Your own hands clutch at his shirt, shifting it higher so you can splay your palms over his bare abdomen. He looks down at you with soft, lazy eyes, and for a moment, you’re sure you’re going to kiss him. And when he leans in to whisper in your ear, you’re sure you’re going to wake Joel up and beg for him to take the two of you now. But instead, Frankie asks in a whisper -

‘Do you think Joel’d mind if I used his bathroom?’

You snort a laugh, pushing yourself away from him, and he giggles back at you.

‘Of course not,’ you say, pointing off down the hallway. ‘Just up there. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.’

He salutes as he backs away, almost knocking into the bannister of the stairs, and you have to clap your hands over your mouth to keep from laughing too loud. You step quietly into the kitchen to pour two glasses of water, but only get as far as reaching up into the cupboard when there are soft footsteps behind you. You grin, about to tease Frankie for not being able to find the bathroom on his own before warm, calloused hands are on you. Shameless, needy, groping up your top, tugging your bra down, cupping your breasts, tweaking your nipples.

Your body goes quickly liquid at the familiar touch, all smart quips dying in your throat as Joel ruts against you from behind, the weight of his hard cock hot and firm against your ass, barely disguised by his grey sweatpants. Your hands come to grip at the countertop, and you try to get the words out to tell him not now, Frankie’s here, but all that escapes is a moan.

‘’M glad you’re home, baby,’ he growls in your ear, fingers making quick work of your button and zipper. ‘Missed you. Dreamed of you. Did ya miss me, too?’ as he tugs your jeans down to the tops of your thighs.

‘Joel -’ you breathe, but you’re too slow, unable to process anything beyond the fingers he dips into your panties. Usually you love him like this, swaddled in sleep, desperate to bury himself inside you, and you’d let him take you anywhere, but not right here, not right now. Your body continues to betray you, pulsing out more of the slick that has kept your underwear damp all night - the touches beneath the table, the pressure of Frankie’s cock against your thigh during pool, him pressed up against you in the doorway. Everything you’d done with Joel earlier in the day, the way he’d come apart with your tongue and your fingers, the way he’d eaten you to the point of tears, all coming together to show him how you glisten in the low light of the kitchen. The two of you are insatiable, and he groans against you, offering you his fingers to suckle as he pulls the waistband of your panties down to join your jeans. You try to mumble out around him again - Joel, wait - but he’s too fast as he sinks himself inside of you, and every thought, every word, is wiped from your brain.

He sets a punishing pace from the off, and you take it easily, cheek pressed into the marble, head turned away from the door as you drool and whimper around him. The thick, heavy slide of his cock, covered in your slick, the wet sounds, the soft moans and pants that ricochet around the kitchen, and when he swirls a finger around your clit, your own sharp gasp heaves you to life.

‘Joel, wait - Frankie - Frankie’s here -’

But it’s too late, far too late, you realise, when you turn your head to the other side to find Frankie already stood in the entryway, leant against the frame like he’s been silently engaging you in casual conversation. Except he looks ravenous.

Joel groans from above you, tip kissing your cervix as he pumps in and out, fingers twitching over your clit to feel you tighten around him.

‘I know, baby,’ he groans, ‘He’s watchin’. See how he’s watchin’ you?’

It’s almost impossible to look, to watch Frankie take you in. The throb of Joel’s cock inside you, his fingers, the tightening knot that threatens to burst already, it’s making it hard to keep your eyes open.

‘That what you want, hermosa?’ Frankie asks.

You nod furiously against the marble, biting back a sob as your knees begin to give way, as you tighten, tighten, tighten, as your core locks down, your pussy growing hotter and wetter. Fuck, all that thinking, all that teasing means the build up has happened so impossibly fast, and you stumble towards the edge of the cliff already, aching for the fall.

‘Just like we said, huh?’ Joel hums. ‘You wanna be watched, don’t ya, baby girl?’

‘Yes - daddy -’ you choke out, and he hums again, this time speaking to Frankie.

‘Hear that? Want you to watch. Be a good boy, and watch.’

Frankie nods quickly, every bit the soldier; his jaw set, eyes black, curls peeking out from under his cap. In this moment, he doesn’t look like your Frankie. He looks cool, almost detached if not for the burning of his eyes. And he watches every movement, every part of your skin Joel touches, everything that is revealed to him, like he’s trying to commit it to absolute memory. The sounds, the way Joel’s cock glistens as it stretches out of you, the breath that is punched from your lungs as he pushes back in. It’s like it’s the first time he’s seen this happen.

But then, you realise, it is.

This is the quiet, obedient Frankie who kneeled behind the door. The Frankie who didn’t move an inch, the Frankie who could do nothing but listen as the three of you fucked each other. The Frankie who curled himself over your hand as he came, hot shocks of arousal and humiliation rocking his body. And now, he gets to watch.

But oh, how you wish he could touch. How you wish he’d come closer, away from the doorframe, how you wish he’d run his hands over your body, undress you, hold you, lick and suck and kiss you, how he could fuck your mouth as Joel fucked your tight cunt until your throat was raw, how you’d take him so deep, as deep as you could, until there would be nothing left, nothing more for you to feel or think about than what went on beyond the two men and you. You watch as his eyes rake over Joel, over you. How they track every movement, the curl of Joel’s fingers against your clit, how you gasp and choke, how Joel grits his teeth as he pounds into you, getting close now, feeling you tighten and leak and flutter around him, bunching your shirt up your back so he can press a hot kiss to your spine.

‘Give it to me,’ he groans, ‘Give it to me, baby, come on. You’ve got it, you can do it. Come for me.’

You heave a broken, high pitched whine at his words, and Frankie’s eyes snap to yours. His lips part in a breath, his only visible reaction, but it’s enough. Like the command has slipped from his lips too, your vision whitens and your back arches, fingers scrabbling against the smooth surface beneath you as you constrict so tightly around Joel you can feel the way you have to stretch again to take him in.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Such a good girl. So pretty, baby, so good. Now, tell me - tell me where you want it -’

You moan again, eyes flicking back to Frankie when they roll from the back of your skull. The thought crosses your mind, but you can’t find the words, can’t feel your legs, only the grip of Joel's fingers as he changes tack - ‘Tell me, or I’ll decide.’

You gasp out a fuck, forehead pressed against the counter, trying to decide whether you’re brave enough to say it, brave enough to ask -

‘Please -’

But it doesn’t come from you. You roll your head on the marble to find Frankie stepping slowly into the kitchen, cheeks pink, chest rising and falling quickly.

‘I can - let me help -’ Fuck. Fuck. You try to twist to gauge Joel's reaction, but his mind is made up so quickly you only get the chance to feel desperately empty before he tells Frankie to kneel.

The younger man drops to his knees beside you m, in front of Joel, chest heaving now, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously - and you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him so bad, but the thought is quickly whisked away as Joel steps closer, fisting his thick cock in his hand.

‘You want this?’ He grits. Frankie nods eagerly, transfixed by the man above him, eyes flicking between Joel’s and the swollen head of his cock, soaked with your slick and cum, dribbling the precursor of Joel’s own release. ‘Show me.’

Frankie’s mouth falls open instantly, his tongue sliding past his lips to welcome the tip of Joel’s cock. You moan, knees finally giving out, landing next to Frankie. He doesn’t take his eyes off Joel.

The older man gasps out a curse at the sight, before ropes of thick, milky cum spurt from his tip onto Frankie’s tongue, filling his mouth, weaker pulses landing on his chin as Joel squeezes the last of his release out. You tear your eyes from Frankie to the man above you, the way he pants, eyes aflame, jaw slack.

‘Swallow.’

You whip back round to Frankie to see his throat bob as he follows the instruction, and he opens his mouth again to show Joel that he’s done exactly as he asked.

‘Good boy,’ he drawls, swiping a thumb against his chin to collect the remnants of his spend before offering it to you. You open your mouth just as eagerly, but Joel seems to think twice. He spreads it across one cheek, and then the other, painting you, before placing the digit firmly on your tongue, allowing your tongue to lathe the taste of him from the pad. Frankie leans towards you, and then you feel his tongue, warm and wet against your cheek, licking away at the cum that Joel spread there. Joel chuckles at him.

‘Desperate for more.’

Frankie hums against you, tongue now flicking at the corner of your lips. Joel raises an eyebrow at you.

‘What are you waiting for, sweetheart?’ he purrs, ‘Show Frankie how well he did.’

You twist your head to Frankie’s, one hand going to the back of his head, fisting his curls, the other tracing the waistband of his jeans, eager fingers feeling the warm skin there, trying to touch further, trying to reach him. You lick into his mouth, tongue grazing his teeth as you palm him over the denim, and he moans against you. You retract your hand from his curls and start at his fly before a sharp, trilling noise makes you flinch back. His phone rings in his back pocket.

‘Ignore it, don’t worry about it,’ he says, pulling you back towards him, his mouth soft and urgent against yours, your fingers clumsy at the front of his jeans, twisting in the material, against metal, and fuck -

‘Why do you have so many fucking buttons?’

He laughs, breathy, exasperated into your hair.

‘It’s the - it’s the fucking style - there’s no zipper, it’s just buttons -’

You giggle as well, the ringing of his phone chiming off as you hear Joel say ‘just buttons?’ from behind you.

You manage to get two undone before his phone begins to ring again, and this time he breaks the kiss to drag it out off his pocket and silence it. He glances at the screen, hisses a fuck, and bites his bottom lip. You stall your movements, frowning at him.

‘You okay?’

‘One sec -’

He declines the call, but you see he’s missed messages as well. His brow pulls tighter as he reads them, and he scrubs an irritated hand over his face before looking back at you, his eyes dark, apologetic, pissed off.

‘I gotta go,’ he says, forehead knocking against yours before he’s wobbling to his feet, breathless, ‘I gotta - it’s Benny, I don’t know - I don’t know what it is, but -’ His phone pings with another text, and he breathes out a fuck’s sake. ‘I’m sorry -’

‘Hey,’ Joel says softly, and you look back up at him. He still looks as wrecked as before, but he’s straightened himself out and his gaze is softened by concern. Without looking, he holds a hand out to pull you up off the floor, and you gratefully accept, pulling up your jeans. ‘It’s okay, really, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry - what’s happened?’

Frankie relaxes, exhales.

‘Bar fight. Benny and Will were still there when we left. Looks like Benny’s managed to piss the wrong people off.’ he pauses. ‘Again.’

Joel chuckles, lands a hand on his shoulder.

‘Got a little brother just like it. You want us to come with?’

Frankie looks from you to Joel, and shakes his head.

‘No,’ he smiles, ‘Thanks, that’s alright. Can’t be getting distracted on my way there. Won’t be much help in jail.’

You grin at him, straightening his shirt, his curls, and he lets you fuss. You swipe your thumb at the corner of his mouth, and he flushes.

‘Are you sure?’ You ask.

He huffs a laugh, adjusting himself through his jeans, and you pout a little at his discomfort.

‘No,’ he admits, ‘But I’ll be alright. Honestly.’

‘Okay,’ you say, ‘Okay.’

He smiles again, dipping to kiss your cheek before shyly, hesitantly doing the same to Joel. You watch the smile that blooms across the older man’s lips before you find yourself mirroring it.

‘I’ll walk you to your truck.’ Joel says. Frankie nods gratefully, and you hum as Joel squeezes your waist before heading towards the front door.

‘See you next time, baby.’ You murmur to Frankie.

‘Next time.’ He whispers back, grinning and turning to follow Joel. He makes it to the open doorway before you remember.

‘Frankie -’ you call, and he turns, framed by the night behind him. You make a motion at your crotch, and he cocks his head at you. ‘Buttons.’ You stage-whisper, and he laughs as he adjusts himself, refastening the two you managed to get undone.

‘See you soon, hermosa,’ he says softly, and you smile as he follows Joel out to his truck.

You can’t sleep.

You’d bored quickly of tossing and turning, Joel dead to the world beside you, and had slunk downstairs for a glass of water. There’s a niggling feeling in your chest, something left unsatisfied. Guilty that, yet again, Frankie had not been given what he deserved, guilty that you hadn’t had time to see it through. And you just want to know if he’s okay, if he’s safe. You shoot him a text, leant against the marble he had watched you get fucked over less than two hours ago. Just a quick hey, are you okay?

You bite at your thumb, tap out another one - did you get home safe? He replies almost instantly.

Hey. I did. All good. I’m great. Had a great time

Then -

Thank you

You chew your lip a while, frowning, trying to work out if you believe him or not. God, texting sucks. Maybe you should call. You should call, just to check, even though he stayed, even though he watched, even though he said yes, even with the text -

But Frankie takes the decision from you with the next message, a voicenote minutes long. You wind yourself up for whatever it could possibly be, but nothing prepares you for the breathy moan that emanates loudly from your phone, so surprised that you almost drop the device. It’s followed by another, and the slick sound of what you can only assume to be Frankie’s fist fucking his cock, filtered through his quick, hot breaths. You close your eyes in rapt attention, dropping a hand to cup your sex as you listen to him whimper, as you listen to him whisper how good it feels, how he wants you, how he can still taste Joel in his mouth, how he’s about to come, how he’s coming -

It takes you an embarrassingly short amount of time to follow him, chest heaving against the cool marble of the counter top, legs shaky as you stand up right.

There’s not a peep from upstairs. You decide to let Joel sleep this one out.

You’ll send him the audio in the morning.

———

Work is slow, and is only sped up by being, in Joel’s words, an insufferable tease.

You’d bounded around the bedroom this morning, still secretly thrilled with the voicenote from last night, not heeding Joel’s pleas to come back to bed as he watched you don his favourite matching set, stockings, a tight little pencil skirt and blouse, before pressing a deep, lingering kiss to his mouth and floating out the door to work. You made sure to send him a pretty little picture of your dripping cunt on your lunch break, quickly followed by Frankie’s voicenote, and to your delight, receive a video of him coming hard in return.

You bite your lip, squirming at your desk, sure you’ll soak through your skirt when he sends you a follow up message soon after.

You got plans tonight?

No? You shoot back.

Good. Stay free, baby

And oh, you don’t plan on being anything but before he leaves tomorrow.

———

When you get home from work, Joel is waiting.

Waiting conspicuously in a pressed white dress shirt and slacks, a couple buttons undone so you’re greeted with the warm sight of his chest as he opens the door. He looks… divine. And he smells just as good, too. You press your lips to his quickly.

‘You look gorgeous,’ you smile, palm against his chest, one hand on his cheek to smooth the hair of his moustache. ‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Come upstairs,’ he says, smiling. ‘I wanna show you something.’

You raise an eyebrow, all manner of possibilities flashing through your mind before you drop your bag in the hallway and take his outstretched hand.

With one hand on your hip and another over your eyes, Joel guides you towards the bed. His fingers are warm and clammy over your eyelids, and you giggle as you both stumble forwards, the shadow of a bitten laugh trickling into your ear from behind you.

‘What are you doing?’

‘One more second, ‘n you’ll find out.’

Joel brings you to a gentle stop before positioning you at just the angle he wants before taking his hand away from your face. He chuckles to find your eyes still squeezed shut.

‘Open your eyes, baby.’

You blink them open, taking a long moment to realise what it is he’s showing you.

Laid out on the bed is a beautiful short and silken black dress.

A short breath bursts from your lips as you step forwards to take the hem delicately in your fingers.

‘Joel…’ you whisper, accusatory. It feels like water, so luxurious beneath your fingertips that you want to scold him for buying it. But when you turn and find his eyes bright, excited, soft, the guilt dies easily in your chest. ‘It’s beautiful.’

He shrugs, trying to disguise how pleased he is with your reaction.

You step back towards him, taking his face in your hands, pressing kisses anywhere you can.

‘Thank you,’ you murmur, ‘Thank you, baby, thank you. You really didn’t have to, but thank you.’

He scoffs lightly against your lips, hands gripping your hips again.

‘’Course I did,’ he grins. A dirty, secret little thing. ‘You needed something to wear for tonight.’

A worry tugs in your chest. Tonight? Have you forgotten something? Fuck - should you have bought him something, too? It can’t be the anniversary of anything, you haven’t even -

As though he’s read your thoughts, Joel pulls you closer, one hand drifting lower to palm your ass.

‘We’re going on a date.’

‘A date?’

Mhm, he hums against your mouth.

‘Surprise date.’

‘You bought this for a date?’

You give him your most serious look, head tilted, movements stilled. Pink flushes up from beneath his shirt collar.

‘Yeah, darlin’. Special dress for a special girl.’

You frown a little.

‘Where are we going where I’ll need to dress like that?’

Joel bites his lip.

‘Nice restaurant. We’re all getting dressed up.’

‘All?’

Joel extracts himself from your fingers, moving to fix his slicked back hair.

‘Joel. All?’

He shrugs again, looks at you over his shoulder in the mirror.

‘I had some help choosing the dress.’

Fuck. Fuck. Heat flashes between your thighs so quickly that you sit down heavily on the edge of the mattress. Joel smirks at you through the glass as you try and regulate your breathing. Your heart thrums in your chest as the thoughts clash through your head - Frankie on his knees behind the door, his wide, hungry eyes, Frankie on his knees in front of Joel, the drip of your cunt onto the floor, the full, overwhelming feeling of Joel claiming you after Santi, Santi’s fingers on your jaw, you look at your daddy when you come for me -

Joel squats down in front of you, his knees popping, two fingers lifting your chin.

‘Need to get ready, sugar,’ he drawls, ‘Rude to keep the boys waiting.’

You suck in a hot breath, eyes glazed, body warm and fluid already.

‘Are - are they coming back here?’

‘Not tonight,’ he murmurs. ‘Want you to myself before I head out in the morning.’

He stands as you blink up at him, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth

‘Soon, baby,’ he reassures, ‘You’ll have us soon.’

———

Joel holds your hand as you descend the marble steps into the sunken restaurant. It’s gorgeous - classy - maybe a little too much, but you can’t find the wherewithal to care when he leads you to your table. Frankie and Santi are already seated and looking equally as handsome. They stand as you approach, Frankie flushing as he takes you in, kissing your cheek, Pope letting out a low whistle as he does the same.

You talk over glasses of wine, nibbles of bread, and your starter course; conversation often interrupted by anecdotes and jokes and observations of other patrons that definitely could have waited til later. Joel fills the boys in on the contract he’ll be away on up in Tulsa until late next week, and Pope says he will be flying back to Colombia for a few days to straighten out a couple loose ends with his last contract. You frown at him, having not been aware of this most recent development, but he’s quick to assure you that it is just that. Paperwork and documents he needs to ensure can be sealed away, picking up a couple of things from the Embassy, catching up with a couple of old colleagues, and then heading home. The boys never really talk about exactly what went down those years ago when they lost Tom, and frankly you’re not sure if you want to know. From what they have said, it was rash, greedy, and all but fucked from the start. Not something you’re particularly keen on imagining. But you’re glad that, this time, he’ll be safe and keeping away from it.

Joel and Santi share a glance over your head, and you realise you should have known. Should have known they’d be plotting and scheming.

It doesn’t take as long as it did the first time to set out the rules.

With the older men away, you and Frankie are free to spend your time as you see fit. Neither of you need to be looked after, neither of you need to be kept an eye on, but Santi and Joel phrase the opportunity to spend time together as more of a challenge. To see how you can work each other up, how well you can behave without either of them there to tell you what to do and how to do it. You’re grinning into your wine as you imagine it, all of the things you can do without actually fucking, until Joel halts your train of thought.

‘There’s one rule,’ he says. You pause mid-sip. He spears a piece of asparagus with his fork, bringing it to his mouth. ‘You can’t touch each other.’

You swallow, confused, looking across to Frankie, who is suddenly unable to meet your eye, and then to Pope, who watches the two of you with a cruelly delighted smirk.

‘We - what?’ You ask, confused.

‘Can’t touch,’ Joel says again, ‘’s your only rule. Dinner, drinks, movies, hell, sleepin’ in the same bed is fine. You just can’t touch.’

You stare at him. This is it. He’s lost his damn mind.

‘Little challenge for you, baby girl,’ he says, ‘I know Frankie can do it. This one’s for you.’

You open your mouth, about to protest how that can’t possibly be fair before snapping your jaw closed again. Joel watches, amused. This is not an argument you will win.

‘Fine.’ You say, even as Santi snickers at the fact that it’s evidently not. You decide on a change of tact. ‘And myself?’ Frankie finally looks up at you, eyes wide. Your lips curl in a pleased smile as Santi takes a steadying sip of his drink.

‘You can touch yourself, darlin’’ Joel says, unfazed, ‘Never said you couldn’t do that.’

You nod, gears turning. An idea forming, one you tamp down by resting your hand on Joel’s thigh.

‘Was Benny okay last night?’ You ask Frankie, changing the subject. Your fingers begin their slow and steady stroke up and down Joel’s thigh as you watch the younger man flush.

‘Yeah,’ he nods, ‘He was only arrested for starting a bar fight -’

Your hand pauses only briefly on Joel’s thigh.

‘He was arrested?’

Frankie grins.

‘Yep. Not the first time. One day he might learn his lesson.’

You chuckle along with Joel and Santi.

‘Was he okay?’

‘Always is,’ Frankie says, ‘Lucky motherfucker. You should see the other guy.’

You smile, scraping your nails along Joel’s pants now, pleased when he shifts in his seat. He leans in close to your ear.

‘Knock it off, princess. I know exactly what you’re tryna do.’

You raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Never said I couldn’t touch you, daddy.’

You turn back to face Frankie, and he eyes you suspiciously.

‘Don’t miss those days,’ Joel says, and Frankie’s eyes flick to him. ‘Tommy straightened out once he met Maria. Think the worst time I had to bail him out was the night’a my 36th birthday. He near caused a riot at some bar downtown. They still won't let him back in.’

‘Can imagine Tommy raining hell down on ‘em,’ Pope says, beside you. ‘He and Benny would make a hell of a team.’

Joel chuckles.

‘Sure would,’ he says, and you slide your palm over to cup him through his pants. He’s rock hard, cock twitching at your touch. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. ‘She made him into a better man, my sister-in-law. Keeps him far outta trouble.’

His hand finds your own thigh beneath the table, squeezing as Santi begins to regale a story from his younger days with the boys. He starts the same ministrations as you, stroking, scraping, higher and higher, up to where you’re dripping, soaking yourself -

‘Joel.’ You whisper, something urgent in your voice. Why isn’t he stopping?

You’re suddenly nervous at the fact you’d decided to forego any underwear for the sake of the dress, before realising that is exactly what Joel had wanted. Like he knew you’d be running your hand up and down his thigh at the table, like he knew you’d be teasing him. Like he knew he could not only tease right back, but win the whole damn game. Smug bastard. He can read you like a book.

He leans in close to murmur into the conch of your ear.

‘Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby,’ as he pushes your dress higher to cup your sex. You clench your jaw as he chuckles underneath his breath, feeling how wet you are, how much more slick spills out at the pressure he applies.

His fingers move up to circle your clit gently, and you let out a shaky breath. You watch him from the corner of your eye, his chin in his fist, eyes sparkling as he listens to and watches the two other men, as his movements against your cunt grow firmer, faster. You reach for your wine glass, eyes flicking to Frankie, only to find him looking at you, eyes bright with amusement. You narrow your eyes, and Joel leans in again.

‘Good girl, he says, ‘You’re gonna keep looking at Frankie, and I’m gonna make you come like this. And next time, you’re not gonna play any of your games in the middle of a restaurant.’

You grit your teeth against the whimper that fights to escape as quiet falls at the table, the conversation quickly forgotten as Frankie leans back in his chair, smirking, watching intensely. You don’t break eye contact as Santi’s hand drifts to the soft flesh of your thigh, drawing goosebumps as it nears Joel’s, as he traces the seam of your cunt, smearing the wetness around your skin. You don’t even look when Pope brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking the tips before releasing them with a lewd pop.

‘Good enough to eat.’

Your cunt throbs in response, breathing coming more laboured as Joel’s fingers work you tighter, tighter, slipping away to hook your thigh out wider, only to be replaced by Santi’s. Once he’s satisfied with your new position, he slips his hand beneath Pope’s, working the digits easily into your pussy, pumping in and out, curling to find that sweet spot within you. A small, desperate noise escapes you, and you set your glass down, your drink forgotten as you clutch at the napkin closest to you, body burning, buzzing, throbbing with pleasure. It’s too much, and it’s not enough.

You break eye contact with Frankie, holding your breath and biting your lip so hard you’re sure you’ll either pass out or draw blood.

‘No, baby,’ Joel rumbles into your hair, ‘Keep looking at Frankie. He’s gonna watch you come like this.’ You moan quietly again, meeting Frankie’s eyes, hot and close, so close.

Santi leans in so you can feel his hot breath against your cheek, goading, teasing -

‘Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.’

Your orgasm clatters through you, the tightly bound knot bursting as you lean forward onto the table, trying to stop your body from twitching. You feel yourself tighten and clench around Joel’s fingers, feel your thighs grow wetter, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as Pope looses a quiet groan. The fire and heat of it make it almost impossible to keep quiet, a moan slipping past your lips as Joel retracts his fingers too quickly to pat you on the back in some kind of misleading gesture. Santi keeps his fingers pressed to your clit for as long as possible, letting you ride it out, before circling it again.

A gasped fuck passes your lips, and you slam your fist down onto the table, clattering the silverware and glasses. The action draws a chuckle from Santi and Joel, and sharp looks from the two tables closest to you.

You cough a little, trying to affect the pretence of choking, spluttering, anything that doesn’t look like you just came in the middle of a restaurant.

When you haul your body back to sit upright, Joel moves his hand to your thigh, and Santi follows suit. Their fingers are wet against you, and you try not to look, try not to feel it, but it’s impossible. The slick feeling, the heat, the pressure. You could go again.

But, god, your throat is so dry.

