#gabriel/reader

[astonmartinii]

mother duck | carlos sainz social media au

pairing: carlos sainz x fem presenter!reader

carlos kissed her goodbye before she went to the rookie round table, he didn’t realise she’d come back with five ducklings of her own

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 1,439,045 others

tagged: kimiantonelli, isackhadjar, jackdoohan, olliebearman & gabrielbortoleto

f1: head over to our youtube channel now to get to know our crop of new drivers at the rookie round table!

view all comments

user1: i have been moved

user2: more of this type of content please

user3: i think they could’ve gotten at least a couple of hours of footage here those kids love to talk

yourusername: not what i’ve been used to but a blast nonetheless!

kimiantonelli: you will be coming to all of the races, right?

kimiantonelli: right? please!

yourusername: yes, i will be there kimi don’t worry

kimiantonelli: omg yay!

user4: oh no… they’re attached…

user5: someone call carlos sainz, is he aware he’s become a father of five overnight?

carlossainz55: excuse me?

gabrielbortoleto: hi!

carlossainz55: no no no i don’t do all of this grid kid nonsense

isackhadjar: please don’t say that i have abandonment issues :(

carlossainz55: what ???

user6: bro sat back and watched charles adopt all the kids last season but now it’s his turn

user7: ollie is meant to be charles’ grid kid…

charles_leclerc: A ROBBERY?

carlossainz55: you can keep him !!!

olliebearman: you don’t want me 😢

yourusername: carlos don’t be mean to them!

carlossainz55: what the fuck is going on right now ???

user8: carlos left his gf for one 20 minute interview and now has kids ?

user9: ugh i’ve missed this chaos

jackdoohan: can we do all media with you @yourusername ?

yourusername: i don’t think so :(

jackdoohan: so not fair :(((((

jackdoohan: if we don’t have media with you can we at least come to dinner?

kimiantonelli: i’m free for dinner!

gabrielbortoleto: me too

isackhadjar: me three

olliebearman: can we get italian?

carlossainz55: nuh uh it’s date night tonight

kimiantonelli: *our date night

carlossainz55: no?

yourusername: come on carlos…

carlossainz55: fine! but just this one time

user10: it’s going to be a long season for mr sainz i fear

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, jackdoohan and 381,945 others

tagged: carlossainz55

yourusername: australia that’s a wrap on qualifying - a few surprises at both ends of the grid!

view all comments

user11: i am an old man who usually hates the fluffy stuff off of track but kimi going in for a hug in the media pen was very cute

user12: i think people forget just how young he is so it’s good he feels he has other people to go to in the paddock!

user13: his poor media handler looked very confused

olliebearman: can we definitely get dinner now :( talking to you in the media pen was probably the only good thing from today

yourusername: of course ollie! i know it was a tough day but you’ll get in the swing of it with the car

carlossainz55: i thought we were going to be able to shake them for dinner :(

olliebearman: CARLOS I AM IN DISTRESS PLEASE PAY FOR MY PASTA

yourusername: he clearly needs comfort!

carlossainz55: he doesn’t need comfort he’s trying to extort us

olliebearman: so you don’t love me enough to let me extort you?

carlossainz55: no?

user14: these rookies are cracking me up

user15: please strap them down in front of a camera and let them yap

gabrielbortoleto: did you see my save?

yourusername: i did! very impressive gabi

gabrielbortoleto: did you @carlossainz55 ?

maxverstappen1: so i mean nothing to you now?

gabrielbortoleto: NO! i love you max - did you see my save?

maxverstappen1: it was very impressive bubbles

carlossainz55: definitely not a ‘b grade’ driver

gabrielbortoleto: OMGGGG THANK YOU

maxverstappen1: i give up?

yourusername: i don’t really know what’s happening right now - but just go with it max, he still loves you he spoke at LENGTH about you to me just this morning

user16: these kids be attaching to anyone who looks at them

user17: they’re just like me for real

isackhadjar: looking forward to debriefing over garlic bread :D

yourusername: you were amazing today isack!

isackhadjar: hehehehehehehehe

carlossainz55: at least this one isn’t shouting at me

jackdoohan: what about me?

carlossainz55: you know what, you’ve bothered me the least so you’re my favourite

kimiantonelli: NOT FAIR

olliebearman: but i cycle?

gabrielbortoleto: but you liked my save?