As if on cue, the waitress appears at your shoulder to refill your water. You try to clear your throat to express your gratitude before noticing the deep red flush clawing up her neck, her gaze drawn to each hand still splayed on your thigh, dress rucked a little higher than it should be. You smile sheepishly at her, finally whisper a thank you.

When she leaves the table, you heave a deep breath, your head in your hands.

‘Almost.’ Joel whispers in your ear.

You resist the urge to flip him off, and instead decide the best way to get a hold of yourself is to head to the bathroom. Clean yourself up, splash a little cold water on your face.

‘Excuse me,’ you murmur, voice hoarse and strained, and Frankie can’t help the smile that reaches his eyes. Looking to Joel and Santi, it appears they feel the same way. You grin despite yourself as you stand on unsteady legs, Joel’s hands shooting out to steady you as you giggle at the three of them, enjoying their favourite game.

‘Fuck you guys,’ you laugh as you turn on your heel, and they mirror your chuckles.

You’re almost to the door of the restroom when your waitress catches your eye. You try to smile at her and glide past without drawing any more attention to yourself, but fail.

‘Ma’am,’ she calls softly, stepping just in front of you. Your stomach twists. Fuck, she knows. She knows, and she’s gonna kick you all out, you’re gonna get arrested - ‘Are you alright?’

You blink at her, surprised. And then it clicks. One woman, surrounded by three men. The hands on your thighs, your dress. Three men who have been talking intently, possessively, obviously, even if they can’t be heard. You exhale.

‘Oh no, it’s - yes. Thank you for checking. That’s - really kind of you. I’m fine. We’re friends - I mean - it’s complicated - but it’s nothing to worry about.’

It’s complicated? Why the fuck did you say that? You twist your fingers as you try and work out how to extricate yourself from the hole you’ve dug, but your mind draws a blank. You pray she missed your phrasing, her eyes searching your face as you give her your warmest smile. It’s only a moment before she returns it, even brighter.

‘Oh, like a - what is it - a polyamorous thing? That’s neat. You get it, cowgirl,’ she grins, before clapping a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my god,’ she gasps, ‘I’m so sorry, that was so unprofessional -’

You laugh, somewhat relieved, placing a gentle hand on her arm - it soothes her.

‘No, please,’ you giggle, ‘It’s fine, really.’

She peels her fingers back from her lips nervously and massages her temples.

‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she whispers, before meeting your eye again. ‘I’m sorry. But as long as you’re good. You know, taken care of.’ You watch as she cringes at herself. You reach out again to press her bicep.

‘Really, it’s fine,’ you say, glancing back to your table. You feel… warm as you look over at the three of them - relaxed, laughing. Warm at how easily you can all move back and forth in this dynamic. Warm at the feel of the slick around the tops of your legs. ‘I’m very well taken care of. And it’s really good of you to check.’

She smiles at you again as you step away towards the bathroom.

‘Oh, not at all,’ she says, bashful. ‘I’m glad. You guys have fun.’

The rest of the night passes easily, wrapped in conversation and good food. Jokes are whipped across the table so fast that the four of you cackle with laughter, the air sizzling with good humour and lightness. Joel has his hands on you whenever he can, and when you finally leave the restaurant just before closing time, Pope holds you tenderly, kisses both cheeks, and murmurs that he hopes you learned your lesson. You smack his arm and tell him to be safe in Colombia. Frankie does the same, but departs with a remark about how beautiful you looked instead - ‘especially when you come, hermosa’ he adds.

Joel makes sure you remember what he taught you at the table, taking the time to rock you through orgasm after orgasm in his bed until you’re in tears, until he’s sure the neighbours can hear you calling yes daddy, thank you daddy, I’m sorry daddy over the lawn.

He pulls you close afterwards, pressing kisses to any slither of skin he can, telling you how well you did, how proud you make him, how good you can be when you try. He only leaves to head through to the bathroom to turn on the shower, making you promise to join him when you can rouse yourself from the snuggly duvet. You don’t take much convincing.

Once you can hear him humming under the flow of water, you pad downstairs to the bag you’d left in the hallway yesterday. You root around in it before finding what you need, clutching it to your chest with a thrill before retreating back to Joel’s bedroom. You bury it in his suitcase, underneath at least a day’s worth of clothes, before stripping and joining him in the shower.

———

When you wake the next morning, Joel’s suitcase is already zipped shut, and the smell of coffee is drifting up the stairs.

You find him sat at the breakfast table, staring out into the weak morning sunshine, a steaming mug already set down for you across from him. You drift past him, a hand trailing from one shoulder, over his broad back, to the next, tracing the lines of your favourite plaid shirt, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

You sit quietly in each other’s company, the silence slowly turning to low conversation. What route he’ll be taking, where he’ll be staying, what the job will involve, what the people are like. What your work week looks like, what the book you’re reading is about, what you’ll do with him gone. You settle your chin on your palm.

‘Any other rules I should know about?’

Joel looks back at you with amusement written all over his face.

‘No. Jus’ don’t try anything at dinner again. Or do. I’m always happy to remind you.’

You giggle, and he grins back, all white teeth and crinkly eyes.

‘You know, even the waitress asked if I was okay afterwards.’

He grunts, enough of a question in it for you to continue.

‘I mean, I don’t think she saw anything go down. But she saw me with you guys and asked if I was okay.’

Joel raises his eyebrows.

‘What do you mean?’

You falter.

‘I guess… you know. Me, with you guys. Just making sure nothing - weird was going on.’

‘Weird?’

‘Bad.’ You say. Joel’s eyes soften, but his brow furrows.

‘I said no, of course. That we’re all friends. I don’t know. I rambled. She asked - she asked whether it was a polyamorous thing,’ you shrug.

‘’N what did you say?’

Something about the way Joel asks the question catches you off guard. A little brusque, a little too quick off his tongue. Your eyes narrow slightly.

‘Nothing,’ you admit, ‘I didn’t want to get into the semantics of what we do with a stranger. And - I don’t know what to call it. I don’t know if that is what it is.’

‘It something you’re interested in?’

You blink at him. He’s not looking at you, his jaw set, body tense. You feel your own jaw clench.

‘Is it something you’re interested in?’

Joel chews the side of his cheek, brow knitted as he looks out to the garden into the morning sunlight.

‘I don’t know,’ he says, ‘Not really thought about it before.’

You soften at the way his body deflates. Remember this is just as fresh for him as it is for you. You nod, reach out to take his massive hand in yours. His eyes swing back to you, and you squeeze his fingers.

‘You don’t have to think about it,’ you reassure him, ‘All of this is new. All of it. And if you want to talk about it, we’ll talk about it. But -’ you say, reaching to hold his other hand, too, ‘I want you to know none of it changes how I feel about you. You are enough for me. You will always be enough for me.’

Joel searches your face, quiet and serious. You lift his hands to your lips and press a tender kiss to his knuckles.

‘I love you.’ You say, softly.

There’s no sound through the quiet dawn of the world but a quiet intake of breath from Joel across the table. Your eyes flick up to him at the sound, to the brows slightly further up his tan forehead, his wide, surprised, brown eyes. And you realise that it’s slipped from you, aloud, for the first time. All that time spent thinking it, knowing it, feeling it, but those words in that order have been yet to pass either of your lips. In the conversations between sharing spaces, meeting families, spending time with friends, you’d forgotten to put into words what you’d assumed Joel already knew.

I love you.

You still, his hands unmoving before your lips, releasing a quiet exhale of your own.

‘I love you,’ you say again, even softer. And then, through heat rising in your chest - ‘You don’t have to say it back. If you’re not ready yet - you don’t have to ever say it back if you don’t want to -’

He grips your hands tight.

‘I love you.’ he says, gravelly and warm. And you believe him. See it in all its molten gold truth in his eyes. I love you.

You can’t help the delighted little laugh that falls from your lips. The same sound slips from Joel, and you sit, giggling and grinning at each other, in love, unaware of the minutes that tick by. You bite your lip.

‘Does that mean you’re my boyfriend now?’

Joel baulks at you, laughter frozen on his lips. Your heart squeezes, joy almost overtaken by nerves.

‘You mean - did I never ask you that?’

You shake your head slowly.

Joel sucks a breath in through his teeth. Something passes over his features; embarrassment, shame -

‘I’m sorry,’ he says lowly, a flush colouring his cheeks, ‘I’m sorry - I just - I assumed -’ he ducks his head away from you, ‘What an ass -’

You giggle at him, and he fixes you with his best puppy dog eyes.

‘Joel,’ you smile, ‘It’s okay, honestly -’

But he shakes his head.

‘No,’ he winces, ‘Sarah would be - so disappointed in me if she knew. She -’ he fixes you with an apologetic stare again, ‘She knew I loved you before you did. My God. And Tommy - Tommy would be wringing my neck, and my Momma - she raised me better than this -’

‘Joel,’ you laugh, standing from your chair to circle the table. Instinctively, he spreads his thighs for you to sit, and you settle down onto him, your legs perpendicular to his. You thread your arms around his neck, holding him close, and a warm palm comes to pet the small of your back. ‘Relax. Please don’t worry about it,’ you press a kiss to the patch in his beard, and he leans his head into you, eyes closed. ‘Besides. I kinda assumed it, too.’

His eyes open, so full of warmth, love.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘Do ya wanna be my girlfriend?’

You huff a laugh into his neck, resting on his shoulder.

‘Baby,’ you tease, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

You spend a little while longer like that, curled up in his lap like a cat, sharing kisses and giggles, until Joel checks his watch and sighs. You clamber off him and follow him upstairs, leaning against the doorframe as he makes his final checks.

‘Joel,’ you call softly, hesitating. You cringe in the doorway. ‘Is it - seeing Frankie for dinner tonight, is that - is that still okay?’

He smiles and steps towards you, gathering you in his arms.

‘You know what the limits are,’ he says into your hair. ‘I trust you. ’F I didn’t want you to do something, you’d have known about it before dinner. ’Sides,’ he says, ‘You’ll look good together at that table. I’ll be thinkin’ bout it while I’m away.’

You snort and rest your forehead against his chest, breathing his scent in.

‘Just wanted to check.’ You mumble. Joel presses a kiss to your hair, rocking you side to side.

‘I love you.’ He says.

‘Love you too.’ You whisper.

Minutes later, you watch his truck peel away from the house, waving through the rays of sunlight now peeking out from the trees. He waves back, his arm out the driver’s side window, until the truck disappears from view. You swallow the lump in your throat, wash the coffee mugs, gather your clothes, and lock Joel’s front door behind you.

———

Joel calls you later in the afternoon to let you know he’s arrived safe. And Frankie texts to let you know he’s picking you up at seven.

When you get home from work, you busy yourself with a shower, with laundry you’ve held off, with tidying the house, and when you’re settled, ready, you call Joel again. Just to hear his voice, just to know he’s eaten. He chuckles a melody down the line at your fussing, but before he has to hang up, he lets slip that he misses you already, just as much.

When seven rolls around, you feel warm, giddy, nerves fluttering in your stomach as you wait for the sound of tyres outside.

Frankie greets you at your door, relaxed in a t-shirt that strains across his arms, his signature cap, and a beaming smile. You melt a little at the sight of him, so boyish, so bashful, so handsome, that you have to forcefully remind yourself of the rules. No touching, which must surely extend to no kissing. Still, as though he can’t help himself, he keeps a palm on the small of your back as he leads you into the small restaurant he’s chosen and plays with your fingers while you’re sat at your table.

You eat and talk, laughing and smiling like you always do. He asks about work, the projects you’re working on, and you fill him in on all the office gossip. How one of the line managers got fired last week, how Trisha from accounting is pregnant. He asks question after question until you laugh and remind him that you want to talk about him as well, and he flushes shyly. You ask about Lucia, about work, about flying again. He tells you about the places he’s been, the people he’s taken there, and one nightmare trip from last week where one woman refused to get in the helicopter, too scared to fly, until she had to be told that it was part of the proposal her boyfriend had planned.

You order gelato for dessert and share it with two spoons, giggling as you feed it to each other. You both get a text from Santi, a selfie of him sipping a beer, looking warm and delicious. You get a text from Joel, too, a picture of him straight out of the shower which sets your cunt throbbing, hoping you’re having a good night.

Frankie insists on settling the check and walks you back to his truck with a warm palm still on your skin. He opens the door for you, waiting for you to settle in your seat before he shuts it and crosses to the driver’s side.

He drives you to a spot overlooking the city, and you stay in the cab, seatbelts unbuckled, turned towards each other, swapping stories like teenagers at a sleepover. You try not to think too hard as the night settles in around you. Try not to watch his hands, his thick fingers, the way his arms bunch and flex, how strong his thighs look, how good he smells. But it’s so hard, so hard when he’s right across from you, smiling, eyes trailing over your body, getting caught on your lips, watching the way your limbs are draped in his truck. The way he’s looking at you makes it hard to remember the rules, hard to resist leaning over the console and pressing your mouth to his, especially when he lowly confesses how badly he wants to kiss you.

You huff a breathless laugh, looking away from him out to the shimmering skyline outside the window screen. Try to distract yourself with how the distant lights of the city shimmer like moonlight on water, how the structures of the skyscrapers reach up to the night flights swooping over the horizon. Something as far away from your body as possible, so you don’t have to think about Frankie’s warm, broad chest, what he would sound like moaning against you.

‘I wish you would,’ You whisper. When you turn back to look at Frankie, he is already watching you. Pressed against the driver’s side door, mouth slightly open, his eyes sparkling and dark. ‘You could kiss me.’

His mouth closes with a gentle snap of his teeth, and he shakes his head.

‘You know I can’t do that.’

You nod, eyes finding the skyline again.

‘I know. But I still wish you would.’

In the silence that follows, you can feel slick drooling and cooling from your cunt, soaking your panties. You shift in your seat, unsure whether you’re trying to ignore or resolve the discomfort. Frankie watches you still, and when you wriggle again, his own hips shift. You fix him with a stare, the air hot and thick between you. You curve your body towards him, one hand coming down gently to hold yourself over the console.

‘They wouldn’t know. If we kissed.’

Frankie continues to stare as you remain frozen, poised before him.

‘I know.’

‘Then let me kiss you.’

‘No, hermosa.’

You look back and forth between his eyes and his lips, watching his throat bob as he tries to keep his distance.

You slump backwards a little, trying not to feel any kind of acute rejection. You’re just hot, bothered, unbearably aroused in the cabin of his truck. His refusing to kiss you isn’t a mark on his desire, just his self control. Muscle memory of years of following instructions. Frankie turns his body, facing forward out the windscreen in his seat. He swipes his palms over the steering wheel, and your lips part, cunt burning when you imagine those hands on you again, huge palms sweeping down your curves, your thighs, up between your legs -

‘I’m not gonna kiss you, because then I’ll need to fuck you.’

Your gasp zips past your lips before you can stop it. Frankie keeps his eyes trained forwards as you stare at him. Your pussy clenches around nothing, needing something to sate it, a touch, a glance, anything -

‘Frankie -’

He shakes his head, grip tightening on the wheel.

‘Please, Frankie, I’ll be so good -’

‘Enough.’

You watch his nostrils flare, watch a muscle in his jaw tick. Watch a certain darkness sweep over his features, and you know, you know you’ve won.

He never stood a chance.

‘Tell me,’ you whisper, and he shakes his head, skull pressed into the headrest, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. ‘I want you to tell me. Tell me how you’d fuck me.’

Frankie closes his eyes slowly, his shoulders tensing, breath faltering.

‘No,’ he whispers, ‘No, baby, I can’t do that -’

You whine, hands scrubbing down your bare thighs, trying to find something to grip, to hold, something that’s not him -

‘God - it hurts, Frankie,’ you mumble, wriggling in the seat, and his eyes flick back and forth over you; your pathetic attempts to grind into something, the heaving of your chest, the wild, desperate look in your eyes.

‘What, baby? What hurts?’ He breathes, and he’s leaning forwards over the centre console like he could pounce on you, like he could hold your hands in a tight, binding grip behind your back, like he could eat you here, devour you here -

You whimper by way of an answer, hands finally resting on the hem of your skirt, pushing it up, up to bunch at your hips. Frankie watches, eyes molten and black as you cup your sex, as you buck against your hand. He moans loudly at the sight.

‘There, hermosa?’

You shudder out a sigh, a hissed yes as you apply more pressure. His throat bobs as he considers, as he weighs his options.

‘Please, Frankie -’ you beg, though you’re not even sure what for. Rules, rules, but none of them seem to make sense anymore, none of them seem to matter as you lick your own lips at his growing bulge through his jeans. He breathes in harshly, swiping a palm across his mouth before he fixes you with a look that makes you feel dizzy. He swallows thickly.

‘Show me.’

Easy, so easy. You lift your hips from the seat and slide your thumbs under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down, down, watching him the whole time. He waits like he’s forgotten how to breathe, this starving, tortured look in his eyes like he’s on fire and water is just out of reach. You spread your legs for him and dip your fingers to your slit, gathering the slickness there before trailing the digits further up, spreading yourself in a v shape so he can see everything, see how you throb, how your clit twitches, how you leak down into the cleft of your ass.

‘Need you, Frankie,’ you whine, ‘Need you to -’

He lurches back like he’s been shocked.

‘Don’t,’ he grits, ‘Don’t, you know I can’t touch you -’

‘Then watch,’ you breathe, ‘He said don’t touch. But you can watch. I can watch.’

‘Watch?’ he repeats, breathless, body shifting, open, and you nod, mewling against your palm.

‘Yeah,’ you murmur, ‘Frankie, baby, let me watch you. Need to see you.’

He stares at you, something working behind his eyes.

‘Watch,’ he says again, nodding, ‘Yeah, please baby, is that okay? Can I watch?’

You nod, relishing the control that he shifts so easily to you. So easy. You trace the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading the glistening wetness so it catches every stream of moonlight bruising through the window.

‘You, too. Wanna watch you, too.’

He nods quickly, mouth agape, unable to tear his eyes away from your core. He palms himself roughly over his jeans.

You trace your fingers back over your clit, swiping it in circles until your head falls back against the window, your brows pulling together as you loose a quiet cry. You bite your lip, looking down your nose at Frankie

‘How does it feel?’ he gasps, ‘Please - tell me - how does it feel?’

‘Good,’ you gasp, ‘So good, Frankie.’

He groans, his hands finding his button and zipper, undoing them before shifting his hips to pull his jeans down. He reaches inside his boxers to pull himself free, swollen and aching.

He’s thick, and just as big as you knew he would be - but he’s so pretty as well. The same tan as his skin, pink flush at his tip, skin silken and veins throbbing beneath the surface. You moan, wanton and crooning, sinking a finger into yourself as he grips his base, squeezing at the sight of your digit disappearing up to the knuckle.

His hips lift as he fucks himself slowly into his fist, lips wet and eyes blown, his other hand coming away from scratching at the denim of his thigh to squeezing and cupping his balls. You go slow for him as he watches, working your bud in agonisingly slow circles, pumping your finger in and out gently until you remove it completely, Frankie’s eyes drawn to the strand of slick suspended from your finger. He moans, a sick, feral sound, his head falling back against the seat to expose the straining tendons in his neck, the sweat that glimmers in the hollows before his clavicles. He jerks himself faster, tighter - tip ruddy now, beading with precum that he swipes down the length of his shaft, slick enough for you to imagine that it’s your spit, your wetness. A surge of arousal floods your fingers again, and you whimper.

‘Look at you, Frankie. So gorgeous.’

Frankie answers with his own choked growl as he watches you sink your finger into your heat again, but this time he grits his teeth, inhaling sharply before endowing you with an instruction -

‘Give yourself another finger, hermosa. Another. Wanna see you stretched out, baby.’

You comply, sinking in another easily, rocking your hips back and forth, the sound of it obscene, loud in the truck, and Frankie squeezes himself, breathless.

‘Fuck, hermosa, you’re so wet - so wet. Is it for me?’

You nod frantically, speeding up your movements until Frankie matches your rhythm, his body tense, his tip turning a cruel shade of crimson. You whimper again. This soft, sweet man, reduced to this savage across from you, fisting himself, reeling himself back from the edge just to wait to come with you.

You watch as his eyes drop to your cunt again, as a grunt wrenches itself from his chest, and he begs you - more, one more, please, hermosa. You oblige, cramming three of your fingers into your dripping cunt just to catch a glimmer of what he’d feel like inside of you. Your orgasm flexes, tight and searing inside of you, and you whine.

‘Close, so close, Frankie -’ you pant, and his eyes widen, fist working so furiously you wonder whether it hurts, whether he likes it like that. He groans deep in his throat.

‘Make yourself come, baby, please make yourself come. I have to see you come.’ And you seize, tight as a knot around your fingers, body curling in on itself as you come, teeth clenched to bite back your scream. Frankie falls slack in his seat, eyes glazed as his cock jerks in his grip, and you meet his eyes, gasping out -

‘Frankie - want you to come, come for me, baby boy -’ and he erupts over his hands, over the tops of his thighs and his belly with a choked growl, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You watch his thick spend trickle over his knuckles, mouth watering at the sight, and your fingers twitch as you pull them from inside you. You are so close to reaching out and swiping it with your own fingertips to take to your lips, and it’s like Frankie’s read your mind -

‘I want to taste you. So bad.’ he gasps, gaze fixed on your shining fingers. You bring them to your mouth, tongue laving between your fingers at your own salty sweet taste. Frankie moans again, tugging his spent cock weakly if only to stop himself from reaching out to snatch your wrist to him.

‘I promise,’ you murmur between licks, ‘I promise - soon, baby - God, so soon -’

You suck your middle finger into your mouth, keeping your eyes locked with his, licking beneath your nail before releasing it with a lewd pop. Frankie looks physically pained.

‘Stop,’ he pants, ‘Just - stop. I need you to stop.’

You understand, whole body still at fever pitch despite your release. Your hands fall to your thighs. Frankie tucks himself back into his boxers and lifts his hips to fix his jeans before popping open the driver’s side door.

‘Just - give me a moment.’ He murmurs as he jumps out, leaving the door open behind him. You watch as he walks circles in the dirt beside the car, his hands on the back of his head, breathing like he’s run a marathon. It takes a minute for your own brain to catch up with you. You tug your panties back up and your skirt down, some kind of horrible anxiety, disappointment and desperation clawing up your throat. You swallow and pop your own door open, rounding the truck to find Frankie.

The air has done him good. His eyes are clearer, body more relaxed, and he watches you approach with an expression that softens at every step. He barely gets out a you oka- before you rush to him with open arms, crashing into his chest with a quiet mmph. Frankie wraps his arms around you just as quickly, rocking the two of you back and forth, swooping a palm down your back.

‘I’m sorry.’ You whisper. Frankie stops his swaying, gives your shoulder a little squeeze.

‘Why are you apologising, princesa?’ he asks, so sweet you have to swallow again before answering.

‘I don’t know,’ you murmur, ‘That was supposed to feel good, but I don’t - I don’t know how I feel -’

He holds you tighter as tears threaten in your eyes, and you will yourself not to blink, lest they fall.

‘S’okay,’ he whispers back, ‘Might be ‘cause you want it so bad,’ you feel the rumble of a chuckle ripple through his chest. ‘That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I still feel like I could rip my skin off.’

A sharp laugh bubbles out of your mouth, taking you by surprise. You blink and the tears begin to fall, and you laugh harder. The man might be right.

‘This is so weird,’ you chuckle against his chest, ‘I’ve never been so horny I’ve cried before.’

He laughs, pressing a sweet kiss to your head.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, ‘And it’s not weird. Feels like my brain will never work the same again.’

You laugh harder, sniffing as you pull away from him. He grins down at you, pinches your chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

‘Home?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, Frankie,’ you smile, ‘Take me home.’

Frankie holds your hand over the centre console the whole way home. You’re too tired to think about the semantics of rules, too overwhelmed to wonder what Joel or Santi would say. You grant yourself a small mercy in the passenger seat, reminding yourself that this is okay. This is aftercare. It’s necessary, Joel grumbles in your ear, it doesn’t come with rules.

When Frankie pulls up outside your place, he hops out to make sure he can the truck door for you and help you down. He walks you to your front door like he’d done so many moons ago, ever the gentleman, and waits until the door is unlocked and you’ve flicked the hallway light on.

You turn to face him, wrapping yourself around him again. He returns the hug.

‘Will you call me if you need anything?’

‘Yeah,’ you breathe, ‘Will you?’

‘’course,’ he swipes the back of his hand over your cheek, and dips to press a soft, firm kiss to your forehead. ‘See you tomorrow, baby.’ He says. You pinch his cheek as he pulls away, chuckling as he bounds back down the path.

You watch his truck peel away like a teenager, standing in the doorway smiling to yourself until his tail lights disappear around the corner.

———

When Joel calls not fifteen minutes later, you’re wearing one of his shirts, grinding your bare pussy into your pillow, fingers working steadily against your clit.

You fumble with your phone, taking longer than usual to swipe to answer the call, and if that hadn’t have given you away, your pants and whimpers do. Joel chuckles warmly down the line at you.

At his ‘how you doing, baby girl?’, your mouth curves in a shy smile, and a heat blossoms in your chest. Your ‘good, daddy’ is true, a kind of peace settling over your frazzled body and mind. You let out a cooing moan before you can ask how his day’s been, and his breath catches down the line.

‘And what are you doing, baby girl?’ he asks softly, so soft, and you smile even wider.

‘Thinkin’ bout you, daddy.’ You breathe, and he hums at your words.

‘Just me?’

‘Mostly.’ You confess, and he chuckles, a honeyed sound.

‘Mostly,’ he echoes, ‘And what are you using while you’re thinking about me, baby?’

You give a strong roll of your hips, grinding down as you answer him.

‘A pillow, daddy.’

‘Mhm. Just a pillow?’

You whine.

‘Fingers, too.’

‘Greedy fuckin’ girl,’ he chuckles. You moan loudly, and are rewarded with a low grunt in return. He listens to you breathe for a moment before you hear the crackle of him shifting, moving.

‘Stop now,’ he says, gently. ‘Need to ask you somethin’.’

You pull your fingers out of your cunt, whining as you do. You can picture his smirk so clearly that you tell him to knock it off.

‘Sorry baby.’ He apologises, so disingenuous.

‘What’s the question?’

‘I found something. In my case,’ he says. ‘Don’t suppose you’d know who put it there?’

You bite your lip.

‘Hmmm. Depends. What is it?’

You hear Joel fumble with something before he speaks again.

‘Let’s see. One of ‘em… pocket pussy things.’

‘Huh. No idea. Must have been your other girlfriend.’

He laughs.

‘Motherfucker. You damn well I can’t handle another one of you.’

You grin at your reflection. If you had a cord phone, you’d be twirling the plastic around your finger right now. Girlfriend.

‘My bad. Must have been me, then.’

‘Causing trouble even from all the way over there, huh, angel?’

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s drawing it out.

‘Sure, daddy,’ you coo. There’s a beat. ‘Have you… tried it?’

He huffs, and you can see the frown in your mind. How you’d smooth your fingers over it.

‘Ain’t need it when I’ve got you.’

‘Even when you’re far away?’

There’s a pause as Joel considers his reply.

‘You feelin’ sorry for me or somethin’?’

You sigh, letting your fingers dip to your clit. He won’t know, so long as you’re quiet.

‘Couldn’t just - leave you out, daddy,’ you huff against the phone.

A low chuckle rumbles through from the other end, and you bite your lip.

‘So this is - what? My consolation prize?’

‘No,’ you frown, ‘It’s better than that. Better than your hand.’

‘Better ‘n my hand?’

‘Yeah, daddy.’

‘Is it better than you, babygirl?’

You roll your hips at his question, biting back a whine.

‘No, daddy.’

He hums down the line.

‘Sounds like a consolation prize to me, honey.’

You sigh again, louder this time.

‘’S not a consolation prize,’ you groan. ‘Frankie isn’t even allowed to touch me.’

Joel chuckles at you properly this time.

‘You sound disappointed, baby.’

‘I am.’

He waits. He waits, because he knows. Of course he knows.

‘We watched each other, daddy,’ you breathe. Confessional, dirty. A heat flushes up your cheeks as you tug at your t-shirt, suddenly nervous.

‘Watched?’ he asks, a smile curling the word.

Mmhm.

‘Well done, baby,’ he says, ‘I’m impressed. Though a little disappointed it didn’t take you longer to figure out.’

You giggle, and he puffs out a breath before continuing.

‘Santi told me it wouldn't be so fast. Thought it’d take you guys a little while to -’

‘He thought it’d take Frankie longer to work out,’ you interject. Joel falls silent. ‘He knows Frankie, but not me so well. You should’ve known better.’

Joel laughs again.

‘You’re goddamn right, angel.’

You smile, smug. Hum in agreement.

Joel sighs.

‘Too eager for your own goddamn good,’ he murmurs, ‘Bet you can’t wait to know what his cock feels like inside you, huh? Can’t wait to be droolin’ and comin’ over him like you do me, hm?’

God, his mouth. You moan openly, rocking your hips again, ready. Ready to hear him moaning, too, ready to hear the slick sound of the toy on his dick, ready to hear him groaning your name as he comes.

‘Yes, daddy.’

Joel hums, pleased. His breathing comes a little ragged this time, making your core hotter, tighter, wetter.

‘Use it,’ you moan, ‘Please, daddy. Wanna hear you use it.’

‘I’ll use it,’ he grunts, ‘But you ain’t gonna touch yourself. Just gonna have to listen, sweetheart.’

‘Please -’ you whine, but he cuts you off with a harsh tut.

‘No. You’re gonna be good, you’re gonna listen to me first.’

You begin to groan out again but he says your name in such a tone that you feel your body shift into submission, acquiescing to his demand.

‘You’re gonna stay still,’ he tells you, ‘And you’re gonna leave that pretty pussy alone until I’m done, y’hear?’ Your eyes half close, head dipping forward.

‘Yes, daddy.’

‘Good girl.’

You listen closely to the pop of the cap on the bottle of lube you’d packed for him, his heavy breathing as you imagine him soaking the toy, his sharp inhale as he spreads the cool gel over himself. The pop sounds again, and you wait with baited breath.

You’re rewarded almost immediately with a groan that resonates right through your body, vibrating straight down to your cunt as though he had voiced it against your lips.

‘Gonna start with my hand, baby,’ he says, voice low and breathy, ‘Start nice and slow, just like you would if you were here, huh?’

You hum low in your throat and lick your lips.

‘Wouldn’t start like that, daddy.’ Your voice is husky, drenched in lust at the thought of Joel spread on the hotel bed stroking his cock.

‘Oh?’

‘Start with my mouth,’ you breathe, ‘I’d lick you. Get you nice and wet so I can suck on it.’

‘Yeah?’ he whispers, ‘That what you’d do, you’d suck on it?’

You ache and throb between your legs, your free hand scratching at the skin of your thigh to distract yourself. Your mouth waters at the thought.

‘Mhm, daddy. Nice and deep, how you like it. You could fuck my throat if you wanted to.’

A low, guttural sound answers you, the slick sounds of his moving fist getting faster.

‘I’d want you to hold me still while I take you, daddy. I’d want to dribble and gag and cry.’

Joel huffs.

‘Would you, baby? You’d be such a good girl for me?’

You nod, lip between your teeth, even though he can’t see you.

‘Yeah, daddy.’

‘And what if daddy wants to fuck your tight little pussy, baby girl? What would you do then?’

You moan, eyes fluttering shut, hips shifting of their own accord. You grip the hem of your t-shirt.

‘I’d let you.’ you answer, helplessly.

Joel chuckles darkly.

‘Want me to tell you what I’d do?’ He asks, and you loose a pained little sound, brows pulling together. You’re sure you’re soaking the pillow at this point, dripping through to the other side. Joel laughs again. ‘I think I’d tie you up, baby,’ he says, so low, so deep, that the world starts to drift away from you. You’re barely aware of the fact that the noise of his hand has stopped until he moans wantonly into the phone, and your eyes fly open. ‘Fuck,’ he grits, and then he huffs a cruel little laugh. ‘Was gonna tell you how I’d tie you up and fuck you, baby,’ he growls, ‘But this toy feels good ‘nough that I might just make you watch me instead.’

You whine, chin tipped up to the ceiling, hushed little cries of no, daddy, please - falling from your lips.

‘Oh, sweetheart. You don’t like the sound ‘a that?’ he asks. You shake your head, mewling, ‘No, ‘course not,’ he murmurs ‘Just wanna be stuffed full ‘a daddy’s cock, huh? Wanna be creamin’ around it way you love to, all stretched out and used, yeah?’

God, yes you do. You moan breathlessly, cunt twitching and throbbing, and you wonder whether this is enough to just come hands free. If you concentrate hard enough, if you bear down enough -

‘Maybe I’d film it,’ he muses, ‘Film it so Santiago and Francisco could watch. See how you really like to be used, how cock dumb I can make you. Would you like that, angel?’

‘Fuck, daddy, yes -’

‘Mmm. So they can see how good you look when you beg, when you’re dripping with my cum, huh, baby girl? See how good you look when you cry, when you just take it for me?’

You can tell he’s getting closer, his breathing heavier and more ragged, longer pauses between his thoughts. You wriggle on the pillow, feeling yourself flutter around nothing at the pathetic stimulation. He moans again, broken and loud, and you puff against the speaker, seeing your opportunity -

‘Come for me, daddy,’ you pant, ‘Please - come for me. Need to hear you daddy, please -’

Joel’s breath catches raggedly, once, twice, before it cuts off with a deep growl. With every resounding moan you hear, you can imagine the spurts of cum bursting from his tip. You wriggle even more, cunt burning.

‘Atta girl,’ Joel gasps, ‘Atta girl, helping your daddy out.’

‘Please,’ you moan, breathless, ‘Please, daddy, my turn, is it -’

‘Your turn,’ he says, so warm, so sweet, ‘Go ahead, baby. Long as it’s only yourself you’re touchin’.’

Your fingers flutter to your clit, swiping it gently, so sensitive, and you grit your teeth.

‘Only me.’ You repeat, and you can picture Joel’s answering smile. All teeth.

‘Just you, baby girl. No touchin’ no one else. Not even Frankie.’

You stay silent, moving your hips now to drag your soaked folds against the pillow. Your head falls to your shoulder, and you moan long and loud, wondering whether you can convince Frankie, whether you’ve got enough time together to film the two of you - watching each other, then Frankie stretching you out, filling you with his cum. Something you could send to Joel and Santi, a little treat, a little teaser.

You’ve been quiet for too long. And Joel knows. He always knows.

‘You gonna break the rules, baby girl?’ He coos.

You smile, as though he’s read your mind.

‘How much trouble will I be in if I do?’ You ask through a moan, biting your lip.

He chuckles down the line at you.

‘I don’t know, sugar,’ he drawls, ‘But you could always find out.’

The line clicks and beeps as he hangs up, and you stare down at your phone in disbelief. The signal must have dropped.

Just as you fumble to press the call button again, a text flies through.

Night, babygirl x

And then another -

Try to be good. I know it’s hard for you

You huff a laugh as you drop the phone into your lap, hips curling again over the pillow beneath you. Sonofabitch.

You’ll behave as badly as you damn well please.

———

You and Frankie make quick work of dinner the next evening. Your hands are clammy at the dinner table, pulse fast in your neck, a flush passing high over Frankie’s collar the whole time.

He makes even faster work of the drive back to yours, scraping through red lights as you pull your skirt higher, as you skate your fingers over your thighs, over your panties, watching him the whole time. There’s a wonderful thrill when you catch him looking, when his eyes meet yours and then drift to your hands, how dark they are in the passing streetlights, the white-knuckle grip of his hands on the wheel.

You can feel the heat of him behind you as you unlock the front door, the hunger of wanting his hands on you, pushing you through the doorway, the press of his chest against your back. But you can wait. You can be good.

You move through to your kitchen with him trailing behind you, and you’re grabbing two beers from your fridge before the question of do you want a drink? is even out. When you turn to face him again, Frankie is dangerously, dangerously close. You can smell the musk of his skin, see every changing fleck of colour in his eyes, and it’s too much. You’re pressing the bottle into his chest at the same time as you’re tipping your head for a kiss, eyelids fluttering closed. He takes both bottles from your hands and places then somewhere behind you before caging you in with his thick arms, his mouth in a tight, serious line. You arch your back subconsciously, but he seems to anticipate every movement of your body; somehow still always millimetres away, like the ghost of a man pressed up against you, a layer of film between you.

He leans in so close that you can taste the hot breath he’s pouring into your mouth, so close you can feel the air moving when he tells you, so softly -

‘Take your clothes off. And sit on the couch.’

You strip yourself as you watch him do the same, eyes blown wide by every stretch of bare skin that’s revealed to you. And it is not fair. So unfair that Frankie is finally naked in front of you - so gorgeous - long-limbed and tan, beautiful cock hard and heavy between his thick thighs - and you are unable to touch him.

You clench your jaw, sat back and stretched out like a cat at one end of the sofa, petting yourself as you watch him come towards you and lower himself onto the cushion next to you.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into the rhythm you found last night. It’s hypnotic. The movements, the sounds, the words. Watching Frankie is heady, intoxicating. It feels like you’re watching something happen outside of your own body, and you find yourself surprised as you move to kneel beside him, as you swing a leg over his legs so you’re straddling him. You’re so wet, so warm that you’re sure the night could pass for a summer’s day. Your skin is glimmering with sweat, same as Frankie’s. You search his eyes to find him staring back at you, just as fucked out, just as woozy. You moan, hot little pants dripping past your lips. He echoes you.

You sit back on his thighs, your fingers diving in and out of you as you watch his fist work furiously around his cock. Something warm and hot, greedy and possessive swells inside of you. He looks delicious like this, spread out in front of you, wanting and needy. His cock thick, swollen, dribbling. It twitches as you watch him, and you moan somewhere beyond your consciousness. Need, your body whispers. Need. You inch forwards, lifting your hips higher, higher, Frankie watching you like he’s somewhere outside his body. You take his hand from his cock, fingers slippery with his precum, and place it at your hip. You grind into your hand at the slick feeling, pulling your fingers out with a wet sound and hovering above him, gripping his cock so you can brush the swollen head of it against your clit. Frankie shudders, his body going slack, and you almost come from the sensation alone. You lower your hips just a little, bracing the mushroom of his tip at the tight ring of your entrance.

You gonna break the rules, babygirl?

‘Hermosa -’ he breathes, suddenly unsure.

You huff against him, everything too tight, too heady. Need.

‘Shhh, it’s okay,’ you whisper. ‘It’s okay, just a little bit. Just wanna feel you a little bit.’

‘But -’ he’s cut off by his own loud whine, unable to protest as you fit his head just inside your pussy. You throb around him, at the stimulation it brings. You clutch at his shoulder, head falling forwards at the stretch. Fuck, you could absolutely come like this. You need him deeper, need him to to fill you, but -

Oh, he is so good.

His hands are like steel at your hips, keeping you in place. Frankie doesn’t want to disobey, doesn’t want to get in trouble. His grip speaks to that, his wide eyes, the sweat at his temple. But you can see on his face as you drip down him, the clutch of Joel’s control doesn’t hold nearly enough power when faced with what he truly wants.

You move back and forth a little, still with his tip just inside, moaning brokenly at the feel of it, and his eyelids flutter closed as something like a prayer brushes past his lips.

Frankie is good, but you are so, so bad.

You drop your hips down further, and his fingers flex against your skin as he gasps, a high, keening noise reverberating from his chest.

‘Jesus Christ -’ he groans.

‘Fucking - hell, Frankie -’

He’s a lot. You can feel yourself adjusting as you slide down his length, your promise quickly forgotten. Greedy fuckin’ girl. But you can’t help yourself, brain short circuiting, body molten as you take him in inch by inch. It’s too much, all consuming. There’s no space for another thought, any more consideration as he fills you, as you take what you need.

He whimpers as you bottom out, grinding against the curls at his base, breathing heavily.

‘So good,’ you whisper, ‘So good, you know that?’

Your head hangs forward against his shoulder as you gulp down air, as you feel yourself clench and leak around him, as he twitches inside you. After moments in almost silence, you lean back to look down at him.

His eyes are glassy, fucked out as he looks back at you.

You lift your hips, and the moan he lets out is pained. Your skin is on fire, and you want his hands everywhere.

‘Frankie, touch me.’

‘I can’t -’

‘You can,’ you grit, ‘You can, because I told you to.’

He moans again, and suddenly he’s everywhere. He knows where you need to be touched like you’ve done this before, his fingertips scorching and cooling as he strokes your thighs, your neck, as he grips your ass. Encouraged, you continue to move, slowly rocking up and down on his cock, breathing raggedly. Every noise that escapes the two of you seems to come without being registered, something primal, starved. Already, the coil is tightening, your body racing towards where it needs to be, and you know it will be intense, all-consuming to come around him, so thick inside of you. You lean further forwards, and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth to your sternum, licking the skin before turning his head to take a nipple in his mouth - hot and wet and sucking, lathing it with his tongue.

‘Fuck,’ you hiss, moving faster, chasing, chasing what is so close. You grip the hair at the back of his head, tugging and keeping him close to your breast, keening against him.

‘Like that,’ you gasp, ‘Yeah, like that baby, god, so good, you’re so good for me, feel so good baby boy, you have no idea -’

You can feel yourself tighten and tighten, and Frankie holds you harder, force that feels so delicious you don’t even care about the hurt, not until it turns to iron, not until he rips his mouth away from you -

‘I’m gonna come -’ he whimpers, gripping your hips so tight you couldn’t move if you wanted to. ‘Please, baby, please - stop - I can’t - I’ll come -’

Hot desperation claws up your chest. You are so close, so close, but he looks so wildly at you that you stop trying to move, try to force back tears of frustration as you lean forwards to kiss him as sweetly as you can. Spit-slick and swollen, you pull back and rest your forehead to his. Try to think straight, tell him what he needs to hear.

‘No you won’t,’ you coo, taking his face in your hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. You put everything into your gaze, all your warmth, all your care for him, try to make him see how good this is. He stares up at you, eyes wide, dark. Panicked. Panicked at the thought of disappointing you. ‘You won’t, Frankie. It’s okay, you’re not gonna come.’ You try to shift a little so you can settle on your thighs to soothe him, but he clenches his eyes shut at your movement and whimpers louder, his mouth screwing up.

‘Please don’t move,’ he whispers, ‘Just wait, - just -’

You lean forward and press a kiss to his hairline, feeling his tip move slowly to a shallower part of you. Fuck.

‘Relax, baby boy,’ you murmur, and he sucks in a breath. ‘Concentrate. I’m gonna sit down, and you are not going to come, okay?’

You wait, but Frankie still has his eyes screwed shut, nostrils flaring, fingers bruising against your skin. The tense feeling in your chest swells again.

‘Frankie.’ You say sharply, and he jumps out of himself, eyes flashing open to yours. ‘I’m gonna sit back down. Take a deep breath.’

Frankie watches you as he breathes in through his nose, and you move at the sound of his airflow. His hands slacken at your hips, and he moans, low and long.

‘That’s it,’ you say, sinking all the way down, writhing helplessly at his base. You’re already both so close. ‘Good boy. How are you doing?’

Frankie breathes shallowly as you adjust around his cock. His cheeks are red, hair sweaty. His lips are bitten, bleeding through one crack of skin, eyes almost entirely black. You scratch at the curls at the nape of his neck, massaging the tendons there.

‘Okay,’ he croaks. You try not to think of how he feels inside you. How full you feel, how stretched out. He’s thick and nestled in deep - not as far as Joel - but the ache you feel around his girth is delicious. Fuck, this was a bad idea. You should have just hopped off him, let him slide out so you could both catch your breath. And now, instead, you’re managing to edge the two of you even further.

You know you can’t last long, and you know, from the desperate look on Frankie’s face, that he won’t either, no matter what you do. It feels crueller to stop now than it does to keep going, to watch him deny himself like this, to feel you deny yourself, too. You can feel your pussy tightening and leaking around him at the thought, the ache, the need that’s just there -

‘I have to move, baby -’

‘No -’ he chokes, ‘Please, hermosa, just a minute -’

‘I have to, Frankie, I - you feel too good, baby, I need to move. Wanna come, wanna see you come, too -’

Frankie’s iron grip returns to your hips as they lift of their own accord, and he hisses, head bowed, at the movement. You moan hoarsely.

‘It’s okay,’ you pant, gripping his chin in one hand, lifting his face to yours. ‘Listen to me, it’s okay. Focus now.’ You begin to move up and down him again, the slow drag of his cock tightening your grip on his face but loosening the hold you have on your body. You whimper, pussy fluttering around him. Frankie groans, breathlessly whispers your name, a pleasepleaseplease -

‘I know you can last as long as I need you to, baby,’ you whisper. ‘You’ve done it before, haven’t you?’ Frankie whines, his eyes rolling back, mouth falling slightly open. You can’t stop the moan that bubbles up your throat - him edging himself as he watched you the night before, eyes stuck on your fingers, your pulses, your wetness. You feel him throb inside you as he nods drunkenly. ‘That’s it, good boy. I know it feels good, but you can last a little longer. I know you can, Frankie. You’re doing so well.’

His fingers clutch at the swell of your hips, weak, sweaty, and you clench so hard around him that it’s a challenge to drag his cock through your walls. You breathe shallowly, slowing the pace again, and Frankie watches you through heavy lidded eyes. He licks his bottom lip.

‘Come,’ he breathes, a hand leaving your hip so he can thumb your clit. You hiss, hips stuttering so hard you sink all the way down onto him, grinding his tip into your womb. Frankie grits his teeth. ‘Come, hermosa,’ he tells you again, and you can feel the savage heat, pussy winding tighter and tighter, your body about to burst. Quietly, with a command he’s not had in his voice until now, Frankie says your name. Come. Now.

Your orgasm is blinding. You cease to exist in the corporeal world for an indeterminate time, coming to only when Frankie pulls you to his chest, his hips pressing up into you as you milk him. You’re achingly aware of the way his cock jumps inside of you as he pumps you full of cum, of the way his fingers grip and bruise your body, of the way you sink your teeth into his shoulder as you continue to throb around him.

‘Fuck.’ you bite out, resting your forehead against his as you pant into each other’s mouths. Minutes tick by, Frankie’s harsh grip turning to soft caresses, and you press chaste kisses to his nose, his forehead, his lips, before you rest your head against his collar bone. He takes a deep breath.

‘Baby,’ he starts. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, searching for what he’s about to say. You squeeze his middle gently. ‘Joel -’

‘Is my problem,’ you breathe, ‘I did this. It’s on me. He knew I’d break the rules.’

He swallows, nods.

‘Okay.’

You press a kiss to his neck, and he visibly relaxes.

‘It’s okay,’ you murmur. ‘No one’s gonna be mad at you. No one’s gonna be mad, full stop.’ He makes a noise of appreciation somewhere in his throat.

You bite your lip and lean back, fixing him with a wicked grin.

‘Besides, this is all part of the foreplay.’

‘The foreplay?’ He whispers, brow furrowing.

You nod, humming at the feeling of his cum slipping from the warmth of your cunt.

‘You really thought he’d just come in your mouth?’

His eyes darken, a huff slipping from his kiss-bitten lips. He brings your hand from his neck to his mouth and bites down on the flesh of your palm. You giggle again.

‘Mm, you like that, baby boy? Like the idea of daddy playing with you, too?’

‘Stop.’ He groans, ‘You keep talking like that, and -’

‘There’ll be a round two?’ you tease. ‘Doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me,’ you smile, feeling him twitch inside you. ‘In fact,’ you continue, ‘That sounds like something a very good boy would do.’

‘Stop talking,’ he growls, ‘And take me upstairs. I remember something about you promising to let me taste you.’

The smile that grows across your lips is impossible to hide.

———

Pope wasn’t fucking around when he told you Frankie was good with his mouth.

He wakes you the next morning with more of what he gave you last night, his tongue warm and wet against your cunt, lapping and kissing and sucking until you’re sweating and writhing above him, hands fisted in his hair.

He likes that.

Likes biting marks into your thighs, making you moan and cry and come again and again. Likes when you’re a little mean, when you tell him what to do, when you hold him afterwards, when you let him fill you and fuck you until you’re both whimpering and covered in cum and slick.

The three days that follow pass in a blur of not touching and definitely touching. Frankie quickly becomes accustomed to waking wrapped up in your bed, your arm thrown over his side, and you quickly become accustomed to the sweet praises that drip from his lips as he slots himself inside you - how tight and sweet you are, how he can’t believe he fits in so well. How he can’t wait to share you, properly this time.

He bends you over the kitchen table after you’ve finished eating dinner, licking into you before splitting you open, and you take him in your mouth on your knees in the shower, making sure to remind him of how pretty he is, how good he feels in your mouth. You work him open with your fingers, your tongue, curling them inside him just to watch him struggle not to come so fast. It’s gorgeous. And when you’re too sore and swollen to have each other again, you find yourself cradled between his thighs, your back to his chest as he circles your clit gently with two fingers, kissing your neck and grinding himself against you as you moan, as you remind him how you need to get to work.

‘I know, baby,’ he murmurs, ‘Just wanna watch you come again.’

It’s feverish, it’s risky. You try to be a good liar, but you’re sure Joel knows. Knows you well enough, anyway, to guess that it would happen at some point. Which just means he must have been planning what he’d do to you after finding out for some time, too. You try to be careful as the week goes on - planning to wash your sheets, to not have Frankie in the house when Pope or Joel return. To just try and make it look like you succeeded, that you listened. That you were good.

You’re on your elbows and knees, body weak, pussy swollen and dripping as Frankie spears you from behind when the text comes. It’s Santi.

I’ll be home 2morrow. Look forward to seeing u 2.

One more time, Frankie gasps. Once more like this, and then you can wait.

The two of you can wait until tomorrow.

———

You wait all day for Santi.

And you try to be good, you really do. But Frankie’s mouth is just so convincing.

He’s not allowed to bite, not allowed to leave any marks. He has permission to make you come, and then he has to clean you up again like nothing ever happened. You’re not going to touch him, and he’s not going to touch himself. He’ll have to save it for when Pope gets here. Which, as it’s turned out, is much later than he said. But not late enough to miss the show.

‘Am I interrupting?’

Frankie lurches away from between your thighs like he’s been scorched, backing up towards the end of the bed. He looks so surprised, so worried, that you snort at him, still so caught up in the throes of pleasure to not be too worried about Pope’s reappearance.

He looks good. A healthy glow to his skin, tight black top, his curls perfectly framing his face. His mouth is twisted into its most alluring smirk, and you watch it deepen at the flush of Frankie’s cheeks and the way you snake a hand between your legs.

‘Not at all, baby,’ you coo, and his eyes darken, following the path of your hand. It’s ingrained into you now, how Pope touched you last. The memory rushes through you, and you moan softly, the noises your hand is making against your wet folds so obscene. Still watching, he peels his belt from its loops, curling it in his fist.

He jerks his chin at Frankie.

‘You at least make her beg for it?’

You huff a small laugh, thinking back on how not thirty minutes ago Frankie had been on his knees in front of you, begging for a taste, begging to lick your cunt.

Santi’s eyes shoot to you and the amusement on your face, and he steps forward with a smile.

‘Should have known,’ he says gently, through a smile. His palm cups your cheek, and you nestle into his touch, forgetting that whatever punishment Joel might have thought up, Santi might share. He traces your skin down your jaw, your neck, across your clavicles and down the arm closest to him. He holds your wrist, and pulls it up to his mouth where he can kiss your knuckles in greeting. ‘Hello, querida.’