isackhadjar: all i want is some garlic bread :(

yourusername: carlos! you can’t say one of them is your favourite - that’s not how kids work

carlossainz55: i never asked for this !!!

carlossainz55

liked by isackhadjar, olliebearman and 609,285 others

tagged: yourusername

carlossainz55: back in italy for imola and on a date with my favourite girl

view all comments

user18: carlos went to italy extra early so they could have dinner without the rookies intruding lmao

user19: bro is being haunted by five kids

user20: he’s better than me because i would crumble immediately

yourusername: no one else i’d rather be with

carlossainz55: i’ve missed being with you (just you)

yourusername: we’ve had just enough alone time i think

landonorris: gross

carlossainz55: not you too

landonorris: if you think about it i was technically your first kid…

carlossainz55: ONE NIGHT WITHOUT THIS NONSENSE PLEASE

user21: i think carlos might be losing his mind

alexalbon: oh he definitely is if his loud ramblings i can hear through the driver room walls

yourusername: i think he’s just like that?

carlossainz55: huh?

yourusername: you asked me on a date because you were talking to yourself loudly before our interview about ‘how pretty my smile is’

carlossainz55: my thoughts are loud!

carlossainz55: but in that instance i’m very glad they were screaming in my head

yourusername: i’m very glad too <3

user22: omg that’s such a cute/concerning meet cute

user23: the most carlos sainz thing ever i fear

kimiantonelli: i see our invite got lost in the mail?

olliebearman: and in kimi’s home country… that’s just cruel

carlossainz55: i would like ONE romantic night with the love of my life ALONE

carlossainz55: CAN I PLEASE HAVE THAT? I DON’T THINK I’M ASKING THAT MUCH

isackhadjar: you didn’t need to be that mean about it :(

kimiantonelli: i’m sorry, i just wanted to show you the best places in imola …

olliebearman: does this mean you don’t want to go cycling on thursday anymore?

jackdoohan: can i still go for coffee with y/n?

gabrielbortoleto: we just wanted to see you guys :(

yourusername: no my babies :((( we love you and of course we want to see you! we just need to have some alone time every once in a while

carlossainz55: y/n please stop feeding into this

carlossainz55: STOP SHOWING ME THE PHOTOS THEY’RE SENDING YOU OF THEIR SAD FACES

carlossainz55: FINE! WE’LL ALL GO FOR BREAKFAST TOMORROW NOW LET ME ENJOY MY NIGHT WITH Y/N

gabrielbortoleto

liked by kimiantonelli, olliebearman and 451,058 others

tagged: yourusername & carlossainz55

gabrielbortoleto: that was a big one! i’m sorry to the team but i’m happy to say that i’ll be okay and will be back for the next race. thank you y/n and carlos for coming and keeping me company in the hospital!

view all comments

user24: okay i know we’ve all poked fun at the grid kid thing and how it’s so funny that carlos hates it but for real, i’m glad they were in the paddock and were able to be there for him

user25: that makes all the jokey stuff so much better honestly

yourusername: we’re so happy you’re all okay gabi!

gabrielbortoleto: thank you for coming! i know i’m a bit of a drama queen but my parents couldn’t come from brazil so thank you for not leaving me alone :)

gabrielbortoleto: can we have a ducky sleepover?

carlossainz55: a what?

gabrielbortoleto: y/n calls us her duckies! so a ducky sleepover would be all of us coming over (and getting ice cream)

yourusername: i think that’s an amazing idea

carlossainz55: okay, okay. but i am never calling you guys duckies.

yourusername: just you wait baby :)

user26: his radio just reminded me how young him and all the other rookies actually are

user27: i want to just wrap them all up in blankets and tell them it’s all going to be okay

user28: good thing they have y/n and carlos to do that

alexalbon: he won’t tell you this but he did run back to his drivers room to get gabi a jumper and a blanket, he’s a softy for them really

yourusername: that's my man 🥰

kimiantonelli: we’re the five duckies so please refrain from flipping into the barriers again please and thank you

yourusername: kimi?!

carlossainz55: that’s not how we word these things kimi

kimiantonelli: woah i’m trying to lighten the mood

olliebearman: everyone has been a real debby downer today - like three of us got points! (this is a joke, i am happy you’re okay gabi)

gabrielbortoleto: bring the mood back down, i’ve got some more things i want to get with my sympathy points

carlossainz55: gabi???