You look back at him with wide, lust-blown eyes. ‘Hey, Santiago.’

He takes you in greedily, eyes scouring over your bare body, scrutinising so intensely that you almost feel self-conscious.

‘What do we have here?’ he purrs, his spare hand reaching over you, thumbing your nipple. You whine and arch against his touch, fingers moving faster, and he tuts, shaking his head. ‘This will never do, cielo.’ He squeezes your breast firmly before running his fingers down the length of your arm, gripping your other wrist to bring your wet fingers to his mouth. He parts his lips and presses them in gently, and you mewl, hips bucking, as he works his tongue over the digits. His eyes are dark, boring into you, only distracted by the heavy breath Frankie takes from the other end of the mattress. He releases your fingers quickly.

‘No.’ he barks at the other man, and you swing your head to look at Frankie, a hand frozen mid-pull on his cock, face flushing an even deeper shade of red. ‘Did I tell you you could touch yourself?’

Frankie shakes his head frantically, hands moving to his sides.

‘Did I?’

‘No.’ he whispers, breathless, apologetic. Pope jerks his head again, over his shoulder.

‘Off the bed.’

Frankie unfurls his limbs to stand at the bedside, cock heavy and bobbing against his stomach as Santi easily joins your wrists with one hand. It takes you too long to work out what he’s doing - his belt already curled around your hands before you make a noise of protest, silenced by a hard look from him. He twists the leather around your hands twice before tying them to the bedframe above you, giving a sharp pull to test the give. Your chest heaves, something sparking inside you as he cups your cheek gently.

‘Good?’

‘Yes, Santi.’ You murmur, taking your cue from how he admonished Frankie.

He steps back, admiring his handiwork, looking pleased.

‘Maybe that’ll help you keep your hands to yourself.’ He says, half-turning to Frankie.

‘Down.’

Frankie drops to his knees at the command, and you moan, thighs clenching, arms straining above your head, tight to your eyes. Santi says something to you, muffled, and you try to relax again to hear him, a quiet hm? the only sound you can make.

He cocks his head at you, lips curled.

‘Lube, querida,’ he says, ‘Where do you keep it?’

You inhale sharply, mind buzzing.

‘U-under the bed.’

Pope drops to his knees beside you, rifling around until he finds and pulls out a green box, ripping off the lid. His face splits in a dangerous, thrilled grin.

‘Now, what have we got in here?’

You watch with bated breath as Pope rummages through the box, your chest heaving, arms straining against the belt again. He throws the bottle of lube onto the bed before turning his attention back to your toys. He brings your wand into your line of sight, and you squeeze your eyes closed as he presses the button, the room filling with its buzzing sound.

You flinch when he brings the vibrator into contact with your skin, tracing your nipples. Your eyes fly open to find him and Frankie watching you intently.

‘Had a lot of time to think about this while I was away,’ Santi says, almost to himself, ‘But I’ve got much better ideas now.’

Pope licks his lips as he dips the wand lower, teasing it around the soft flesh of your thighs before resting it against your clit.

You yelp at the contact, body juddering.

‘Please, Santi,’ you cry, ‘Please -’ but he shushes you gently, stroking your hair as he lays the wand between your thighs, nestled in to where the feeling is most intense, most overwhelming.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ he coos, ‘Just need you to hold that there, be a good girl.’

You whimper brokenly up at him, and he pouts at you, teasingly.

‘Listen to me,’ he says, and you hold your breath, ‘That’s gonna stay right there, against your pretty little pussy, and you’re not gonna come, are you, querida?’

Your brain buffers, jaw clenching against the heat rising through you, and Santi frowns at you.

‘Are you?’

The air bursts from your lungs as you moan out a no, rewarded with a smile.

‘Good girl.’ he says, dipping to pick something up from the floor. Your panties from where Frankie had stripped you of them earlier.

He taps your chin.

‘Open,’ your mouth falls open of its own accord, and Santi stuffs the lace in. ‘Something for you to bite down on.’

You huff, brow furrowing in concentration, desire, as Pope steps away again and moves towards Frankie.

Frankie, still on his knees, watching open mouthed, cock jumping as he takes you in - stretched out, bound and desperate. His eyes leave yours to watch Santi begin to strip himself of his clothes, and you join him, groaning at the slow show he gives you both. His smooth, tan skin, the muscles that ripple beneath. He unbuttons his jeans before stilling, eyes falling on Frankie.

‘Come here,’ Santi says, and Frankie shuffles forward instantly. ‘Good boy. Now take me out, and show our girl what else you can do with that mouth.’

Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your wrists tug at Santi’s belt. From behind the fabric in your mouth, Pope can hear your muffled fuck. He smirks down at Frankie.

‘Before she comes, hermano.’

‘Pope,’ Frankie breathes, shocked through his haze of arousal, confused, warning.

‘What?’ Santi says, cupping his cheek gently. ‘You don’t think I checked with Joel? Didn’t ask what you got up to before he left? Don’t worry, baby, I did. He just wants to know she’s being taken care of. The sooner you put me in your mouth, the sooner we can do just that.’

Frankie swallows visibly, flustered, eyes flicking to you before he reaches out to tug Santi’s jeans and boxers down, taking the other man’s hard cock in his hand, squeezing and pumping gently. He takes care to thumb over the precum that gathers at his tip, using it to ease the movement. Pope breathes out slowly before touching Frankie’s bottom lip with his thumb, parting his mouth. He joins Frankie’s hand at his base and taps the head of his cock where his thumb had just been, and Frankie opens wider, allowing space for Pope to slide in. He takes lazy thrusts as you watch with wide eyes, hips canting against the toy, cunt pulsing, body on fire - acutely aware that Frankie has a gag reflex to rival your own. The thought makes you giggle, a kind of pride blooming in your chest. So easy. Frankie stares up at his best friend with glassy eyes, cock leaking and untouched between his legs, palms resting, unflexed, atop his thighs.

‘He’s a good toy, isn’t he, cielo?’ Pope hums, slowing the rhythm of his thrusts. ‘So good at just - taking it. Barely any fight in you, is there, baby boy?’

With his mouth full of Santi’s cock, Frankie can barely shake his head. The corners of Pope’s lips curl.

‘No. I’ll bet she hardly even had to ask you. Just a little while longer watching her and you’d have begged to feel her milk you yourself. Isn’t that right, Fish?’

Frankie moans beneath him, his cock dribbling and straining. You want so badly to have it on your tongue, in your hand, inside your pussy, that you whine again, louder. Santi’s eyes slide to you, mouth wide in a smirk.

‘Quit whining, querida. We’ll be with you in a moment.’

You groan again as Pope twists his fingers in Frankie’s hair, cooing at him.

‘Yeah, seems to you both thought to tell us how’d you’d watched, hm? It’s a pity you couldn’t wait to touch, though. Could have made this so much easier for yourselves.’ You wriggle your hips a little more, finding just the right angle, the right pressure. Oh, it’s so good. Too good. Your noises come louder, faster, and though Frankie’s eyes don’t leave Santi, his body twitches, finely attuned now, to how you sound before you come. As though he’s read Frankie’s mind, Pope’s eyes snap back to you.

‘Not yet.’ He bites.

You breathe jagged, harsh breaths through your nose, eyes scrunching shut against the coil that’s tightening in your core. You’re so wet you can feel it dripping through your folds, straight onto the sheets, and you try to think of anything but the sound of Santi’s cock moving in Frankie’s throat. What groceries you need to buy, the post you need to hand to your neighbour, what you’ll wear to meet Sarah. Joel. Joel. Fuck, no. That makes it even worse.

You moan again, dangerously close to the edge, cracking open your eyes to see Frankie bobbing up and down Santi’s length, drool escaping the corners of his mouth. How his cheeks hollow, how he sinks down to the wiry hairs at the bottom, eyes fixed on Santi’s face, unwavering, swallowing; moving back up to kiss the tip, the spit that trails from his lips to Pope’s head, how Pope rocks his hips forward, chasing the sensation. How Santi groans for him, tomalo, mírame, tu boca, tan bonito -

Your hips stutter, now trying to move away from the vibrator as Pope’s hand finally grips Frankie’s curls, pulling him in closer, holding him still as he fucks his throat, and you try to get out a please, please, trying to back yourself down, trying so hard even though it would be so easy -

Santi’s gaze finds you, lost to the feeling of the other man’s mouth, and he smiles kindly.

‘Casi ahí, bebita.’

You shake your head, eyes pleading, desperate, teary, and he seems to take pity on you. He uses his grip on Frankie’s curls to ease him off slowly, marvelling at the way his cock emerges, glistening; at the way Frankies mouth still hangs open for him to fill.

‘Should we help her out, baby?’ He asks softy.

Frankie looks to you, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. Please, you try to moan again.

‘Yes.’ He says, voice hoarse.

Pope holds a hand out to him to help him off the floor, and Frankie stands on shaky legs. You try to will them to move faster, teetering on the edge, breath leaving you in great puffs, your body straining away from the toy, arms aching with the effort of trying to pull yourself away.

‘You ready to come, princesa?’ Santi murmurs.

You gurgle an mhm, sniffling as his hand moves low, hovering over the vibrator. Frankie bends, his cock angry and red still, to press a kiss to your temple.

‘Did so well,’ he whispers, ‘It’s okay, hermosa.’

Pope takes that as his cue to take hold of the wand.

Your back arches as he presses it down, harder against you, roving it back and forth for extra friction. You start to beg through your panties, knowing you can’t hold back anymore as your pussy turns traitor, beginning to flutter. Tears spill from the corners of your eyes, and Santi smiles.

‘Now.’ he whispers.

Your body pulls impossibly tight, giving in to the rush of fire that has been simmering, your muscles clenching painfully as sound and sight evade you. You can feel your lungs working, feel the choked gasps leaving you, feel your arms pulling at Santi’s belt, but you are somewhere outside your body. A rush courses through your body, and you feel yourself gushing between your thighs.

When you come to, blinking, body slick with sweat and your cum seeping down your legs, Pope is untying your hands. You drop them above your head, and Frankie takes your wrists, massaging them soothingly with his thumbs. Santi presses a tender kiss to your stomach, moving the vibrator away as you shiver and jerk with overstimulation.

‘So good, bebita,’ he says, ‘Atta girl. Look how well you behaved there.’

He presses his fingers into your mouth to remove the lace, and your tongue works around your gums to alleviate the dryness the fabric left.

‘Can you move?’ He asks gently, and you nod weakly, cinching at the waist to haul yourself up. He brings his palms to your shoulder, rubbing your skin as Frankie sits behind you, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck. ‘Well done, princesa.’

He brings you further forward, cradling you to his chest as he tells Frankie to lay back behind you, then angles your shoulder to turn and face him. Frankie looks fucked. His bare skin untouched, his cock dribbling precum, pooling at his stomach as you watch. His jaw is clenched like he’s trying to stop himself from begging, and you reach out to touch his thigh, trying to offer comfort in any way you can. He whimpers at the warmth of your skin.

‘Should we help him, querida?’ Pope whispers in your ear, your back still to his chest.

‘Yes.’ You answer, throat dry. He kisses your cheek, and you feel his smile.

‘Use your mouth, bonita.’

You move from Pope to settle yourself between Frankie’s legs on all fours, breathing kisses into his inner thighs before touching him, trailing a finger down his soft shaft. He hisses at the sensation, and you pause, meeting his eye. He swallows, nods.

‘Keep going.’ He rasps.

You pull yourself further up, mouthing at his underside, pressing kisses to his leaking tip before laving your tongue up and down his length. When his hips buck at the sensation, you move a palm to cup his balls and take him fully into your mouth, sucking and hollowing your cheeks, humming with the salty taste of him. His hands quickly find the side of your head, and you move back up towards his tip, licking into his slit to drink down more, playing with his frenulum in a way you know drives him insane. He moans, deep and needy, puffing out a soft fuck as you take him down to the base again, nuzzling the hair there, breathing him in. His cock jumps in your throat, and he looses a needy whine, pulling on your hair, but you don’t budge.

‘Hermosa -’ he breathes, voice tight, and Santi speaks again from behind you.

‘Are you gonna last, hermano?’

Frankie looks up from watching you, unfocused, swaying his head. Pope makes an amused sound, and you feel his hands on you, positioning you, then the press of his tip against your slick hole.

‘Just a little longer, Fish. So much to do with you two.’

Santi glides inside of you easily, but it’s still enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You moan around Frankie’s sensitive dick, and he gasps, hands tightening in your hair.

‘Please -’ he warns, ‘Please -’ as Pope pulls out and thrusts back in again. You cry out, moving back up to Frankie’s tip, moving up and down the best you can as Pope dives in and out of your pussy, knocking you forward to take Frankie deeper with each thrust. ‘Santi -’ Frankie grits, and the other man chuckles behind you.

‘Alright,’ he says, ‘Don’t want to spoil the fun.’

You whine and pout at the loss as he withdraws from you completely, turning your head to find that he’s stripped himself of his jeans and underwear. He winks at you before giving you a little push.

‘Ride it, querida.’

You push yourself up eagerly, coming to straddle Frankie’s hips before positioning him at your entrance. He looks up at you with blown, lust filled eyes, absolutely ruined.

Despite the stretch, you sink down onto him without stopping.

He feels so good. Just like the first time.

You writhe down at his base as his hands shoot out to grip your hips, his beautiful neck straining as his grits his teeth, his abs flexing as he attempts to hold you still. But it didn’t work the first time, and it won’t work now.

You take yourself slowly up, smiling at the wet sound of the movement before sinking down again, feeling him stretch you out, feeling him in your stomach. It’s a delicious ache. You wonder what Joel would say right now, watching you take him so easily, watching how he fills you. Bet you can’t wait to know what his cock feels like inside you, huh? Can’t wait to be droolin’ and comin’ over him like you do me, hm? You clench tight around Frankie at the thought, at the same time as a little ache settles in your chest. You miss him. You miss him, and you wonder what he’d be doing with his hands, his mouth, his cock -

‘Que cosita mas linda.'

Santi’s voice brings you back as you bounce on Frankie’s lap, and you lift your head to look at the younger man, his eyes heavy-lidded, lip nipped between his teeth.

‘She gonna make you come like this, Francisco?’

At the use of his full name, all of the sounds Frankie has been trying to hold back break free from him. All of his pretty little gasps and moans, his whimpers, the way he pants your name as he clings to you, eyes never leaving where you’re joined as he pleads -

‘Can I? Can I come?’

You clench around him again, the knot in your belly snapping at his words, your orgasm blinding as it comes at you sideways. Frankie moans loudly, repeating your name. You gasp, high little pants of uh- uh- as you jolt on him, pain mixing with pleasure as you call his name, Santi’s name, Joel’s name -

‘Up. Off.’

Santi presses a palm to your backside to move you off of Frankie’s length, even as you still clench around him.

‘Fuck,’ Frankie heaves, ‘Fuck, please, no -’

‘Quiet.’ Santi bites at him, and Frankie whines, his cock jumping between your folds at his tone. You close your eyes.

‘Let him,’ you plead, ‘Please, let him, Pope.’

You wanted him to come, he deserved to come. You move your lips up and down his length, and Frankie chokes a moan, his body moving higher up the bed as Santi moves behind you, but you can’t work out why behind the darkness of your eyelids. Your eyes are still closed, body still quaking as Santi leans forward to press a kiss to the centre of your spine. You arch your back against his mouth and he chases you, pressing another slightly higher, scraping his teeth against your skin.

‘Querida,’ he says. You can only moan in response. You know it’s not what he wants, but your brain is so fuzzy it can’t comprehend anything beyond it.

‘Turn around,’ he says, and you whimper, eyelids fluttering as you scratch gently at Frankie’s chest. The man beneath you writhes at the feeling, head rolling, eyes closing, fingers flexing bruisingly on your hips. ‘Turn. Around.’ Santi grits, this time taking Frankie’s hands so he can prise them off you, gripping your waist in an effort to turn your body.

There’s no graceful way to do it, but Frankie handles your limbs with gentle hands as you swing your legs around him.

When you face Pope, the sight that greets you is even better than you could have imagined.

He eyes you hungrily, carnally, his brow dark and hair curled more than you've ever seen. But your eyes are taken to where his fingers are sunk knuckle-deep into Frankie, pumping them slowly. You moan as he digs them in deeper before curling them, repeating the beckoning motion until Frankie’s belly twitches. At the tells of his orgasm, Pope removes the digits slowly, deaf to Frankie’s desperate begging. You watch, mute, as Pope then takes the bottle of lube from beside him, pouring it onto his cock with a quiet moan, jacking himself before pressing his tip to Frankie’s hole. You feel the man below you tense slightly, and you stroke his thighs, fallen open on either side of Santi, with soothing fingers. When he relaxes, one of Pope’s hands meets yours on his flesh, the other helping to guide himself in. You watch as his length is swallowed, breathing shallow, listening to any noise the pair make. Frankie’s ragged groan, the way he chants Pope, Jesus, fuck, his bruising grip back on your hips, Pope’s answering growl as his eyes roll to the ceiling before fluttering shut. When he bottoms out, you watch as his stomach flexes, eyes then drifting lower, where you can only see the coarse hair at the base of his cock, the rest of it buried inside Frankie. You feel your face crease as your stomach turns molten.

Your hips drop to the swell of Frankie’s stomach, searching for any kind of friction. It should be impossible to be this constantly turned on. You move your hips as Pope drags his cock in and out of Frankie once, twice, murmuring how tight he is, how pretty, how good, before his eyes find yours.

‘You want her to sit on your face, pretty boy?’ Santiago purrs at the man over your shoulder.

‘Oh, fuck, please.’ Frankie moans.

Pope jerks his chin at you, sending you shuffling clumsily backwards, blinded by how badly you need to feel something, eyes fixed again to where he thrusts in and out of the younger man, angling your hips above Frankie’s face. You only see his mouth open, tongue already out to lick a fat stripe through your folds, before he pulls you roughly down, moaning against you.

‘Jesus - fuck -’ you hiss, trying to jerk away. It’s too much, too soon, but Frankie is too strong, too desperate to taste you. Your hand flies out Santi’s chest, scratching his skin before trying to find purchase higher up. You take his neck between your thumb and fingers as Frankie eats at you, his mouth harsh and hungry as it sucks and licks. Santi stutters out a groan as you tilt his head at you and squeeze.

‘Make him come,’ you murmur, ‘Make him come, baby, and then you can show me what else you wanna do with us.’

Santi grins and pants against you, his hips faltering for a moment as he leans his neck further into the cradle of your hand. He nods quickly, eyes glazing and soft. You smile back at him, squeezing again, pleased.

‘Frankie always said you were a good soldier, Santiago,’ you coo. ‘Should have known what you really needed was to be told what to do.’

‘Fuck you.’ He grins against your lips.

You answer it with a pathetic, needy little whine.

‘Mm, yes please, baby.’

Frankie takes the moment to suck particularly hard at your clit, and you feel your face crumple - one hand scrabbling at the younger man’s belly, the one at Santi’s neck now gripping the shoulder of the man fucking him. Frankie works diligently at your cunt, anchoring your hips to him as he devours you ravenously, letting the tip of his nose rest just inside your entrance as he flicks your bud with his tongue, swirling it in circles as you grind against him.

This orgasm comes slow, like wading through treacle. It drips down your spine as you curve over Frankie, gasping and shuddering, so breathless that even Pope slows down. Frankie must feel you jolt and twitch above him, lapping up the last of your cum before he releases you from his grip. You lift your hips quickly, needing reprieve, aftershocks still knocking through you as you pant against Santi’s chest.

‘So good,’ you breathe, loud enough for Frankie to hear, ‘So good to me, baby boy, aren’t you?’

Pope presses a kiss to your hair as you work a fist around Frankie’s cock, squeezing his base. He jumps beneath you, a heady, keening noise wailing from his now unoccupied mouth, and you squeeze him tighter, pumping him once, twice, his shaft slick with your juices and his precum.

‘You’ll make him come.’ Pope warns, and you hum against him, forehead just above his sternum. You’re too lost in the way his cock looks as it disappears into Frankie.

The door opens so quietly you don’t hear it, but Santi does. How he keeps his wits about him despite what’s happening is beyond you. He stills his movements inside Frankie, and you feel his damp breath against your forehead, head dipping as he nudges your cheek with his jaw, turning your face towards it.

‘Look who’s home.’ He murmurs into your ear.

Your stomach swoops.

Joel stands in the doorway. His nose and brow are rosy from working in the sun, your favourite flannel draped over his broad shoulders, a grin twisting his lips as he takes the scene in. His eyes dip from yours to your tits, to the way your body curls over Frankie’s. He takes in the man laying beneath you - his face shining with your cum, blissed and fucked out. The rise and fall of his tummy, the way his thighs are splayed to make room for Pope. The way Santi can’t help but flex inside him, earning a ragged groan from both of them, up the other man’s torso, his neck, to the dark eyes watching him back. It’s breathtaking.

Joel cocks his head.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ he drawls, ‘Y’all make such a pretty picture.’

You swallow loudly, letting your head fall back to Santi’s warm shoulder, panting before looking back at him. Something swirls in your gut, and you speak before even realising.

‘Come here,’ you whisper, voice cracking. ‘Come here and make it even prettier, daddy.’

The three of you watch as Joel steps towards you, letting the door fall shut behind him.

help with spanish translations from @/urmomsgnocchi's invaluable post here. if there are inaccuracies, please drop me a message <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x frankie morales x reader

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miloformula123fan · 4 months

Note

Full fic??

I’ve read that Logan S. felt really lonely being the only American in F1. Like, he wasn’t completely accepted in the grid. Maybe he has an overprotective older sister who is a professional soccer player (like World Cup level good) who finally has time to attend his races. She dislikes most of the grid, except Alex and Oscar, for how they treated her brother. quick to defend Logan and even as far as annihilate them during the annual driver soccer match to prove a point. Im thinking G. Russel pairing due to Logan living in England. he wins her over by treating logan right, acknowledging he could have been welcoming, etc. Just a thought!

OKAY I HONESTLY LOVED THIS! IT WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE (let me know if you want a part 2, because it is a bit of an interesting ending haha)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

edit: i wrote part 2 - it is here

part 3 is here

George Russell x reader, logan sargeant x sister!reader

---

Y/N loves her brother, she really does. Yeah, she’s tried to get to a few of his F2 rounds, but with her soccer taking her around the world, she has had very little time. She has the entire month off though, so what better to do than visit her brother at his home grand prix. Miami is always a party, so maybe she could let loose for a bit, try and relax, and find a guy.

This is quickly vetoed when she finds Logan cooped up in his drivers room. While most people would think that he was excited for the race, most people weren’t Logan’s sister. She could tell he was thinking too hard about something, and it wasn’t good.

“Hey Logie Bear! Whatcha thinking about?” She tried to appear happy, but she could see that Logan’s smile did not reach his eyes

“Nothing, just excited for the race, the car is quick, just aiming for some points, hoping for a safety car. The garage is over there, sorry I have to warm up.” Y/N looked up as Benny entered the room and Logan stood up. She could tell how closed up he was, how he didn’t want to talk at all

“Okay, we’ll talk after the race Logan! Good luck, you'll smash it!” Y/N walked out of the drivers room towards the garage seeing the chaos of it.

Y/N watched as Logan apologised over again and again to his engineer for not making up any more places. She stood there listening to his engineer reassure her younger brother. She eventually decided that she couldn’t listen to it anymore and decided to wait in his garage room.

When he walked in, Y/N could tell he wasn’t sure whether to throw stuff or cry.

“Hey, hey, come here! It’s okay, it’s okay!” She opened her arms and sat down as Logan fell down into them and hugged her baby brother, as he started talking the words just rushed out

“I just wanted to prove that I deserve to be here, feel like I’m a part of the paddock.” Logan hugged his sister back tightly, hesitating slightly.

“What do you mean? Of course you’re a part of the paddock, you’ve got your seat, y’know?” Y/N was confused as to what her brother meant, from what she had seen, he was welcomed warmly by everyone.

“Yeah but, I’m never invited to the grid parties, no one really ever talks to me, except Alex and Oscar, and Oscar is getting into the rest of the grid through Lando, and Alex is only really talking to me because I mean, he’s my teammate we have to be friends, and I just want everyone to like me… so I thought maybe if I got some points and good overtakes, then people would like me..”

“Oh, Logie… It’ll be okay. If they don’t like you then I think they’re just idiots, but they won’t. They’ll warm up to you, I promise.”

---

George watched as Y/N sprinted up and down. Okay the F1 team was never going to win, particularly when multiple women who were playing in the world cup were playing on the opposition team, but ‘Sargeant’ (who also had the same name as the rookie driver this year, who was sitting in the stands) was dominating, she had more goals then all of the f1 team, so of course the celebrity team won 4-1. She’d almost immediately jumped into the stands once the referee blew the whistle and started talking to Logan, maybe the kid got married young and just didn’t want anyone to realise.

Although she looked quite similar to Logan, so maybe his sister instead. Either way, she did not seem to like them, she called them all dickheads and shoved them over a few times. George’s knees were sore. But she was still pretty. So he approached Logan and the girl.

“Hello! I’m George and…’

“I’m pretty sure my brother knows your name, Georgie! Why don’t you say hello to him?”

“Y/N-”

“No. Say hi to Logan, George.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, almost forced.

“Hey Logan! Looking forward to the grand prix this weekend?”

“Uhhhh… yeah. ” He turned back to Y/N “I’ve got some stuff to do, so you can make your way back. See ya!”

As soon as Logan was out of listening range, Y/N pulled George in and started whispering, “Listen, I don’t know what problem you have my brother, but you need to get over it ASAP, understood?”

“I.. don’t have a problem with your brother.”

“Well, then why is he telling me that there have been 2 people, Oscar and Alex, who have actually welcomed him to F1. Everyone else has snubbed him and he doesn’t understand why you don’t like him. He’s lonely. So fucking sort your shit out.”

George stood there, mouth gaping as she stormed off to grab her bag and then sprinted after Logan. He could almost hear the f1 team laughing at his failed attempt at flirting, but all he could think about ‘was what she said true?’’

---

Y/N was going to cry.

She could see Logan in the family and friends box, hands over his mouth, eyes glassy.

That corner kick should’ve gone in, she thought, we had so many chances and we still fucked it all. Couldn’t even give Megs a proper farewell.

She walks slowly over to her younger brother and let his arms wrap around her

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Dragged you halfway ‘round the world when you should’ve been training only to lose the first game.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. Go pack up, we can head home and spend some time in London relaxing. I’ve got next week off before I need to be back in the factory.”

—

Y/N was awoken by a knock on the front door. Hearing Logan snoring from his bedroom, she got up off the couch, rubbing her eyes and opened the door.

Of all the people she was expecting to see, George Russell would’ve been just about the last on her list “Uhh, hey?”

“Oh, morning! Is your brother up?”

Y/n paused for a moment to let George hear the snores coming from Logan’s bedroom. “Yeah, no, sorry. I can pass on a message?”

“Oh, No I was just going to offer if he was still up to go on a morning jog with him, but as he isn’t…”

“You been doing this often?”

“Almost every week we’ve been in town. I don’t think he understands what or why I’m doing this. But, he’s a good kid, opens up a bit when you talk to him. He likes you, respects you a lot for 2 siblings pursuing their sport across the globe.”

“I’ll make some breakfast and you can stay til Logan wakes up, okay? As a thanks for looking out for him. Hard for me to do from across the globe.” Y/N looked tense, with an almost forced smile. She looked awkward, before stepping back, holding the door open so George could come in.

---

“LOGAN SARGEANT!”

“Hello, dear sister, what do you want?”

“YOU GOT POINTS!”

“I think you must have watched a different grand prix, I got P12.”

“Hamilton and Leclerc got disqualified, something about wood, but you got points!”

“OH MY! AHHH! I had no idea, oh god!”

“YEAH! MY LITTLE BRO FINALLY GETTING F1 POINTS! WOOHOO! We must celebrate when we’re both in town!”

“AHH! Shit, wait I think people are coming in, give me a sec.

You’re on speaker dear sis, Alex, Oscar and George are here.”

“HELLO OSCAR! HI ALEX! HI GEORGE! DID SOMEONE BRING CHAMPAGNE???”

---

Y/N looks at the buzzing phone on her bedside table. Well clearly she had grabbed Logan’s phone before bed last night. She looked at the contact name

‘George - probably calling about something from the GDPA.’

She picked up.

“Before you start talking, I’m not Logan and I have not signed any NDAs related to his contract so, don’t talk to me.”

“Hi Y/N, do you know where Logan is?” George’s voice was way too cheery for however fucking early it is right now.

“Yeah he’s in his bedroom, he grabbed my phone and I grabbed his, why?” Y/N swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, still rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, can you come answer the door?”

“The door, why?” Y/N got up, and walked to her front door and opened the door to …nothing.

“George, are you pulling a prank on me? There’s nothing at the door.”

“You haven’t opened the door!”

“George… Logan and I are in Florida for Christmas. I’m guessing you’re in London.”

“Oh…yes. Bugger. I came to congratulate him on his contract renewal and so now I’ve got food and flowers and stuff and he’s not here!”

“If you go round the block to 20 XXX Close, there’s a single mom there, who will appreciate some Christmas cheer Georgie.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send it over.”

“Why were you congratulating Logan, George? I didn’t think you cared. Only Alex and Oscar have reached out so far.”

“I..I remember what you said at the soccer match, about Logan feeling ostracised by all of us. So I’ve been trying to make him feel welcomed… not just because you said that, and I like you, but also because I kinda realised we’d all be failing him as a grid, so i thought if I started it, maybe others would catch on. It didn’t work, but I think he feels more included.”

“That’s very nice of you Georgie. I’ll pass on your congrats. Now it’s like 7am here, and I didn’t need to be awake today, so i will be heading back to bed. Night Georgie boy.”

#f1 fic #miloformula123fan #f1 x reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #f1 fanfic #logan sargeant x you #george russell x reader #george russell #george russell x you

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dreamwritesimagines · 7 months

Text

Garden of Secrets [40] - Laurel

A.N: The last 3 chapters! ❤️Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤️ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think❤️

Summary: An engagement ball can be followed by an unexpected surprise.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, mentions of threats.

Word Count: 3000

Series Masterlist

Technically you knew planning an engagement ball was bound to be stressful, of course you did.

But from the way Lottie was treating it, you were beginning to think it was a life-and-death situation.

“Lottie you do realize you didn’t have to come here to make sure me and Ben are coming to the engagement ball?” you asked “Don’t get me wrong, I’m always glad to see you but there is no way we’d miss it. No matter how much Benedict whines about you and Anthony getting married, he’s actually happy for you.”

“Oh I know!” she said as she sat beside you on the bench. You were in the garden, enjoying your book in the gazebo after having spent hours in the greenhouse while Benedict was busy with his painting in his studio. “I cannot stay long because I must go to the Bridgerton House but before that, I figured I could come here and give you this.”

She put the wrapped rectangular box that she was holding into your lap and you tilted your head.

“What is this?”

“This is sort of a thank you for accepting to be my maid of honor,” she said, making you smile.

“Lottie, you really shouldn’t have…” you said as you unwrapped the box and held your breath when you saw the chocolates. “I take it back, I’m glad you did.”

She let out a laugh as you hugged her and pulled back to look at her better.

“It’s my privilege to be your maid of honor,” you said as you popped a chocolate into your mouth and offered her, but she shook her head.

“I feel as if I’m in the most pleasant dream,” she whispered like she was giving you a secret. “I never thought Tony would love me back and the funny part is—”

“He never thought you’d love him back?”

“Yes!” she said. “Can you believe it?”

“I absolutely can,” you said with a laugh, then reached out to hold her hand. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you!”

You grabbed another piece of chocolate, then chewed on it.

“So are you very excited for the engagement ball?”

“Very tense, more likely,” she said. “I hope everyone will like it.”

“Of course they will,” you assured her. “And you’re not doing it for them, you’re doing it for you.”

“That is something I must repeat to myself a lot, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy about the wedding and such but I’m also happy for the time I’ll get to be alone with Tony after all this.”

“I know how that feels,” you said, smiling slightly and she looked around.

“Benny is in his studio?”

“Mm hm, painting.”

“I must go but you must give him my regards.”

“You don’t want to say hello to him?”

“I’m not going to interrupt him while he’s painting, he might lose focus,” she said and stood up, then kissed you on the cheek. “I will see both of you tonight?”

“Cross my heart,” you said and hugged her. “Tell the family I said hello!”

“Will do!” she said and walked away, and you looked back at the house before making your way there. You hummed a song to yourself, still carrying the box of chocolates, and climbed the stairs, then walked down the hallway to approach the closed door of the studio.

You only hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door, then stepped back.

“Yes?” Benedict’s voice carried outside and you smiled slightly.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, is there something terrible going on there?”

The footsteps came closer, then the door opened halfway, letting you see him and you repressed a grin. He looked handsome as always but there were traces of paint all over his hands and his white shirt, and his hair was tousled as if he had been running his hands through it the way he always would when he was stressed. You tilted your head.

“Did you lose a fight with the canvas or something?”

“I’m winning actually,” he said as he gave you an excited grin and you leaned sideways to the doorframe, then held up the box.

“Do you want a chocolate?”

“God yes,” he said and grabbed one to pop it into his mouth. “Where did this come from?”

“Lottie dropped by, she didn’t want to interrupt you while you were painting,” you said. “She brought me chocolates to thank me for accepting to be her maid of honor.”

Benedict blinked a couple of times. “Wait, we get treats for that?”

“I got treats for that,” you corrected him. “You’re the best man, what did Anthony give you?”

“…A speech.”

You clicked your tongue. “Ah well, that sounds like the consequences of your choices.”

“He’s my brother, I honestly did not have a choice in that,” he said, eyeing the chocolates. “How come you get chocolates and I get a speech?”

“Probably because I’m nicer than you,” you said with a grin. “There’s no other explanation here.”

“Mm hm, I’m sure.”

“So the painting?” you asked, standing on your tiptoes to sneak a look inside but he tut-tutted, blocking your view.

“Not yet.”

“What’s it about?”

“You’ll see,” he said. “Y/N, I can’t explain, I…ever since that night, it’s like I’m more inspired than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

You could feel the warmth spreading inside your chest and you shifted your weight, letting a smile pull at your lips.

“And yet I cannot see it?” you asked, nodding in the direction of the room and he shook his head.

“Not yet, but you will be the first person to see it once it’s finished.”

You hummed, pretending to be in deep thought. “Do you promise?”

He smiled softly, then leaned in to brush his lips against yours, making you heave a happy sigh.

“On my honor,” he said. “You’ll see it before anyone else.”

“Very well, I guess I’ll leave you alone to work on it,” you said. “Just don’t forget, we must be at Lottie and Anthony’s engagement party before eight o’clock.”

He made a face. “After Anthony’s huge speech about responsibilities, how could I?”

“See, the speech was useful,” you pointed out, and walked away from him, popping a chocolate into your mouth. “But chocolates are still better!”

You had to admit, though you knew Lottie and Anthony’s engagement ball would be beautiful, even you did not see this coming. Every single guest looked like they were having so much fun while Anthony and Lottie seemed like they were in their own happy bubble, as if blind to anyone else in the ballroom.

“Anthony a married man…” Colin murmured as he sipped his drink while Eloise shook her head. “Now I know the world is coming to an end.”

Benedict grinned. “You do realize what it means right?” he asked. “Mother will focus on only you two the next season.”

“This is your fault, you know?” Eloise asked and Benedict tilted his head.

“How is that?”

“First you, then Daph…” she tilted her glass in Daphne and Simon’s direction who were talking to Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton on the other side of the ballroom. “And now Anthony. Even Colin almost got married this season!”

“The season of scandals,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders and Colin heaved a sigh.

“Has someone put the whole family under a spell I wonder.”

“Not me,” Eloise said. “I remain to be the smartest among you all.”

Benedict pushed her shoulder with his in a joking manner. “Does this mean you’re not looking forward to the next season when you will have so many suitors to entertain, El?”

“You take that back!”

“I’ll help you threaten them,” you assured Eloise. “Don’t worry. Eloise before I forget, do you want a knife?”

“She does not want a knife,” Benedict answered in a haste before Eloise could. “I do not trust her with a knife.”

“I second that,” Colin said and Eloise leaned in so that she could whisper into your ear.

“Please tell me you’re getting me a knife.”

You winked at her and nodded, then sipped your drink.

“When we return to Aubrey Hall in two weeks, we will have nowhere to run,” Eloise said. “I mean I can’t stay at your house because you two are sickeningly in love, and so are Daphne and Simon, and now, Anthony and Lottie. Where am I supposed to go to in order to see no romance?”

“It is a challenge,” you said and Colin shot you a look.

“Did you miss the part she said you two are sickeningly in love?” he asked. “I mean you’ve always been but lately it’s even…it’s different, it’s much more than before.”

You and Benedict exchanged glances and you pursed your lips to hold back your grin while Benedict ran a hand over his mouth to keep his expression straight.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he managed to say and Lady Bridgerton raised a hand to motion at them to come over. Eloise heaved a sigh and looked up at Colin.

“Come on,” she said and Colin downed his drink, then they both made their way to her. You looked around, standing on your tiptoes.

“Have you seen Josie?” you asked. “Or Andrew, or Bess?”

“Not yet,” Benedict said. “I’m sure they will be here soon.”

“Hello you two!” Lottie’s cheerful voice reached you, making you turn around. She threw herself into your arms and you hugged her tight, smiling wide. Anthony grabbed the glass from Benedict’s hand and took a sip, making him frown.

“Get your own God damn glass!”

“Every time any footman makes his way to me, someone pulls us into a conversation,” Anthony said, still holding Lottie’s hand with his free hand. “I swear to you, I couldn’t even eat anything yet.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re taking my glass—”

“I’m the oldest, that’s why.”

“This is your engagement ball!”

“I could give you my glass Tony,” Lottie said like a melody and Anthony pressed a kiss on the back of her hand.

“No need my love.”

“Everyone has so much to tell us,” Lottie told Benedict. “So much advice about marriage too, it’s rather overwhelming.”

“Probably they’re still waiting for you to wake up and see the light and change your mind about marrying him Charlie, the wedding is next week so it’s not too late—”

“Benedict!”

“I mean he stole my drink, is this really the type of person you want to grow old with?” Benedict motioned at Anthony with a grin while Anthony rolled his eyes.

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m still working on your wedding present by the way,” he told her, making her gasp. “It should be ready by the time the social season is over.”

“You got us a wedding present? Aw Benny, you shouldn’t have!”

“Yeah well, if you can’t fight it…” Benedict said with a shrug but the happy grin on his face told a different story than his pretend nonchalance. Lottie pulled him into a hug, and he hugged her back.

“Congratulations to you both by the way,” Benedict said as Lottie pulled back, “In case I forgot to say that. I really am happy for you.”

“That is uncharacteristically mindful of him, is this your doing?” Anthony asked you and you let out a laugh.

“I’d love to take credit but no.”

“And how is it going with the plan—” Anthony started but cleared his throat when Benedict shot him a look. “The plan with the…the art thing that you uh—that you do?”

You pulled your brows together. “Hm?”

“I have this plan for a new painting,” Benedict said. “It’s going quite well brother.”

“Keep me informed about that, will you?”

“Sure—”

“Oh isn’t this the happy couple?” A lady you didn’t even know touched Lottie’s arm. “Do you two mind if I borrowed them?”

“Of course not,” you said and Anthony heaved a dramatic sigh while Lottie squeezed his arm as if trying to console him.

“We will see you later,” she said and both Anthony and she followed the lady to the small crowd on the other side of the ballroom. You pressed your lips together to hide your smile, then looked up at Benedict.

“What plan?”

Benedict turned to you. “Hm?”

“What plan was he talking about?”

“I told you,” Benedict said with a shrug of his shoulders, then held out his hand. “Just the painting, that’s all. A dance, my lady?”

By the time the ball was over, it was almost dawn. Lottie looked like she was about to pass out from exhaustion, so you gave her a quick hug, then you and Benedict told everyone else you would see them the next day and -which was technically today- and got on the carriage.

“Is it just me or was Andrew a bit distracted?” you asked while the carriage moved through the street and Benedict thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Probably because Felix wasn’t there?”

“Maybe,” you murmured and rested your head on his chest, letting out a small groan. “I’m so tired.”

Benedict buried his nose into your hair, throwing his arm over your shoulder so that he could hold you tighter.

“At least they’ll have their wedding before we all go back to countryside,” he said. “I wouldn’t be expecting any other ball from them for at least next season.”

“Because they’ll be very busy?” you asked with a grin and he made a face.

“Yeah yeah… Please don’t remind me.”

“What are you getting them as their wedding present?”

“I’m going to paint their portrait together,” he said as you pulled back to look at him better, your jaw dropping. “And send it to Aubrey Hall because I honestly think when I see my sweet Charlie as Anthony’s wife, I might just—”

“Stop with that, I was there when you told them you were happy for them,” you said with a laugh. “So is that what you’re working on then?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I’ll get to it once I’m done with the painting I’m already working on. It’s about to be finished.”

“And I’ll be the first to see?”

“And you’ll be the first to see,” he said with a mischievous smile before kissing you, and the carriage came to a stop. Benedict got out of it and helped you out, and you both started walking to the house, still holding hands.

“So everyone is going back to Aubrey Hall in two weeks then?”

“Well everyone but us and Daphne,” he said as you two climbed the marble stairs leading to the house. “I forgot you still haven’t seen there, or our home in the countryside.”

A warmth spread inside your chest and you took a deep breath.

“But we’re moving all the flowers from this greenhouse to the countryside house?” you felt the need to ask and he nodded his head.

“Of course. Might be a little time because the greenhouse there still hasn’t finished but I was thinking,” he said as you both reached the door and walked through it, entering the foyer. “Maybe we could get some and put them in the house and once the greenhouse is finished—”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” the butler’s voice reached you and you both turned your heads to see him approach you. “There’s a note for you, it arrived a couple hours ago.”

“Thank you,” Benedict said, taking the letter from him and you tilted your head.

“Just now?” you asked. “That’s not very common, everyone is asleep. Who’s it from?”

Benedict ripped open the envelope to read the note, a grin curling his lips as he got to the end of the lines, and let out a breath.

“Oh thank God, finally.”

“What?” you asked and Benedict lowered the letter, then gave you a soft smile.

“My love, I haven’t been the most honest with you I’m afraid,” he said, making your heart skip a beat and you pulled back slightly, a frown pinching your brows together.

“About what?”

“Me and Andrew, remember we talked the other night?”

You nodded your head, still frowning.

“Well you said your parents didn’t even know Josie was here, but that they were blackmailing her about that letter.”

“Yes?”

“So it got me thinking, if they didn’t even know she was here, there was no reason at all why they would bring the letter with them here.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Uh… I suppose?”

“So we sent someone to the countryside to go find that letter in their house while your parents are here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Someone we can trust—Anthony knows him, that’s what he was talking about today,” he assured you. “And I told him to take the letter to Andrew and give it to him directly, no one else, but to let me know immediately so…” he held up the note. “He apparently found it and wrote to me that he would wait for Andrew to come home so that he can deliver it in person.”

You could feel the shock taking over your whole mind and you tried to wrap your head around it.

“…You mean to tell me—”

“I mean to tell you that there’s nothing at all they can use against Josie and Bess,” he said. “And they’re not going to hurt you, or Josie, or Teddy. Ever again.”

A relieved laugh spilled from your lips before you flung yourself into his arms and he caught you to hug you tight, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Ben, I don’t know what to say,” you managed to mutter, still in disbelief. “Thank you, you…you didn’t have to help—”

“Your family is my family,” he said. “Of course I will help however I can.”

You looked up at him and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I love you,” you said and he gave you a lopsided grin.

“I love you too,” he muttered and leaned in to brush his lips against yours again, making you smile. “In this life and the next, darling.”

Chapter 41

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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motomam1 · 5 months

Text

MOTOMAMI | see you in formula one

series masterlist | navigation

warnings: self-doubt, angst word count: 3.4k summary: it's the final race of the 2022 f2 championship, is valeria ready to give it her all to win the champion title and enter formula one?

FIDGETING WITH THE rings on her fingers, Valeria didn’t pay much attention to the race engineers debriefing after the qualifying that afternoon. She drowned out the conversations around her as the doubt and worry consumed her senses, her mind filling with endless thoughts about what could happen at the race tomorrow.

Her qualifying didn’t go bad per se; She earned herself P2 for the starting grid, one place right behind Felipe Drugovich who has been her biggest rival during the championship. He was always there, either a few points behind or ahead of her. Whatever happens at the race would break or make the other’s standing.

“... Valeria?” Cecília gently shook the girl next to her, her face showing signs of worry as she looked at the young driver. “Is everything alright? We need you to pay attention, linda.”

“Sorry, zoomed out for a second,” trying to shake off her intrusive thoughts, Valeria pulled herself together. “I’m all ears.” She smiled at the team, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The debrief was over and before anyone could say anything, Valeria had bolted out the door to reach her driver’s room. She had to gather herself before facing the people outside the motorhome. Taking deep breaths, she pulled out her earphones and clicked onto her paddock playlist. The soothing voice of Kali filled her ears, instantly calming her a little as she thought of her friends. If Kali would be here right now, she’d know exactly how to lift Valeria’s mood.

A text of Benny, her PR manager and childhood friend, ripped her out of her thoughts.

We’ll leave soon, okay?Didn’t want to disturb you since I know you probably want to be alone right now

Smiling slightly, she appreciated how considered he can be at times like these. Valeria valued her friendship with Benny a lot, even more so now that he’s working with her and was there for her at every race because of that.

Shooting him a short reply, she sighed as she packed her necessities together. Ready to leave with the safety of her music blasting through her ears, Valeria decided it was best to find her team to drive back to the hotel.

Opening the door, she let out a gasp of shock as she saw Felipe in front of her, his fist raised to knock. “Oh fuck, you scared me!” It slipped out of her mouth faster than she could think. Pulling her earphones away, she looked at him in question. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry,” the Brazilian sheepishly apologised, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I just wanted to wish you luck for your race tomorrow.” He held out his hand for her to shake. “No matter who wins. No bad blood, right?”

“Uh…” She looked at him, unsure how to process his appearance. She didn’t know whether to take his words seriously or not, Valeria opted to not be a total asshole, Valeria appreciated his gesture more than doubting his intentions.

So, she took his hand and shot him a genuine smile. “Thank you, likewise. May the better one win, I guess.”

“Oh I’ll make sure of that,” he smiled teasingly. Laughing, Valeria slightly hit his chest. “Yeah right. Good joke.” He laughed as well.

“So… see you tomorrow?” They made their way out of the motorhome together, coming to a halt when their ways parted. “Or more like, you’ll see me since you’re behind me.”

Laughing again, Valeria slapped his arm. “What happened to the shy teammate I had in Formula 3? I think I liked that Felipe more.” She shook her head, still smiling at her former teammate.

“I guess he grew up,” Felipe shrugged, growing more serious for a second. “I do hope for a good race tomorrow, no matter the outcome.”

“Me too.” They smiled at each other for a second before the moment was interrupted by Benny walking up to them. “Vale! Our ride’s here- Oh, hey Felipe.” He looked between the two drivers, trying to read the atmosphere. Sensing no stress, he sighed in relief. “Our ride is here, just wanted to inform you.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Valeria turned to Felipe. “Sleep well tonight before I beat your ass tomorrow.”

Felipe grinned at her. “Whatever makes you sleep at night.” They chuckled before wishing each other a good night and parting their ways.

“All good?” Benny asked Valeria as they turned to leave the paddock. He took one more look at Felipe behind them, shrugging it off.

“Yeah, all good.” She bumped her shoulder into his, wrapping her arm around his shoulder as they left for the hotel. “Everything’s gonna be good.”

Everything wouldn’t be good. The guilt, the doubt and the worry came flooding all back when Valeria found herself alone in her hotel room at night. While the whole city was sound asleep at an hour like this, she was pacing around her room with her hands nervously combing through her hair.

She went through every possible outcome of tomorrow’s race, but got ultimately stuck on the negative ones. She couldn’t bear the thought of getting out of the car and meeting all the disappointed faces of her team, of the Prema Racing team, of the Mercedes team and Toto. Valeria knew she had a shot at the free seat at Mercedes for the next Formula One season, it was just one race away from being hers.

“We want to see how well she performs under real pressure.” Is what Toto had said to Victor, her manager, when discussing the terms of her possible contract. “If she wins the championship, she’s in. That’s our one condition.”

Balling her hands into fists, Valeria could see her younger self staring back at her reflection through the bathroom mirror. She felt like back in the US when she drove her little rundown kart at various competitions, the laughs and teasing from her competitors ringing in her ears.

“Who let her drive here?”

“I didn’t know they let charity cases like her into the karting competitions now.”

“It’s cute that she thinks she actually has a chance at winning.”

Splashing her face with water, she looked at her shaking hands as the water slipped through her fingers. She gritted her teeth in anger, sinking down on the bathroom floor. The tiles felt cool against her back, the temperature change calming her nerves for a little bit.

Will the self-doubt ever end? She asked herself, knowing that deep down she knew the answer was ‘no’. Before the qualifying, Valeria had talked to Lewis for a brief minute.

“Kick their asses, alright?” He had smiled at her, petting her head as if she was his little sister. “I want to see you next year on the podium next to me.” He had given her a little push, his significant laugh filling the air. She had answered him with a nod, a smile of her own facing him. But inside of her the turmoil hadn’t stopped.

Breathing through her nose, Valeria knew it made no sense to let the doubt plague her any further. She wished she could just mute her own head. Closing her eyes as she still laid on the bathroom floor, she envisioned what it would feel like to win. She would reach that one goal she only dreamed about; Becoming a champion and advancing to the top.

Valeria knew she had to win. If not for the seat at Mercedes, then for little Vale who had done everything in her power to get her where she is now.

THE NEXT MORNING came around faster than she had imagined. Not sleeping much that night, her drumming thoughts made the time pass quicker than she had anticipated. Groaning as her alarm went off to remind her to get ready soon, Valeria popped some Ibuprofen to get rid of the hammering headache.

“Don’t you look like an angel,” Benny teased his friend as soon as Valeria stepped inside the breakfast room of the hotel. Shooting him a glare, he knew better than to push any more of her buttons. “Okay, not in the talking mood, I get it.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m sorry for being an ass,” she sighed in defeat, rolling the food on her plate from one side to the other with her fork. “It’s just-” She stopped when Benny put his hand over hers, stopping her motion.

He looked her into the eyes, his smile genuine. “Vale, I know. I get it. It’s alright.”

Valeria knew he meant the best for her with his words, but something in her bubbled with anger. He did not get it. He had never found himself in her position, so how would he understand what she’s going through?

Pulling her hand away, she nibbled on her lips as she decided it was better to just not say anything at all. He sent her a pressed smile before continuing to eat his foot.

“How’s my little star doing?” Victor, her manager, came up behind her and put both his hands on her shoulders, slightly massaging her. “Oh, you’re tense.”

“What did you expect?” She snapped, mumbling a small sorry after realising she had come off as a little too harsh. “Ugh, I hate myself right now.” She held her head in her hands. “I’m awful.”

Victor and Benny exchanged looks with each other. Her manager turned to Valeria, “Well, it’s all going to be different in a few hours. We have faith in you, even if you don’t have it in yourself right now. The more you pressure yourself, the worse you’ll be able to focus.”

What was supposed to be encouraging made Valeria sigh even more. She was pressuring herself a lot right now and it’s not like she can just turn off those feelings, so does that mean she’ll lose it all in the race?

“Come on, eat up so we can go to the paddock.” Victor patted her shoulder, pointing towards the plate which had all the nutritions she’d needed for the race on it. “Benny, make sure she eats it up.” With that, he left as he picked up a phone call.

Forcing the food down her throat despite the nausea growing inside her, Valeria and Benny made their way towards the car where the rest of her team waited for her. Rio, her trainer, shot her a smile of encouragement as he opened the door for her. “Here you go, future champion.”

During the ride, everyone seemed to talk over Valeria’s head about the upcoming race while the girl had her headphones on to avoid any conversation. She already dreaded the celebrities who were at the paddock for the Formula One race which would take place after the Formula Two one.

Of course the paddock was packed with people from all over the world. Drivers, their team, the media and celebrities crowded the entrance as Valeria got out of the car. In an instant, she found herself surrounded by various interviewers bombarding her with questions about the upcoming race. Before Valeria could even digest all the information thrown at her, Rio had stepped in and pushed the reporters away as gently as possible to avoid any drama.

“No questions right now.” She could hear Victor behind her as Rio shielded her from anyone further invading her space. Quickly pushing through the crowd, the team was able to avoid any more complications upon arriving at the motorhome. Valeria felt her shoulders tense even more when seeing her engineers and mechanics inside the garage, all of them putting their hopes for the win on her.

Up until two hours before the race, Valeria felt as if the time was passing by slowly. Everything blurred into each other when sitting down to discuss the strategy for today’s race. They kept telling her what to do, but the only thing she could focus on was her racing heartbeat.

When it was time to prepare mentally for the race, when she finally found some time to cool down, Valeria distanced herself from her team and the garage. “I just need a moment for myself.” She told the others, earning concerned looks from them before walking off.

How am I supposed to last in Formula One when I’m already so stressed out now?

Sitting down in a more secluded era, she felt like she could finally breathe for a second without anyone looking down on her. She knew they all meant well, however, it just all felt overwhelming to the point where she could lash out and scream at everyone out of frustration.

Looking down on her phone, she contemplated whether or not to call Tyler. As someone who understood the struggle of not wanting to disappoint his fans, she knew he’d find the right words to calm her nerves without the typical ‘you can do this!’ bullshit.

“¿Oye hablas español?”

Valeria got ripped out of her thoughts, the unfamiliar voice making her furrow her brows in confusion. Looking up, she saw a man walking up to her with a big smile painted on his face. Turning her head to her side, seeing if he was talking to her or not, she raised her brow at him in question. “¿Qué?”

“I know a Latina when I see one.” He laughed, sitting down next to her without asking for permission. Valeria’s mood soured a little, she wanted a moment alone and he just bursted in without a thought. However, there was something so soothing about his presence that she couldn’t describe in words.

“I’m sorry but, who are you?” She asked, the confusion clearly taking over her whole demeanour.

“Filly,” He stretched out his hand towards her to shake. “Sorry for just coming up to you. You looked a bit grim and I figured you’d need some cheering up.” Scanning her outfit, noticing her driver's suit, his eyes widened for a second. “You a driver?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged, taking his hand before shaking it. “Valeria.”

“I’m really sorry, I’m kinda new to the Formula world. Didn’t know they had a girl.” Filly chuckled. “But that’s good, aye?”

“I’m not in Formula One.” She corrected him, smiling a little. “Formula Two, actually.”

“Oi, that’s impressive. Good thing I came earlier, so I can watch your race.”

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s going to be as spectacular as the Formula One one.” She shrugged, dropping her shoulders a bit.

“You just gotta make it interesting, then.” He pushed his shoulder slightly against hers. “You nervous?” He made it sound like a question, but they both knew it was more of a statement.

“There’s… I guess you could say a lot depends on how I do today.” Valeria wasn’t about to share the whole story, and thankfully, she felt as if Filly understood. “Lots of pressure, you know.”

“I figure, the more you stress, the more you’re setting yourself up to fail.” He just said.

Letting his words sink in for a second, Valeria found herself agreeing with him. “But I just can’t make it stop. Otherwise, trust me, I would’ve done that already.”

“I’m not a racer, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe once you enter the car your worries will go away.” He sent a small, comforting smile her way. “And then, when you achieve what you set your mind up to, find me afterwards and the first round is on me.”

Giggling at his statement, she nodded. “Now I have to win, don’t I? For the shots, at least.”

“I guess now there’s no other way to go.” He stood up, holding his hand out to help her up as well. Dusting her suit off, she looked up to him. “Is it weird if I hug you?” Bursting out in loud laughter, Filly wrapped his arms around her shoulders to embrace her in a hug. Valeria felt a little lighter, some of the worry falling off her chest.

“I’ll be at the finishing line, yeah?” He winked at her before waving her goodbye.

“I bet on it.”

FILLY WAS RIGHT. The moment Valeria had entered her car, her helmet secured on her head, her visor down, her hands gloved up and feeling the familiarity of her wheel under her fingers, she felt her worries and doubts zooming out. Her eyes were fixated on the red lights, a quick glance towards Felipe slightly in front of her, the roaming of the motors hammering through her helmet into her ears.

It’s lights out and away we go!

Her reaction time was good, though so was Felipe’s. She couldn’t get in front of him, him quickly defending his place when she tried to push past him. Looking behind her, Valeria could see the chaos behind her. The start was always the most nerve wrecking in her opinion, everyone trying to gain as many positions as possible.

She figured it’d make more sense for her to try to overtake Felipe later on, focusing more on keeping her position as second place until everyone had spread throughout the track a little. Hopefully, she was making the right decision on it.

It wasn’t up until a couple laps left when she found a moment to overtake her rival. She had tried many times throughout the race, her mind filled with possibilities on how to get the win while simultaneously defending her current place. Valeria had waited for a moment of weakness of the Brazilian, a small mistake which could lead her to victory.

She grew almost frustrated by his defending skills, her grip tightening around her wheel. Her focus was slipping away second by second as she kept trying without getting any closer to her goal.

“The more you stress, the more you’re setting yourself up to fail.”

Taking a deep breath, Valeria detached herself from the nagging thoughts. Feeling herself becoming lighter and lighter, her eyes focused on the car in front of her. She felt like Felipe was taunting her a little.

“You just gotta make it interesting, then.”

“I’m going all in.” She unpressed the button which connected her to her team, drowning out their response before pressing the gas pedal even more. Iit was now or never.

I will not lose this close to winning.

Valeria couldn’t remember what happened afterwards.

The adrenaline was spiking high, the blood rushing faster than the cars on track through her veins and her nerves were skyrocketing through the roof. It felt as if someone else was taking over her body, her decisions and choices feeling surreal.

The next moment she felt like she was back on earth was the moment she drove over the finishing line, the chequered flag waving at her. She couldn’t properly breathe, the screams of excitement filling her ears as her team principal shouted into his mic.

“YOU’RE A CHAMPION.”

I’m a champion.

Her legs were shaking as she stepped out of the car once she was parked. Immediately, her team ran up to her and smothered her in hugs, all of them knocking on her helmet while grinning from ear to ear.

Valeria couldn’t even come up with any words, her mind completely blank as she pulled her helmet off. Breathless, she looked at her team, her engineers, her mechanics. They all waited for her to say something.

“I’m a fucking champion.” She laughed as she held her helmet high up in the air. “¡Un maldito campeón!” She jumped up and down, the realisation kicking in and her emotions running absolutely wild.

Felipe came up to her after getting out of his car. He held his hand out, a smile gracing his features. “You really didn’t make this race easy.”

Looking down on his hand, Valeria shrugged before giving him a hug instead. “Never said I would.”

“¡VIVA MÉXICO CABRONES!”

She was swept off her feet, her father holding her up as he yelled at the top of his lungs. A Mexican flag was tied around his shoulders. Laughing at his antics, she joined him as they chanted the national anthem of their country.

When the official celebrations came around, Valeria was close to tearing up as she stood on the highest step of the podium. The flag, which was previously around her father’s shoulders, was now tightly tied around her. As the trophy was handed to her, she had the proudest smile on her face.

In the crowd below her, she could spot Toto. He gave her a thumbs up, a smile matching hers on his lips. Grinning, she pointed towards the Mercedes logo which was stitched on her suit.

See you in Formula One next year!

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highvern · 5 months

Text

Teach Me V

Hands on

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au, frat!svt

Warnings: fingering, mastubation, dom!reader, spitting, ass play, doggy style, facial, sex tape. Dokyeom with a praise kink pt. 2 (he's a good boy :c), unfortunately we have reached the actual angst. Poor DK gets his shit rocked :/// and everyone is upset

Length: ~7.6k

Note: picking up right where we left off in part 4 so go back and read, honestly every thing bc nothing will make any sort of sense. i think this is the longest part so far which is BANANAS but a lot needed to happen before the final part. ANYWAY! leave comments or silly tags in the reblogs, I read every single one obsessively

and because bennie aka @miniseokminnies is the number one lover of this couple, i'm giving them a shoutout for being the absolute sweetest

read more here

“Then go lock the door.”

Dokyeom nearly knocks himself out in the scramble for the door, catching himself before he can fully topple into the floor head first. You’d laugh if you weren’t just as desperate.

With a quiet click he launches over the end of the other bed, tackling you back into the mattress to reconnect your mouths.

Sweltering drags of sharp teeth bruise your lips, puffing them into a delicious swell before his tongue soothes them back down. If you had all the time in the world, you’d stay right where you are, bracketed beneath his arms and crushed beneath his hips.

The damp chill of sweat blooms under your clothes, anticipating the next delicious roll of friction between your legs. Dokyeom delivers eagerly, lewdly curling his crotch against yours, echoing your moans of depravity.

“Wait,” you murmur into his mouth, stealing another searing kiss. “I haven’t told you the–” another pass of his tongue, “rules” and his teeth, “yet.”

Dokyeom moves back an inch when your finger digs into his breast bone uncomfortably. The down turn of his mouth tells you he hasn’t heard a word since “lock the door.”

“Rules, Kyeomie.”

A childish whine leaves his lips, clearly having no interest in whatever you're about to tell him as he dives back down for more kisses. His mouth drops in shock as the warm skin of your palm covers the lower half of his face. You fling it away when the wet pass of his tongue across the crease between your fingers nearly makes you falter.

“Rules?” Dokyeom eyes you skeptically from above. You wouldn’t be surprised if he stomps his foot and throws a full tantrum on the floor in the next few minutes.

“Mhmm,” you confirm, eyes dropping to follow your fingers tracing down his chest. When you brush the waistband of his pants, you look back up at Dokyeom as he stutters a breath. “Rules.”

In typical fashion, Dokyeom tries to distract you from things he doesn’t like, hoping they’re forgotten under nips of teeth and the heat of his body burning into yours. Pressing into your space, he drops his elbows to the mattress on either side of your head to leer over you.

You forget how broad he is sometimes, but you're reminded now by the way he eclipses your view beyond his shoulders before he swoops for the kill, sucking your lower lip between his own.

Indulging in the peace of a good makeout, you let him think he’s got you where he wants you. And for a second, Dokyeom does; eager to fold you in half and give you his cock. But this is your prize and reward. Maybe you should save one of them, but patience has never been one of your good qualities.

Slowly snaking your fingers up his neck, tickling his jaw before raking your nails through the short strands of hair at the base of his scalp. Gentle touches make him cocky, enticing him to drop more of his weight and shuffle you up towards the pillows.

A firm tug disconnects him, causing Dokyeom to yelp in surprise.

“Rule number one, I’m in charge.” You start, brushing over the patch of hair you just pulled on to calm the sensitive skin. “Rule two, no touching unless I say so.”

“I don’t like these rules.” He mumbles, pouting once again.

Laying back on the bed completely, you entice him with honey eyes and a sweet smile. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you do whatever you want. Next time.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Within reason.” You agree, shrugging your shoulders lazily.

“And if I’m not?”

You scramble to think of a punishment, not expecting him to call your bluff so suddenly.

“I’ll rub one out in the shower and you can listen at the door.”

Dokyeom huffs at the idea, “That’s not fair!”

“You said you’d give me whatever I want. And this is my prize for winning.”

“Will you let me…”

“If you behave you can come anywhere you want. And I want a video of it.”

“Fuck, okay.” he nods. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take off your clothes.”

Rising to stand before you, he pulls the hem of his sweater up to reveal the soft trail of hair leading beneath his pants. When he notices you're not moving, Dokyeom cocks his head sideways. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you gonna take yours off too?”

“Hmmm, it's kinda cold. Maybe later.”

“You’re mean.”

Batting away his hand attempting to snake up your shirt, you motion for him to start again. “Yeah, yeah. Now drop ‘em.”

Standing between your spread legs, Dokyeom fists the neck of his sweatshirt. Each inch the worn navy fabric rises unveils another stretch of warm skin and clenching muscles. His stomach ripples deliciously, before his chest tightens as well. When his arms come free, he not so subtly raises them above his head in a laze stretch, monitoring your face for a reaction.

Shaking your head, you bite back a laugh at his ridiculousness. When he spins to flash his butt as his thumbs dip into the waist of his pants, chin turning over his shoulder as his mouth puckers before one of his hands covers it, you can’t control it any longer.

He laughs too, happily dissolving the tension in the room.

Sweatpants hit the floor with a quiet thunk, his underwear remaining on his hips. Raising your eyebrow in a challenge, Dokyeom steps back into your space. He’s half hard under the black fabric, bulge prominent already.

“Underwear too.”

He keeps climbing over you, pressing you back into the blanket. “Maybe later, it’s cold.”

“Kyeomie, you’re not being good.” You chide, cupping him softly in a loose fist as you rut the heel of your hand against him.

To his credit, Dokyeom tries to play it cool. But the red tips of his ears and stutter of lungs do all the talking he’s refusing to. Lending a helping hand, you free him from the cling of his boxers before digging the pad of your thumb into the weeping tip of his cock.

Bare from head to toe, you lean back to drink your fill of the sight before you. The shy twist of his lips is a laughable contrast to the rest of his body. Strong arms, hard chest, thick thighs, and a beautiful cock hardening to full mast under your gaze.

Fuck. You think with a harsh swallow.

Pulling your eyes away from ogling his body to glance at his face, you find him already watching you. Eager for your next move. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, cock twitching at the idea.

“Show me how.”

With your permission he begins palming his cock, spreading the sheen of pre-cum down the rigid shaft. But it’s not enough to fend off the unpleasant friction.

Dokyeom’s breath labors under the twist of his wrist, flushing tip nearly purple.

Throwing to the poor man a bone, you nudge his hand away from his cock and towards your mouth, spitting lewdly into his palm before leading it back where it was. Not one to waste time, he quickly squeezes a tight grip, hips rushing forward to work through his fist as his other hand drops to fondle his balls. On a particularly sharp thrust of his hips, Dokyeom sings a throaty groan to the ceiling as his head tips back.

Dokyeom is beautiful. Neck elongated, throat bobbing over his own obnoxiously loud grunts. Beads of perspiration slip from his temple, racing down his neck to etch a path across his chest. The shoddy lamp in the corner is bright enough to highlight the heat on his cheeks that spreads from the tips of his ears to his dusky nipples.

There's too much to look at, but the way his stomach sucks in as his wrist twists across his head makes you feel breathless. And the vein that you love to trace with your tongue rises, webbing from his cock up to the trail of hair dusty his abdomen strings you out as much as Dokyeom feels.

You’d fucked him enough to know when he’s about to cross the point of no return. It starts with a whimpered “baby,” and a few desperate “please”s, then Dokyeom’s muscles pull tight like a frozen rubber band, more than ready to snap under the pressure.

You sit forward, close enough to feel the aura of heat cloaking his body. “Are you gonna cum?”

Dokyeom tries to deny it, shaking his head clumsily before a whimper rips from behind his teeth.

“Stop.”

Chest glistening in the light, Dokyeom gives himself one last tug before he steadying his breathing for what’s next. When you stand, the coarse fabric of your sweater covering your stomach rasping against his sensitive cock as you step into his space, he curls into the friction before calming again. Dokyeom watches you down the slope of his nose, eyes scanning your face for any betrayal of your thoughts. Your cheeks are hot, and no doubt your pupils are dilated like his but you don’t smile or crinkle your nose teasingly. Just a simple low lidded stare as you assess him.

Dokyeom’s shiver has nothing to do with the chilly air seeping into the room.

“Sit on the bed.”

A beat passess, a vague challenge against your authority, but he steps around you and takes his place at the edge of the red and blue quilt. Legs wide, arms behind him to prop him up; cheekily cocking an eyebrow.

“Start again.”

Not waiting for you to change your mind, he picks up right where he left off, finding his rhythm with ease.

But you can’t have that.

So you fall to your knees between his spread legs, eye level with Dokyeom’s cock, allowing your hands to squeeze the cords of muscle flexing around his thighs, nails biting into the bulging flesh. The sting of pain is rewarded with a squeeze of his fist around the puffy head of his cock, leaking a gooey pearl of cum for you to lick away.

Dokyeom tries to chase the brief touch but fails when you lean back out of reach. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” He stutters, eyes heavy as he focuses on how incredibly close and incredibly far from his cock you are.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

He nods hopefully.

“Ask nicely.”

When he fails to respond, you dig flex your fingers still on his thighs, nails leaving crescents near the crease of his hip in warning.

A warning to who, you have no idea since Dokyeom squeezes the base of his dick to stop himself from cumming.

“P–please.”

“I am, silly.”

You spot the indignant frustration bloom on his face, tears welling in his eyes as you tell him to beg for every last drop of satisfaction. And to rub salt in the wood, you flash our best innocent smile.

“Want your mouth.”

“My mouth? Like this?” You leave a cheap kiss on his knee.

“On my cock.”

“Oh so like this.” The same kiss on his tip, pre-cum sticking to your lips as you dive away before you can fold and give him more.

“No,” he whines, frustrated, muscles in his thighs jumping.

Dokyeom hasn’t stopped his hand, but he’s loosened his grip to stave off his organism. Teasing himself, helping you torture and edge him.

“You have to tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you, baby.”

“I can’t—,” he cries “please just—”

You wanted Dokyeom whining and needy, to string him out till he can barely think straight. And you have, but you overestimated how long it’d take. And how long you’d be able to deny yourself any pleasure either.

Rising to your feet, you loom over him. “Take off my pants.” You command, busy with removing your sweater.

Eager for the possibility of relief, Dokyeom jams you panties and underwear around your ankles swiftly. His tongue tracks along the crease above your thigh where it becomes your torso, rough palms squeezing and spreading your ass harshly as he reaches behind to press you closer.

You don’t bother with unclasping your bra, ripping it overhead along with your undershirt in haste to be naked. Scrambling for his face, you suck him into a sloppy kiss before tripping over the fabric snaring your legs and tackling him to the bed.

“You’re so fucking hot” He hisses into your mouth, bucking into your fist as you play with his cock, thumb harsh against his weep slit.

“Remember our deal.” You pant, reminding both of you what’d been agreed on outside the door.

Dokyeom sighs, the back of his head hitting the bed to observe your nude body above him. Enraptured by the endless stretches of skin. “Whatever you say.”

A few minutes of mindless groping grants you both a reprieve. Dokyeom wedges his thigh between your legs, flexing as you grind against him, soaking him with each pitiful pass, his hands splayed wide across the meat of your ass to assist.

Two of his fingers catch on your entrance, dipping in lightly, waiting for your protest. But when your hips lift to search for firm contact, Dokyeom stuffs you full, stretching you to hopefully take his now neglected cock leaking just below his belly button.

Working up to a third finger, you ride his hand as your clit wears against the friction of his leg. Dokyeom busies his mouth with your neck, a constellation of teeth marks and bruises staining the sensitive stretch of skin.

It almost better than fucking him. Giving freedom to the supernova building in your core, tickling the nerves of your extremities in a tease. Everything is tight; the muscles cinching his finger as he curves them, your lungs screaming for air, even the squeeze of your eyes leaves a collage of colors and static across your vision.

The sting across your scalp as Dokyeom pulls your hair, forcing your face out of hiding over his shoulder, sends a painful mewl in between you.

He watches your mouth hang open, eyes rounding under the furl of your eyebrows. Dokyeom gives another tug when your forehead tips forward, his tongue catching your squeak of shock.

“Please cum, fuck please.” He begs into your mouth, breathy as he presses his fingers gloved inside you a fraction harder before adding his pinky. “Need it, please baby.”

His hand slips down to hold your chin between the curve of his thumb and index finger, drooling as you bite his thumb between your teeth.

“C’mon baby,” Dokyeom grunts, rocking you forward from the gusto of his other hand. “Let me make you come.”

Wrecked moans fill the silence, breaking the band in your gut to free fall over the edge. You land on his chest as your arms give out, muscles spasming under the flood of endorphins bolting through your veins. Dokyeom doesn’t stop, arm flexing as he works through your high, a pornographic squelch echoing with each press. Darkness consumes you, floating through space as you cry from delectable torture, hips canting into overstimulation.

Squeezing your thighs together tightly, Dokyeom tries to work through the sudden barrier but stops when you bite his shoulder painfully.

“Too much,” you whine, voice horse.

Panting in unison, you only rest for a moment before returning to your plan. Damn Dokyeom’s fingers for distracting you so easily.

Rolling to your side, he follows, waiting with baited breath at your next move.

Technically, he broke the rules. It’d been to your benefit, but misbehavior nonetheless. If you were cruel, you’d send him to the bathroom to take care of himself. But your orgasm only made you want Dokyeom’s cock more.

You feel him crowding over you, a smatter of gentle kisses peppering your face, his thumb working against a knot in your thigh from being on top for so long. You don’t focus on the sticky discomfort between your thighs, or else you’ll be tempted to have his mouth there next and you know you’re already operating on borrowed time.

Opening your eyes, you find his brown ones staring back. He looks a little afraid.

Good.

“Kyeomie,” you chide, tutting at him.

“Come on!” he protests, mouth dropping in shock.

“You broke the rules.”

“Baby, please don’t do this to me.”

Drama queen to his core, Dokyeom won’t stop to see your failure at hiding a smirk. He riles himself up without your help, pretending to be upset was just too easy of an option.

Shaking your head disappointedly, you move to sit up. “You said you’d listen.”

“I promise I’ll be good!” He whines, slinking to the floor between your legs, hands clenched together in front of him. His cock is solid as steel, head nearing purple under the need to release.

“Promises, promises.” You sigh.

“Do you want me to cry? Because I will. If that’s what it takes.”

He starts rapidly blinking, trying to draw up a reserve of tears, only stopped by the press of your foot against his chest.

“Stop.” You bark, the bite from the laugh hiding in the back of your throat.

You don’t see his expression as you twist onto your stomach, rising to your knees, chest pressed in the bed to give a salacious arch to your spine.

A draft curls around your exposed cunt, causing you to squeeze and forcing more arousal to drip down your legs.

“Shit,” Dokyeom murmurs behind you.

Turning to watch him over your shoulder, you wait until he meets your heated gaze. “Make me cry, Kyeom.”

Nodding like a bobble head, Dokyeom rises, pressing into you swiftly. Sheathing himself to the hilt, he wastes no time before retreating to come back once more.

The pace is bruising, knocking the wind from your lungs. He’s so deep you swear you can feel him in the back of your throat.

‘Make me cry’ is vague enough he hesitates, afraid of breaking the rules despite the wet groans shaking in his chest.

“Touch me, Kyeomie.” You bawl, drooling on to the patchwork quilt below you.

A sting on your ass is the first blow, followed by two more. The snaps against your skin leave a hot mark behind, encouraging you to whine for more as a cold sweat clings to your spine.

“So tight, shit.” Dokyeom bites between his teeth, folding over your back to suck on your neck.

He brushes the spot he’s only ever found with his fingers, sending you into a spiral, springing tears in your eyes.

“Right there,” you pant, “fuck don’t stop.”

The headboard knocks against the wall in time with his thrusts, one knee landing on the bed to give him more leverage to fill you deeper. Dokyeom’s breath puffs against the side of your face, uneven like he’s been punched in the gut.

Ripping one of his hands away from your side, you bring his hand around your neck, eager to feel his long fingers collar you. There’s a tentative quake before Dokyeom delivers a gentle possessive squeeze, rushing to you when you choke on a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob.

You devolve into a symphony of primal grunts. Tearing himself from your back, Dokyeom twists the hand around your throat back into the hair at the base of your spine, the other hand dropping to spread your ass apart. Something wet lands on your puckered hole, his thumb grazing your rim with the added lubrication.

You realize he spit on you.

“Fuck Kyeomie, do that again.” You squeal, delighted by another swat of his hand as he gives you what you ask for.

When he whines “Gonna cum.” you stop him with a hand against his stomach.

“Please, can’t,” He whimpers, curling his hips once more, staying flush with the meat of your ass as he rocks inside you.

Eyes tight to savor the stretch, you swallow the desire to give in down with the knowledge something better waits on the other side of your demand. “Kyeomie stop.”

And with herculean effort, he steps back, soaked cock threatening to drip on the carpet as your hole tightens in mourning.

“Where’s my phone?” You ask, collapsing forward to catch your breath.

Dokyeom crouches down for your forgotten pants, searching the pockets before he finds the device.

“Here.”

Entering your passcode, you open your camera app and set it to video before passing it back.

“Wha—”

“You were good.” You explain, slipping to the floor like smoke. The hard floor stings into your knees once again before taking him in your mouth.

A series of gurgled noises flee his chest, but you open your eyes to see the camera about a foot above you, catching the way your lips stretch around his cock, your fist taking what your mouth can’t. The combination of pre-cum, saliva and your arousal floods your mouth, excess pushed out of your lips and drooling down your chin. You manage to get him settled in your throat after a few passes, delivering a harsh such on the upstroke that has Dokyeom batting you away, jacking off over your face as ropes of white land haphazardly.

Mouth open wide and pink tongue extended, the familiar musky tang flares through your taste buds. Thankfully Dokyeom attempts to aim away from your eyes, albeit sloppily. You feel the hot stickiness across the bridge of your nose, dripping down the apples of your cheeks as it keeps coming with every slick squelch of his hand.

Thoroughly spent, he taps the head against your lips, urging you to suck him in one last time. Flashing your eyes open, you meet his over the edge of your phone as you kitten lick the sensitive head. Chasing his hips when he steps away, Dokyeom lets the camera get every angle of the magnificent mess he made before brushing his fingers across the dip of your chin, panting as you lave against them in place of his cock before smiling up at him shyly. With one last lick to your lips, he cuts the recording and tosses your phone on the bed.

“How was—”

Your question dies on your lips as Dokyeom claims them, ignore the sticky cum now drying on your face. Dragging you to stand, he pushes one hand into your hair, the other circling your waist as he tastes his spend on your tongue.

Only the desperate need for oxygen pulls you apart.

Struggling to catch your breath, his saccharine grin is a stark contrast to your activities a moment ago.

Ushering you into the cramped bathroom to clean away the mess, you find yourself in the too small stall, firmly snared in Dokyeom’s arms. Peppering endless kisses up and down the curve of your shoulder, he noses behind your ear when you hum pleasantly in his hold as he gives a firm squeeze.

But the water begins to chill before long, prompting you to wiggle free which isn’t really free at all in the compact stall. You keep him at bay with hands full of shampoo, working his hair into a faux Mohawk full of perfumed bubbles. Returning your generosity, Dokyeom soaks a washcloth in a comical amount of the cheap body wash sitting in the corner before swiping the sudsy fabric over your skin. He's surprisingly thorough, methodically working up your arms and down your chest in loose circles, focusing on your breasts before you tsk at him with a smile. A twirl of his fingers prompts you to turn so he can focus on your back. When he drops to his knees to finish, he shoulders apart your legs, dropping his mouth against the cleft between your ass and your thigh.

One hand finds your exhausted cunt, the thick gloss of fluids clinging to your folds despite your time under the hot spray of the shower head. You wait with baited breath as Dokyeom silently works, his middle and pointer finger parting your lips, forcing you on the balls of your feet when he grazes your sensitive clit. A nudge against your leg has you spinning to face him, mouth dropping open as he lifts a leg over one of his stronger shoulders to get a better look.

And then, as if a spell is broken, he drops a kiss to your hip before continuing with his rag, foamy soap lacing your legs.

“All clean.” He decrees, rising to meet you with another peck on your parted lips.

Now lukewarm water rinses away the evidence of his efforts. Still dumbfounded, you let him guide you from the stall, patting you down with a scratchy towel before wrapping his own around his waist.

Watching each other in the mirror as you brush your teeth, skin still damp and glowing in the steam, you make an attractive pair. Exhausted, but fitting together like two perfect puzzle pieces.

The bathroom should only fit one person at a time, so the two of you are practically on top of one another as you shuffle back and forth between the sink. Dokyeom has the bright idea to lift you to the counter, standing between your legs as he watches you apply your skincare.

He’s already finished his business, but he refuses to leave your side. “What’s that do?”

“Lotion.” You respond, patting it across your face.

“Can I have some?”

“Sure.”

Grabbing the bottle to pump some in his hands, you return to find his eyes closed, offering you his face. Puffing a breath of amusement, you dab a few dots across his skin before gently massaging it in. Tracing the curve of his eye socket, down to his cheek bones, the sharp edge of his jaw. When you brush his chin, you curve two fingers around the bone, pulling him forward to meet your lips.

And the way he looks at you when his eyes open after you separate hurts. Hurts so much you slipe down from the counter, fleeing the suffocating tension of the bathroom to return to the real world of the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Dokyeom asks, following after you.

“Yeah!” You agree too loudly, digging around your bag for something to sleep in. “Just got lightheaded for a second.”

You know he doesn’t believe you when he mutters a skeptical, “Okay.”

Donning a pair of boxers and a long sleeve that may or may not belong to the man behind you, you hop into bed next to him, praying he won’t hear the staccato beat of your heart.

Curling around your back, Dokyeom spoons you from behind as you both face the windows to watch the storm ragging on outside. A bolt of lightning webs through the black clouds, reflecting off the murky lake sloshing in the wind.

Despite your earlier nap, you're spent both mentally and physically. The gentle woosh of Dokyeom’s breath lulls you back across the bridge to sleep.

—

A sudden shake of the bed wakes you. The room is pitch black. Dokyeoms body is still behind you but he’s whisper-shouting at whatever the source of disturbance is. A teary whine informs you Soonyoung has decided to put himself to bed. In the wrong bed.

“Dude, get up.” Dokyeom groans, twisting to push the older man off the mattress.

You burrow further under the comforter, face squashed in the fluffy pillow under your head.

A disgusting sniffle responds, before Soonyoung moans. “You’re my best friend.”

“Thank you but you’re gonna wake her up.”

Everything is happening like you're below water, their voices muffled and miles away but you’re rising to the surface fast. If Soonyoung is the reason you can’t fall back to sleep later, you’ll wring his neck.

“Oh wouldn’t wanna inconvenience your girlfriend. Do you know how many times I’ve been woken up by you two?”

“Shut up.” A swift smack rings into the silence, followed by more drunk tears.

You feel something, or rather someone, wiggling between you and Dokyeom. Turning over to face the intruder, you open your eyes to the dark room and the shadow of Soonyoung a few inches from your face. Red as a tomato and eyes struggling to remain open.

“Hey! Hey, Y/N.” Each call punctuated with a poke to your ribs.

Huffing an exhausted breath, you humor Soonyoung in hopes he goes away. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Do you like Dokyeom?”

You’re certainly awake now. “Huh?”

“He likes you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dokyeom yells behind, trying to snake his hand over Soonyoung’s mouth.

“I’m just speaking the facts!” Soonyoung protests.

The waft of alcohol hangs around your face as Dokyeom successfully drags his friend from the bed. They’re wrestling on the ground in the narrow strip of floor between beds, jostling you with their roughhousing.

Having reached your limit, fueled further by Soonyoung’s ill timed remarks, you snap. “Girls you’re both pretty, now can we please go to bed?”

“Fine.”

“FINE.”

Cocooning in the blanket, you wiggle to the opposite edge of the mattress, as far away from the chaos as you can manage. The springs on the other side of the room squeak under Soonyoung’s weight as he flops down bonelessly, bouncing twice before he settles.

Once Dokyeom is satisfied he won’t get up, you feel the dip behind you as he shuffles under the covers.

Several uncomfortable inches separate your bodies as Soonyoung begins to snore.

Minutes pass, your heart thudding in your ears, breath uncomfortably labored.

This was a bad idea. A string of bad ideas actually. Partnering with Dokyeom in lab, agreeing to go to the frat party at the beginning of the semester. Kissing him a few weeks later, taking his virginity. Hooking up with him again and again. Letting him hold you like he was more than a friend. Letting him kiss and touch as he pleased, doing the same. Spending the night. Driving up to this cabin and pretending it all meant more than it really did.

If Dokyeom liked you, he would have said something by now. He doesn’t stop talking unless he’s sleeping or eating, and both of those instances are more loose guidelines than strict rules. He wears his heart on his sleeve so if he felt anything for you beyond mutually shared sexual attraction you’d know.

And the way he reacted to Soonyoung’s declaration proves he doesn’t.

There’d never been a promise of something more. You were his fuck buddy and chemistry partner. Romance and dating never came up. Nevermind the fact you hadn’t entertained another guy all year and Dokyeom never mentions other girls. Only awkwardly laughing when someone boldly approaches him, gently rejecting them with stuttered reasons why he isn’t interested.

Sometimes you think he’s looking at you to step in and say something, but it’s just a convenient excuse to not hurt someone’s feelings.

And because you’re selfish, you come up with a solution.

You’ll enjoy the next two days, bury your heart deep in your chest and pretend nothings changed in the ripples of tonight. When you return to campus Monday afternoon, whatever feelings you may have will be left behind in this room to wither in the darkness. Dokyeom will go back to being the cute guy you’re partnered with in chemistry and that’ll be that. No more hookups, no more movie nights on his couch, and certainly no more parties where alcohol will convince you to fold on your plan.

So you might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Dokyeom jumps when you turn around and snuggle into his back, nose following the valley of his spine as your arm curls around his waist to rest on the soft skin of his stomach. A few chirps of the crickets outside the window pass before you feel his fingers twine with your own, pulling your connected hands to his mouth, dropping a gentle press of lips on your knuckles.

And somehow it makes everything worse.

—

Sunday morning, you wake with determination and indulgent kisses to Dokyeom’s sleeping face.

But day one of your flawless plan comes with unforeseen road bumps.

Once you finally manage to slip from bed, batting away the arms of your still dreaming lover, you find your phone flooded with a collection of pictures courtesy of Seungkwan. Snaps of you next to Dokyeom, laughing in time with mouths wide and chins tipped back. A few of you in his lap, watching the chaos of a drunk game night as he watches you, face relaxed and lips turned into a soft grin. And one picture of him staring out the living room window into the front yard illuminated with the high noon sun, like a puppy waiting for its owner to return.

Roadbump two boils down to your nativity.

After deciding to freely enjoy whatever Dokyeom has to offer for forty eight hours, he’s turned everything up to a hundred. Back hugs when you’re washing a dirty coffee cup in the kitchen sink, disgustingly cartoonish kisses where he can land them, his hands burning into your skin at every chance. Which are more frequent than you’d imagine considering he doesn’t let you out of his sight all morning.

His presence is intoxicating, sweet the same way the first warm breeze in spring is. But instead of drumming up new blooms, all he leaves is confusion.

Soonyoung’s slip off tongue doesn’t come up again but there's palpable tension between the two of them. The usual twin laughs silent as they avoid one another like the plague.

But the subtle apology comes when Soonyoung mentions the jacuzzi on the porch in passing when Dokyeom runs to the restroom.

“If you and DK wanna use it, I’ll keep everyone else out.”

Smiling as if he didn’t cause the thick anxiety in your gut, you thank him.

Luckily, the hot tub is conveniently covered by a tin awning, the echoing pitter patter of the sky falling around you as you both sink into the steamy water, string lights crossing above provide a warm glow.

Even if Soonyoung hadn’t agreed to be referee, no else is dumb enough to risk the cold snap settling in the air; despite the reprieve of the soothing jets and steaming water.

Thighs caging Dokyeom’s own as you rest in his lap, facing him. Hands busy at the sides of his neck, thumb massaging the tight knots of muscle along his shoulders, following the beads of steam that cling to his skin, trailing down to pool in his collar bone.

Content washes through your bones. Here, in his arms, all alone. Touching just to touch, the way couples do simply because they can.

And it drives you mad.

“Minnie?”

Dokyeom hums in response, continuing to trail his nose around the curve of your jaw, feathering fleeting kisses in his travels.

“What are we doing?”

Lifting to your temple, he whispers “What do you mean?”

What did you mean? The question came out before you realized what was happening, so high on conflicting emotions you’d lost your carefully crafted control. But it’s too late now.

“Why’d you invite me?” You clarify, hooking your chin over his shoulder to avoid looking at his face.

“Because I like having you around.”

He says it with mild disbelief, like you asked what color the sky is.

“That’s it?”

“I don’t—,” he pauses. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. I just thought...”

“You thought what?”

Shaking your head, you lock yourself behind the vault door again. “Nothing, it's stupid.”

But Dokyeom isn’t willing to let you run away so easily. Gently lifting your chin till you’re out of his neck, he waits until you look at him before asking again.

“Tell me. Please?”

“I just thought maybe you invited me for a reason.” You grumble, burning under his inquisitive stare.

“I mean I did.” he swallows, thumb caressing the soft dip beneath your chin absentmindly. “I missed you.”

His confession melts your resolve slightly. But it’s not enough.

“Is that it?”

“What else is there?”

Any part of you that softened in the last minute tenses again. You got your answer.

“You’re right.” Your voice is hollow.

Dokyeom senses it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You're upset.”

“I’m fine.” But your voice says you’re clearly not.

“Talk to me.” He begs in a tiny voice you wouldn’t think someone as loud and bright as him would be capable of, fingers tangling with your own beneath the water.

All of it leaves a bitter taste coating your mouth like oil.

“Do you like me?”

He flounders at your sudden boldness, “Do I— what?”

“You don’t.”

“I didn’t say that!” He objects, distressed from the bite of your words.

“Well Soonyoung did and you couldn’t have shut him down faster!”

“Because it’s none of his business!”

“Then whose is it?”

“Well, do you like me?”

“I asked first!”

“I asked second!”

“God you’re such a fucking child!”

Dokyeom stands up, dumping you from his lap into the water unceremoniously.

Swiping at the water caught in your eyes as you surface, you scream. “What the fuck?”

“Oh I’m sorry! I’m just sooo childish I didn’t think about it!” He huffs, already wrapping a towel around his waist as he stomps into the house. A trail of wet footprints glistening in the lights behind him.

Through the glass sliding door, you see dozens of heads turn to follow him up the stairs. And when he disappears down the hallway at the top, they all turn to see you. Alone. Tears trickling down your face to blend with the beads of water.

—

Seungkwan comes to your rescue. Swaddling you in a large beach towel before ushering you to his room, eyes daring anyone to step in his way. The walk is filled with long awkward silence, everyone watching intently, curious as to what happened on the back porch.

Depositing you on his bed, Seungkwan leaves you to yourself with a promise to return soon. Snot drips from your nose, vision blurred as you fight to stifle your pathetic sniffles, face burning as you wipe the mess away over and over again with the edge of the towel.

You take to focusing on your surroundings. The room is decorated in the same garish collection of bears and tartan as Dokyeom’s. But it only houses one measily twin bed, a long cherry stained dresser hugging alone the wall, and an air mattress pushed into the corner next to the closet. Seungkwan’s roommate is unknown to you but you’d bet money it’s Vernon’s black duffle in the corner.

Shivering in your bikini and towel, you remain on the bed as you turn to look out the window. Focusing on the different cars peppering the front lawn and driveway, your own blocked in by a black SUV.

You’ll ask Seungkwan to find the owner so they can move it. No intention of staying further into the morning than you have to.

On the opposite end of the house, Soonyoung listens dutifully as Dokyeom paces the limited floor space in their room.

“...and she wants to say I’m childish! Me!”

Soonyoung knows it’s in his best interest to act surprised, disgusted by the insult. But one person stormed through the house dripping water everywhere, and the other was nearly carried while she cried because of said first person.

He also realizes that this entire incident can be traced back to himself so stays quiet.

“I don’t even know why I asked her here in the first place.”

“What happened?”

Dokyeom looks at Soonyoung as if he forgot he was present at all. “What?”

“I thought you two were having fun?”

“We were. And then she asked if I liked her and before I could say anything she jumped down my throat.”

“Did she say if she liked you back?”

“No, but she obviously doesn’t.”

“I don’t know dude, she was crying pretty hard when Seungkwan brought her inside.”

As if the news shocks him like an ice bath, Dokyeom flinches before asking “She was crying?”

“Yeah she—”

The crack of the door hitting the wall silences Soonyoung. Seungkwan stands in the threshold, face eerily calm but body clenched.

“You piece of shit!” is all the warning Dokyeom gets before Seungkwan is on him.

Dokyeom is a victim of his own shock, allowing Seungkwan to put him in a headlock before he has a chance to blink.

They crash onto the bed next to Soonyoung, attempting to grapple one another as Soonyoung works to pry them apart.

“What the fuck!” Dokyeom’s voice shakes as Seungkwan snakes his arms around his neck.

“My best friend is crying her heart out in my room because of you.”

Dokyeom manages to evade, getting Seungkwan underneath him. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Bull shit!”

“STOP!” Soonyoung bellows, using a tone he rarely thinks himself capable of. The one his mom used just before she lost her shit from him and his sister fighting.

He pins them with a glare, ripping his roommate back by the collar of his sweater. “You sit the fuck down.” Then he’s on Seungkwan who watches him with a wide mouth, “You take her bag to your room.”

To their credit, they both listen. Seungkwan snatches your bag up, slamming the door so hard it rattles on its hinges as he exits. Dokyeom fumes but sits, watching the older man as plants himself on the opposite mattress once again with a hand scrubbing down his face.

“Do you like her?”

Dokyeom looks uncomfortable but answers. “Yes.”

“And you think she doesn’t like you?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she—,” Dokyeom flounders, hands flailing to provide some intangible explanation.

Much to other’s doubts, Soonyoung is smarter than that.

“Because she drove almost three hours to be here? Because you guys giggle like idiots whenever you’re together?”

Dokyeom collapses backwards, head bouncing against the mattress before he sullenly sighs. “She just sees me as a friend.”

“Weirdly enough, her and Seungkwan are friends and she isn’t all over him.”

“That’s different!”

“Why?”

“If she liked me, she would have said something.”

“Maybe you’re just not listening.”

—

Seungkwan returns to his room, met with red rimmed eyes and damp cheeks as you watch him from the end of his bed. The beach towel he left you in is soaking wet, providing little protection from the mountain air that seeps through the seal in the window.

“I brought your stuff.” Seungkwan says gently, disturbed by your silence.

You notice his clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is a mess. But when you open your mouth to ask what happened, a fresh batch of tears enter the space between you.

Approaching you like a frightened animal, he pulls you into a comforting hug. “I’m sorry.”

The shoulder of Seungkwan’s long sleeve dampens like the towel as you shake. “I can’t believe he’d—.”

“It’s okay.” He coos, hand stroking the back of your head.

A few hours later, you rest on your back, bundled under the quilt of the twin bed. You’re freezing despite the layers of clothing you’d worn, curious why you hadn’t felt this cold the other night. Even when the answer is obvious you don’t dwell.

Seungkwan snores on the air mattress, whispering something undecipherable in his sleep; apparently Vernon agreed to sleep elsewhere for the night. Whether it was of his own volition or under a direct threat, you're thankful no else has to see you like this.

Closing your eyes, you try to break the barrier of sleep. You need to be up in a few hours, and god knows leaving the sanctuary of this cramped room will be exhausting enough.

—

Five in the morning on a long weekend should be a time of peace and quiet. Birds chirping into the calmness of the early dawn, dew cling to the grass in an effort to hide from the sun.

But a slip down one of the slick wooden steps sends you to your ass with a loud thud. No harm, no foul. Just a sore tailbone and another coal in the fire of your annoyance.

Closing your eyes to compose yourself, lest you scream like you’ve wanted to since last night. Several deep calming breaths, in through your nose out through your mouth, before you rise.

And at the bottom of the steps sits another reason to scream.

Dokyeom looks like shit, for lack of a better word. Hair tangled, dark locks flat in some areas and defying gravity in others. His face blotchy, eyes rimmed red with sullen dark circles curving along the top of his cheek bones, like he hasn’t slept a wink. Even his clothes are a mess, the collar of his crew neck stretched more than it was before.

All to say, he is a mirror image of you.

Staring at one another like two startled deer, you rise to your feet before tilting your chin defyingly.

Crying in front of everyone had been enough embarrassment. The next time you lose control will be in the privacy of your car as you drive back to campus, where you can wail until you lose your voice.

“Hi,” he croaks.

Ignoring him, you descend the remaining stairs, aiming to breeze past. But Dokyeom steps in your way and waits till you look up at him again.

“I’m sorry.”

Seconds tick past and neither of you break the staring contest. Grinding your teeth, you try to side step Dokyeom again but he’s right there.

“Can we talk?”

Talking is the last thing you want to do. More tears are welling behind your eyes with each beat of your heart, and if you open your mouth it’ll say whatever it takes for him to hold you again.

This time when you push against his shoulder, Dokyeom lets you go.

And you hate the part of you that wishes he didn’t.

#svthub #lee seokmin #lee seokmin x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt #dokyeom #seokmin x reader #seokmin smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #🫡 highvern

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rhey-007 · 4 months

Text

The Mystery of Love

Fernando Alonso family fluff

|| P6 of Fernando Alonso x goth mommy!reader

• | social media au

Summary: You and your family spend your first Christmas with new daddy.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, family fluff, female reader, Christmas

A/N: Enjoy another part of The Mystery of Love and another Christmas fic! 🥰🎄

If you'd like to be added to the tag list let me know! ☺

Masterlist

✧༺🎄༻✧

TWITTER

USER

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS AND THE PARTY PHOTOS???? THEY LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER KZGSKDBHDHEHBDHXNF

•user1: when will they finally announce they're together????

→ •user2: hopefully soon or I'm gonna blow up

•user3: they are made for each other 😭🫠

•user4: I love how Nando's style has changed since he met Y/N, maybe you can't see it here cause he's wearing a plain suit ofc but overall if you look at the newest and older photos there is a BIG difference

→ •user5: right??? I've noticed it too!

→ •user6: he looks so hot 🥵

→ •user5: *they look so hot

•user7: the caption 😂

→ •user8: funny and true xD

INSTAGRAM

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, f1, astonmartinf1 and 12,567 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, f1, astonmartinf1

•y/n._.l/n: relax time after the F1 Christmas party 🥰🎄

•aussiegrit: it was a pleasure to finally meet you! Fernando is so lucky! 😍

→ •y/n._.l/n: it was a great pleasure to meet you too Markie!!! 💞

•astonmartinf1: thank you for your appearance :)) you two rocked the carpet! 😎

→ •y/n._.l/n: aww thank you 🥰🤭

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: of course we did 💁‍♀️💅

•susie_wolff: you looked gorgeous! 🤩

→ •y/n._.l/n: you did too dear! 😘💞

•user9: mother and father have SLAYED, they deserve the relax

→ •user10: they always slay 👑

INSTAGRAM

liked by aussiegrit, susie_wolff and 34, 890 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, kl.au_s

•y/n._.l/n: Santa Claus is here! 🥰

•aussiegrit: where his elf at? 🤨🧐

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: Klaus said it's embarrassing :((

→ •aussiegrit: then you could've called me! :0 >:(

→ •user11: imagine grumpy Klaus dressed as an elf xD

→ •user12: and Benny as a reindeer! 🦌

→ •user13: that would've looked so cute! :((

→ •user14: petition for •y/n._.l/n to put Benny in a reindeer costume!

•sebastianvettel: I hope our presents arrived! 🤓🎄🎉

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: of course they did! Benny loves his bee onesie! How did you liked ours?

→ •sebastianvettel: amazing as always! 😝😁💖

•user15: the pic we needed but don't deserve 😩

→ •user16: didn't thought Santa could be so hot 🥵

INSTAGRAM

liked by y/n._.l/n, kl.au_s and 563,234 others

tagged: y/n._.l/n, kl.au_s

•fernandoalo_oficial: two great guys and their beautiful mommy = my whole world 🥰😘💞

•user17: IS THIS THE OFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT???

•user18: STOP WITH THE SOFT/HARD LAUNCHING AND ANNOUNCE IT ALREADY❗❗❗

•lance_stroll: Merry Christmas for the fam! 🥳🥰🎄

→ •y/n._.l/n: thank you honey! Merry Christmas for your too! 😘

•jensonbutton: Man! You are sooo lucky! 😎😝

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: of course I am! 💪

•user19: I want them to adopt me so much 😭😩

→ •logansargeant: me too 😢

→ •y/n._.l/n: you already are pookie 😇🥰

→ •logansargeant: 🤩😍💞

→ •user20: mother is mothering once again 💃💅

→ •user20.1: soon she's gonna adopt the whole grid xD

→ •user20: didn't she already tho? 🤔

INSTAGRAM

liked by astonmartinf1, fernandoalo_oficial, kl.au_s and 156,356 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, kl.au_s

•y/n._.l/n: the 3 most important man in my life dressed so nicely 😍 (for once...)

•user21: AAAAA THAT NANDO PIC JSDGENHFRJHR

→ •user22: live laugh love nando pics take by Y/N 🥵💖

→ •user23: she defo takes best photos of him!

•maxverstappen: Fernando finally looking like the gentleman he is! (Only to Y/N and kids but still 😂)

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: thanks mate! (Not true)

→ •maxverstappen: no problem! (True true)

•susie_wolff: boys looking exceptionally good! 😍

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: of course we do 😚🤭

→ •y/n._.l/n: at least once a year 🙄 ekhem •kl.au_s ekhem

→ •kl.au_s: ey! It's not true >:(

INSTAGRAM

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, sebastianvettel and 237,956 others

tagged: kl.au_s, fernandoalo_oficial

•y/n._.l/n: Merry Christmas everybody! 🌟🎄🥟

•lilyzneimer: ahh! Beautiful photos! Mami is a professional photographer 😍

→ •y/n._.l/n: thanks baby! 💖

•lilymhe: it looks so cozy and warm... wish we could join you 😢

→ •y/n._.l/n: you're always welcome!

→ •user24: sooner or later all the drivers will come to Fernando's villa or Y/N's mansion and just start living there being a silly little family 😂

→ •user25: that would've been so cute omg 🥺💖

•fernandoalo_oficial: amazing time always spent in your company! 🥰🥵

→ •user26: 👁👄👁 Fernando... What. Is. That. Emoji...

→ •lance_stroll: sorry for grandpa, his finger slipped

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: ey! I told you not to call me grandpa! >:(

→ •lance_stroll: sorry pops 🤭💚

→ •user27: Lance calling Fernando grandpa will never not be funny 😂

INSTAGRAM

liked by kl.au_s, fernandoalo_oficial and 29i, 267 others

tagged: kl.au_s, fernandoalo_oficial

•y/n._.l/n: meine Jungs 🥰🤩 (my boys)

•user28: I love how Klaus is finally at peace with Fernando!

→ •user29: I wonder what happened 🤔

→ •user30: I bet Nando bought him something expensive lol

→ •user29: and I just think he grew up and realized Fernando is the best man for his mom 😇

•user31: AAAAAH LITTLE BENNY AND NANDO PLAYING HOCKEY NSBYXJWNFJR I can't 😭💞

→ •user32: we need an hour long video of them playing or just skating 😭🤚

•user33: love how Klaus fell asleep on Fernando

•user34: OMG FERNANDO AND BENNY HUGGING 🥲🥰😍

•kellypiquet: so cute! 🤩 Penelope would love to learn skating but Max can't either and I'm busy 😥

→ •y/n._.l/n: we can take them with us next time! It's not a problem! ☺

→ •user35: smdhuendbdjzy future content 🤩

→ •user36: I want to see Nando try learning Max how to ice skate and Verstappen constantly falling XD comedy gold 👌

✧༺🎄༻✧

Tag list: @morgan-getty @lichterfee @ashy-kit

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 3 months

Note

hiii i just read "your melon bread" fic of denji and IT'S SO GOOD (i smashed the follow button immediately lol)

and i saw your asks are open so can i request a part 2 of it where the next day when denji, aki and power are patrolling the town and they walked pass a bakery and denji remembered what happened yesterday and forced aki to get inside and buy him melon bread but was greeted by the reader who's family owns the bakery (this is my first time requesting so sorry if it gets confusing and feel free to ignore this if u dont want to or if it makes u uncomfortable :3)

and can i be the 🦈 anon thankksss hope u have a good morning/evening/night ^_^

Denji Hayakawa - "Half Your Melon Bread" 2

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Hey 🦈Shark anon! Sorry for the absurdly long delay, but I've finally completed your ask. At first, I was just going to ignore it since “Half Your Melon Bread” was supposed to be a one-off thing, but the more I thought about it, the more I came to like it! — Benny🐰

Part 1

🍞•♡•🥐•♡•🥖•♡•🫓•♡•🥨•♡•🥯•♡•🥞•♡•🧇

Aki was… perplexed to say the least. The fiend(?) that he had been tasked to watch over hadn't so much as muttered Makima's name since yesterday; it was kind of unsettling. All the blonde idiot seemed to do was stare off into the distance and mutter something about bread.

While the topknot-styled man was a bit relieved that he wasn't being bothered by both of the idiots under his watch; he did grow a bit concerned. It seemed as though Power had as well, judging by the hard stare that she was drilling into the side of the Chainsaw Devil hybrid's head. The strawberry blonde hadn't uttered a word since they left the house; only staring at him in silence with a deep frown on her face.

Denji himself was deep in thought. That stranger… he never got their name; they left before he could ask. He did remember their face though, so he'll definitely thank them when he sees them again and maybe they'd let him touch their chest—

Bonk!

The dirty blonde walked right into a light pole while he was distracted by his thoughts. The boy groaned as he clutched his head in a futile attempt to soothe the pain and the ringing in his ears. As he looked at what he'd run into, he saw a soft yellow light in the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw that he, Aki, and Power were standing in front of a bakery.

A bakery… Baking… Bread is baked… Oh! Melon bread! He could get some of that here!

Quickly, Denji walks into the building, ignoring the annoyed protests of the senior devil hunter and cheers for food from the blood fiend. The smell of buttery freshly baked dough immediately permeated his nostrils as he walked through the door. It was a comforting but hunger-inducing smell that had likely not only him, but everyone else in the building heavily salivating.

“Welcome to Chubby Bunny Bakery; I can help you right over here, Sir.”

A voice from behind the dirty blonde draws his attention from observing the bakery's interior and to the order station.

The devil man's eyes widen as he sees the figure standing behind the display case. It was the stranger from yesterday in the park! They were holding onto a sheet pan of cookies; sliding the display case glass backing to the side and putting the pan of cookies inside.

“It's you!”

Denji exclaims as he, rather rudely, points at them; finger only inches from their face due to how close he already was.

The stranger stares at him for a bit before they chuckles and gently grab his wrist to pull his hand down. They grab a small menu card from a stack of them that sits next to the register and place it in front of him with a small smile.

“Yes, it's me, bread boy. Did you have anything in mind already? If not, you can look at our menu here to help you decide.”

The stranger tells him, tapping the menu card between them twice.

“Oh! Uh– melon bread. Pl—”

The devil man was interrupted by a firm grip on his shoulder flipping him around to face an incredibly annoyed aki.

“And what money are you going to use to pay for it? Not mine.”

The raven-haired man asked rhetorically as he glared at the younger boy.

While Aki was talking the stranger came back to the front with a beige wax paper bag in their hand and held it out to the dirty blonde. Denji gingerly took it in his hand, ignoring his superior's irate rantings, and pulled out the glazed treat. He took a hesitant bite and his cheeks flushed a soft pink as the sweet melon flavor washed over his tongue; ignoring the aching in a few of his poorly managed teeth.

The stranger smiled at him before turning to the top-knot-baring man with their hand out expectantly. Aki sighed as he realized that he would be paying for Denji's food after all. Shoving his hand into his back pocket; he takes out his wallet and reluctantly forks over the needed amount, though not before he throws a nasty glare the younger boy's way.

“So, uh, I never got your name. Or gave you mine, really. I'm Denji.”

The dirty blonde shyly muttered between nibbles of his sweet treat.

The stranger chuckles at his timid demeanor, figuring that he was just feeling a little embarrassed by the fact that he had no money. They rest their chin in the palm of their hand as they look him up and down; thinking about how he kind of reminds them of a dog.

“Well, nice to meet you, Denji. I'm [Name].”

They introduce themself lazily; taking his hand in theirs and giving it a firm shake.

Suddenly though, the baked treat was snatched from the dirty blonde's hand by a wild Power as she dashed to the door.

“Sharing is caring, henchman!”

The blood fiend shouts as she is chased out of the door by both males.

[Name] stares at the door for a few seconds before letting out an amused chuckle. What a strange bunch, they thought with a smile.

🍞•♡•🥐•♡•🥖•♡•🫓•♡•🥨•♡•🥯•♡•🥞•♡•🧇

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

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gallifreyanhotfive · 3 months

Text

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 23

River Song chose Bernice Summerfield as her tutor in university because she knew the Doctor. Benny remembers that she was the most annoying student she ever had, rarely attended class, but still graduated on top.

Not only does the Sixth Doctor wear a cat brooch, but he wears cat cufflinks too.

Jenny had managed to track the Eleventh Doctor down during the Siege of Trenzalore but was unable to get to him due to the forcefield kept by the Papal Mainframe.

The Sixth Doctor has twelve identical spare coats in the TARDIS wardrobe.

Leela once stabbed the Second Doctor with a Janus thorn. Jamie immediately began a knife fight with her in response.

Peri Brown once had to disguise herself as Queen Elizabeth I, big dress and all. The Sixth Doctor was much more amused by this than she was.

When Helen first became a companion, she thought the Eighth Doctor was scary.

After the Twelfth Doctor kicked Rassilon off Gallifrey, Rassilon allied himself with the Cybermen, was converted into the CyberPresident, and created an alternate timeline where the Cybermen had taken over the universe. This timeline was later eradicated.

There are 76 different color tones in the Sixth Doctor's coat.

While at university, River stole a vortex manipulator in order to get help from her future self on essays. The reason she wasn't expelled was because she argued that it was impossible to plagiarize off of herself.

When listening to a device that sounds like the voice of someone the listener admires and respects, Ianto heard Jack, and Jack heard the Tenth Doctor.

In a parallel universe, Rob Tyler was the son of Jackie and Pete Tyler. He was the male counterpart of Rose and in a relationship with Mickey.

By one account, Rassilon’s first body was male; by another, female.

After a conversation with the Third Doctor, River became convinced that the Sixth Doctor was copying her hair.

After learning about messages in bottles, Jenny wrote to the Doctor, hoping it would one day find them.

Dalek juice is a beverage made from the secretions that come out of a Dalek as it is tortured.

The Sixth Doctor developed a weak form of night vision from the carrot juice Mel had him drink.

Jamie has disguised himself as a woman on two different occasions (that I can think of).

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

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steveharrington · 1 year

Text

when i say we didn’t need henry/vecna that’s not me “missing the point of the show” or whatever it’s me literally saying. we did not need henry/vecna. every argument i see about how impactful of a character henry is just reiterates themes and ideas that already existed within the show, so in my eyes all henry does is further remove the plotline from characters who were once vitally important to the story. “henry’s story is about abuse!!” so was jonathan’s and now he gets maybe 5 minutes of screen time per season. “henry is about how humanity can be the real monster!” we knew that from the literal first episode of the show when benny was killed by a human. if you like the storyline that’s fine but i personally think the duffers insistence on coming up with a Human Villain this season was based more on them hoping for an iconic freddy krueger-like design rather than telling some story that they needed henry for. and i think when you put a character in the show whose script is comprised of them literally just explaining the lore and intrigue and mystery of the past 3 seasons in one big monologue it really weakens the overall effect of your story!!!! ok anyways

#not to get defensive but when people are misunderstanding my takes and implying i like. don’t understand media #because i deigned to criticize the jumbled mess that was st4 #it makes me frustrated #🫡

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bedoballoons · 6 months

Note

Bad Luck Bennett with a Good Luck Reader?

Like ever since Bennet spend time with Reader nothing bad ever happened because Reader is a walking Good luck🍀

Need to see this Benny Boy happy with Extra Luck 🤞

This is so fluffy and sweet, thank you for requesting it and I hope you enjoy <3

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂

{༻~Lucky charm~༺}

CW: Super fluffy and adorable!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Bennett:

Bennett smiled brightly at you, his entire being radiating happiness like never before, all because of you...his lucky charm. He had lived with bad luck his whole life, dealing with neverending papercuts and trips down hills, bruises and scrapes appearing more often than not on his skin...but now, it was like you had turned it all around.

He would wake up early in the morning, humming excitedly as he got dressed without fumbling and ate his food without chocking for once. He'd find you with that perfect luck of yours that left him in awe, you were like the wish he'd always asked to come true and he could barely handle how amazing everything had turned out. "Hey!! Do you want to go adventuring today?! I heard there was a spot by Starfell Lake that has a overflow of crystalflies! We could travel there and hopefully catch them flying around at night!"

You chuckled softly, a light blush dusting your cheeks as he bounced towards you...you never really believed you were luckier than anyone else...until you realized you had him. Sure you made him feel like the luckiest guy alive...but he had no idea he made you feel the exact same way. "Of course I do! Let's hurry! The sun's already setting!"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x you #genshin scenarios #bennett x reader #bennett x you #bennett headcanons #bennett genshin impact #bennett fluff

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

Thin Ice (modern!HOTD)

pairing: Aegon x Reader & Cregan Stark x Reader

summary: The morning after the hockey house party. Aegon's first study session and some confusing feelings that have begun to develop.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ series (suggestive & crude language, descriptions of sex, debriefing about sex) general language & mature themes

note: nothing super spicy this chapter but hope you enjoy my loves 😘

series masterlist

previous chapter ~ Ch. 3: Breakfast of Champions ~ next chapter

The morning light streams across your face waking you from your dreams. Your head throbs slightly, in tandem with your heartbeat. Your mouth feels dry as though it was stuffed with cotton.

You moan, turning over in the bed. Campfire, the smell of roasting marshmallows. You bury your face in the pillow inhaling the scent. The flannel sheets hug you, keeping you nice and toasty like the marshmallow being held over the flames.

You hear noises from outside the room, and as much as you do not want to leave, you know you need to. You sit up, looking down at yourself. Baela is lying on her stomach, snoring slightly, her silver curls splayed out around her head. The room is cluttered, but not a total disaster much to your suprise. You figured Aegon would be messier.

Shit, you need water. And an Advil. Damn, your head hurts.

“Bae,” you groan.

Baela moans in response. You poke her cheek, and she swats at your hand.

“Leave me alone to die,” she groans.

“I smell bacon,” you tell her, nostrils flaring, “You think these jocks know how to cook?”

“Tell them to send up some eggs Benny and I’ll be square,” Baela grumbles into the pillow.

“Right away, madame,” you tell her, getting out of bed.

You rise from the bed looking down at yourself. A baggy t-shirt that reads Knights Hockey. You remember changing, spinning around for Aegon, and him holding your face. His thigh under you. You stand a little straighter.

Aegon fucking Targaryen.

Your eyes widen remembering more of the night. Holy shit. Your cheeks warm and you swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. Baela groans, still facedown in the pillow.

“Bae,” you whisper, “I think I-”

A crash of pots and pans is heard from downstairs, followed by a string of curses. Baela lifts her head, meeting your eyes.

“Maybe make sure they’re not burning the place down?” she asks, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

You nod, eyebrows scrunching together. Baela lets her head hit the pillow once more. She’ll sleep all day if someone lets her. Baela firmly believes that a night out needs an entire day of recovery. Debrief can happen over dinner.

You glance in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of the door, smoothing your bedhead and making sure you’re somewhat presentable before walking downstairs. Red solo cups litter the hallway along with left-behind vapes and other party memorabilia. You tip your toes around, gingerly walking down the stairs. They creak with every step, signaling your arrival.

“Shit!” a voice says with another crash, “Fuck this grease keeps burning me-ah!”

You walk into the kitchen where John Umber is battling a frying pan full of bacon, the grease crackling and popping splashing him. He’s wearing a flowery apron making him look like a mother grizzly bear. He yelps again, throwing a dishrag over his bare arms. Brandon Karstark and Erryx Cargyll are seated at the counter, laughing at their friend and teammate.

“Girl,” the voice of Reese Bolton says, as he brushes past you into the kitchen.

The laughter stops and all eyes turn to you. It’s silent for a moment, despite the crackling of the bacon before you walk over to the stove, turning down the heat. Reese sits down at the table.

“You’ve got the heat too high,” you tell John.

He points the tongs at you, eyes narrowing.

“Tutor girl,” he says, nodding with appreciation, “Saving the day.”

Brandon Karstark chews a mouthful of cereal watching as you sit down at the corner of the counter. Erryx glances at you sideways. Reese is the only one who seems unbothered, almost cold, and indifferent about your presence. John turns the bacon in the pan, lifting the finished pieces onto a paper plate.

You meet Brandon’s gaze and he quickly looks away. It’s like they’ve never sat with a girl before eating breakfast.

“What?” you ask, “Do I have something on my face?”

Reese turns from the table he’s sat at. Squints at you.

“I don’t see any cum residue on your face, so I’m guessing Aegon didn’t sleep with you,” he says, rather nonchalantly.

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline at his crude remark. You don’t know much about Reese, but you’ve heard he’s a dickhead.

“Dude,” Erryx says, and it's echoed by the other guys.

“Just saying,” Reese says, going back to his phone.

“We’re friends,” you tell them, “Just friends.”

“Such good friends,” Aegon says yawning, entering the kitchen, “I don’t sleep on the couch for just anyone. My neck’s gonna be bothering me all week now thanks to you.”

His grin is playful, bedhead endearing as he scrunches his nose at you. He’s shirtless and you can see the head of his dragon tattoo snaking around his hipbone. It must travel down the length of his thigh, but only the head is visible on the side of his stomach; the rest disappears below his gray sweats.Your stomach flutters pleasantly and you watch as he pops slices of bread into the toaster.

“Here ya go, my lady,” John says putting the plate of bacon in front of you, “Do you like eggs? I can cook them any way you want them.”

“Out resident chef,” Brandon tells you, blushing as he does. You give him a small smile.

“Scrambled?” you ask and John nods.

“Coming right up,” he tells you, saluting you.

“Hey can you do eggs benedict by chance?” you ask him.

“That’s a little fancy,” he comments, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Baela’s favorite,” you tell him.

“Well in that case,” he says, “I can make some magic happen.”

You chuckle. Aegon is smiling, his side profile facing you as he butters his toast. He brings the plate in front of you, resting his elbows on the counter. His eyes are rimmed with purple, from lack of a good night’s sleep no doubt. Lips swollen, as though they’d just been kissed. They had, by you, just a few hours ago. Your lips tingle with the memory.

Aegon bites into toast, playfully pursuing his lips.

“You sleep well?” he asks, “Ready to tutor the fuck outta me?”

“Always,” you tell me, taking a bite of the bacon provided.

His smirk grows. He seems to like that you play the game with him. Aegon offers you the second piece of toast which you take, grateful for some carbs in your stomach.

“Have you seen Sara?” you ask, wondering where your best friend was.

No sooner than you spoke her name, a loud banging begins upstairs. Rhythmic and solid, followed by a flurry of grunts and moans. Aegon’s eyes look up toward the ceiling, then back to you. Your mouth drops open.

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Aegon assures.

“They’ve been at it all morning,” Erryx confirms.

Damn. You cannot wait for the debrief later on.

Aegon grins as the noises continue, taking another bite of toast.

You decide to leave after breakfast (and hauling Baela out of Aegon’s bed) to go to your apartment and shower before meeting Aegon at the library to study. You’d much rather take a nap, as Baela intends to, but a deal is a deal.

Your shower revitalizes you, the water washing away the feeling of sleeping in a frat house. You stay in extra long just because. When you finally emerge, the apartment is still quiet.

“Sara?” you call but don’t expect an answer.

Her location confirms she’s still at the hockey house. Damn, Jace Velaryon. You text Sara, letting her know your plans, and then text Aegon.

“I don’t get it,” Aegon says, hardly a whisper even though you’re in the library.

You raise an eyebrow at him. It’s been an hour of this now.

“Why are they in…the cave?” he asks again, violet eyes tired.

You take a sip from your coffee. Second of the study session. You rub your temples with your fingers.

“It’s an allegory,” you tell him. Again.

He blinks at you, as though you’re speaking High Valyrian.

“Yes,” he answers, with no conviction behind it, “Why don’t they leave?”

“That’s the point,” you tell him, “Aeg, you’re so close to the point.”

He frowns, jaw slacking as he reads it again. You sigh, pulling the book away from him. Aegon glances up at you with wide violet eyes. He’s like a puppy, you’ve realized, cocking his head to the side trying to decipher what you’re trying to tell him.

“Can we talk about something else?” Aegon asks, leaning back in his seat.

You fold your hands on top of one another.

“What do you want to talk about?” you ask.

His eyes narrow mischieviously.

“Your conversation with Stark.”

You tilt your head to the side.

“What about it?”

“What did he say?”

You shrug, crossing your arms. You chose a comfy sweatshirt for this study session and its warmth makes you want to fall asleep.

“He called me cute, and said we could finish the conversation another time.”

Aegon rolls his eyes at your answer.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“What? Why?” you ask frowning.

“You were basically crying last night that he didn’t like you!”

“Well, he left!” you tell him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout.

“To drive someone home!” Aegon argues.

“Not someone, his ex-girlfriend!” you tell him, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s just a good guy, you don’t see him complaining about you hanging with me!”

“He did.”

Aegon pauses, eyebrows raising.

“Wait, what?” he asks, smirking.

“Well, he asked about us hanging out, if we were seeing each other,” you tell him.

Aegon’s smile grows, revealing his perfect teeth. He must’ve had braces as a kid, no one is born with a smile that perfect. Or maybe they’re fake, his family is wealthy enough.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“That I’m just your tutor!” you say, taking another sip of coffee.

Aegon’s eyes bug out of his head.

“Bunny!” he scolds.

“What?”

“You could have made him sweat a little more,” Aegon argues.

“I don’t want him to think we’re dating,” you tell him, frowning.

Aegon simply shakes his head, giving you a pitying look. It makes your stomach flip, the way he looks at you.

“You don’t know how any of this works, do you?” he asks, in a chastizing manner.

You sigh, tilting your head back, looking at the ceiling.

“I think you’re the one being dramatic.”

Aegon waves you off.

“Do you even know how pissed Jay Lannister was when he saw you with me?”

Your face flushes, and you can feel the blush creeping up your neck towards your cheeks. Aegon’s eyes flicker across your face, down your neck, and over your exposed shoulders. It’s like he has laser beams behind those violet eyes, the heat seems to follow where he looks.

“Bet he texted you,” he challenges and you shake your head.

“I blocked him,” you tell him, causing the corner of his lips to pull up into a smirk.

“Good girl,” he praises, chuckling softly, “Bet he tried to text you. He was wrecked after our little display.”

You break away from his eyes. Little display. He’s been teasing around the topic all day. He has to know what happened, there’s no way he doesn’t, right? Your eyes flicker to his lips.

Ask me again when you’re sober.

You part your lips to speak, but Aegon speaks first.

“Speak of the devil,” he murmurs looking behind you.

You turn, expecting to see Jason, but instead, it's Cregan Stark placing a book on the counter, returning it before he moves to leave the library. He’s freshly showered, with his long brown hair pulled off his face in a low bun, and his beard nicely trimmed. He’s wearing black sweatpants that hang low on his hips, accentuating his thick thighs. You feel your mouth water slightly.

“Now’s your chance, bunny,” Aegon encourages.

“Be right back,” you tell him, rising from your seat.

You walk towards Cregan, calling his name as you get closer. He turns, smiling as you approach him. Gods he’s handsome. Your heart beats erratically in your chest as you stand in front of him.

“Hey stranger,” Cregan greets you, “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you tell him, smiling softly, “Did Aly get home safe?”

“Oh yeah, no problem,” he tells you, “Sorry I just bailed on you like that.”

“No worries, I think it's sweet you drove her home,” you tell him.

“Your friend…Sara right? She and Jace really hit it off,” Cregan tells you.

You could say that.

“Yeah, they did,” you tell him.

Cregan wets his lips.

“We should go out, the four of us, and do something fun,” he tells you.

Holy shit.

“Yeah, yeah I would love that, and Sara would be so down,” you tell him, nervously rushing your words. Cregan smiles.

“Let’s do it,” he tells you, “Can I get your number?”

You nod excitedly, not trusting your voice. Cregan hands you his phone and you put your number in, sending a text to yourself. As you hand him back his phone, Cregan narrows his eyes playfully.

“It’s your real number, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer, giggling.

“Good, cause I’ll hunt you down, it’s a small campus,” he playfully threatens.

You giggle again, unable to stop yourself. Your chest feels warm with his playful banter.

Aegon watches you from his seat, eyes shameless roaming over your body. Observing the way you cross your arms behind your back, rolling back on your heels nervously as you converse with Stark. How your leggings are molded against your legs perfectly, leaving little to the imagination.

Aegon can feel you pressed against him as you were last night. Hear the soft sounds you released, feeling you riding his thigh. He bets you’d feel fucking amazing riding his cock instead. The though makes him hard and he switches the way he’s sitting, trying to find some relief.

He can’t think like that. You’re Helaena’s friend. Her best friend. He’s caused Helaena drama in the past and he won’t do that again.

No matter how much he wants to.

Besides, you have a deal.

Aegon shakes his head, clearing his thoughts as you prance back over to him. More a happy skip than a walk.

“I have a date,” you tell him, smiling wide, “A double date. Score!”

“Nicely done, bunny,” he tells you, watching you bite your lip.

“Okay,” you say sighing, “back to the cave.”

When you return home several hours later your apartment is dark, and empty. Saturday night should be more lively, but you decide a night in may be just what you need. You drop your bag of takeout on the table and sit down, scrolling through your phone.

You hear the door to Sara’s room open and the sound of her sock-clad feet padding down the hallway. She emerges in Jace Velaryon’s sweatshirt, the hood up covering her whole head except her face. She’s wearing her comfiest pair of socks and seemingly nothing else.

Sara winces as she sits down in the chair across from you. You raise an eyebrow at her.

“Hello, beautiful,” you tell her, “it's nice to see you this evening.”

“Yes I know,” Sara sighs, “I’m sorry for being MIA all day, I was kidnapped.”

Your eyes widen.

“Kidnapped?”

Sara smiles mischievously, nodding. She bites her lip, leaning forward and grabbing a fry from your takeout container.

“Two words,” she says, clasping her hands together, “Jace Velaryon.”

“Tell me more,” you insist, wide eyed.

“Massive cock-”

“Sara!”

“Super freak-”

“Ohmygod,” you squeal.

“He doesn’t look like he would have a horse cock, right?” Sara begins, “But girl. Massive. Like, I’m in pain. Glorious pain, from his massive schlong.”

“Ouch,” you tell her, “massive? MASSIVE Sara? That sounds painful.”

“This boy split me in half,” Sara says, sighing dreamily, “over, and over, and over again.”

You place a hand over your heart.

“I heard,” you tell her earnestly.

She squeals at your expression.

“No you did not!”

“Just a little! In the kitchen!” you tell her laughing.

“Ohmygod,” she says, covering her face, “So fucking worth it. He’s so sweet. We spent all night cuddling, we didn’t even fuck until the morning. He’s so cute, girl, I like him so much.”

“Good because we have a date,” you tell her, smiling slyly.

Sara gives you a quizzical look.

“I’m sorry what?” she asks.

“You and Jace, and me and Cregan,” you tell her.

“Not Aegon?” she asks.

You frown.

“No not Aegon,” you tell her, “That’s weird. Why would you say that?”

She shrugs.

“You two seemed awfully close last night, that’s all,” she comments, stealing another fry.

You blink as she stares at you.

“He was just helping me out,” you tell her and she nods.

“Whatever you say bestie,” she says smirking.

“Can we go back to talking about Velaryon’s monster cock now?” you tease and she claps her hands together.

“Of course we can,” she says.

The rest of the evening is spent debriefing but you can’t shake the thoughts from your head around what Sara said about Aegon. Whatever. You have a date, with Cregan. This is what you wanted all along. Right?