gabrielbortoleto: fernando taught me to take advantage of anything and everything

carlossainz55: that sounds about right…

user29: why is fernando still at the scene of the crime

kimiantonelli: he’s old! he won his last championship before i was born!

fernandoalo_oficial: @carlossainz55 control your kid

carlossainz55: excuse me? after what you’ve taught gabi?

fernandoalo_oficial: oh don’t act so innocent carlito - did isack or did isack not steal all of the goodies from the media pen because he MANIPULATED the comms girls

isackhadjar: i DID NO SUCH THING

isackhadjar: i am just a nice guy!

jackdoohan: he distracted them and i took them!

fernandoalo_oficial: scoundrels

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 561,093 others

tagged: olliebearman, kimiantonelli & yourusername

carlossainz55: as much as they’re annoying - i love our duckies and it’s going to take more than one DNF to turn me against them

view all comments

user30: oh wow he is a changed man

user31: i fear this is a real mark of maturity because believe me i’d be crashing the fuck out (pun intended)

user32: i mean now he’s seen it back he defo knows that it wasn’t really any one person’s fault

olliebearman: I’M SO SORRY CARLOS

olliebearman: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FORGIVE ME

kimiantonelli: what about me ????

olliebearman: you are NOT the priority here

kimiantonelli: we have a ship name ??? does that mean nothing?

olliebearman: not right now? not when our cycling sessions are on the line?

carlossainz55: are you guys finished arguing now?

olliebearman: can you forgive me now so we can get back to arguing

carlossainz55: i told you guys there’s no hard feelings, we all got squeezed in the rain - stop stressing

olliebearman: okay thanks

kimiantonelli: thx

kimiantonelli: anyway

kimiantonelli: HOW DARE YOU NOT WANT MY FORGIVENESS FIRST?

olliebearman: omg you’re so self-involved

jackdoohan: you gonna let him say that kimi?

kimiantonelli: ME? SELF-INVOLVED?

isackhadjar: ollie i can hear him bitching from here…

olliebearman: GASP!

gabrielbortoleto: kimi… clearly he doesn’t care about the sanctity of bearnelli

kimiantonelli: i can’t believe this 😖

yourusername: right okay let’s calm it down boys

carlossainz55: no this is quite entertaining let them keep going …

yourusername: so you are the bad influence

carlossainz55: if we have to keep them around i might as well enjoy it

yourusername: really?

carlossainz55: the longer they argue and instigate, the less they are bothering us and i can actually spend time with my girlfriend

user33: this whole comment section is just one big familial domestic

user34: they are everything to me

user35: carlos can never retire now i’m sorry those are the rules

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, pierregasly and 892,304 others

tagged: kimiantonelli, olliebearman, carlossainz55, isackhadjar, gabrielbortoleto & jackdoohan

yourusername: omg all five of our duckies scored points and carlos was on the pdoium this weekend at silverstone!!! what an anniversary weekend, and our duckies remembered!

view all comments

user36: THE DUCKIES

user37: i don’t care how dumb the nickname is i love it so much

user38: free yourself from thinking everything is cringe

jackdoohan: so since you’re from silverstone, can we claim this as a home race so we can all say got points at home

yourusername: i’ve seen shakier logic from oscar so i’ll say yes!

oscarpiastri: RUDE

kimiantonelli: he’s just bitter because no one cares about his lil grid kid stunt in monaco anymore now we have y/n and carlos

oscarpiastri: omg ??? leave me alone

olliebearman: come say that to our faces 😡

jackdoohan: he won’t we out number him

iscakhadjar: 💪

oscarpiastri: you people are all like rabid dogs

carlossainz55: watch what you say about the duckies

oscarpiastri: this is crazy, you were the one who was constantly complaining about them

carlossainz55: yes well now i like them! and i don’t appreciate your tone

oscarpiastri: why weren’t you this nice to me as a rookie?

carlossainz55: eh?

gabrielbortoleto: he just likes us better!

carlossainz55: he’s not wrong…

oscarpiastri: fine! charles is a better grid dad anyway

oscarpiastri: and while we’re at it i’m gonna claim max as well

charles_leclerc: yeah i never complained about oscar, i took him in immediately!

maxverstappen1: i don’t know how i got roped into this but yeah - we’re better!

user39: you know what? sure

user40: i stopped asking questions a long time ago

user41: they got them gifts for their anniversary? that’s too fucking cute i can’t

user42: duckies you are so iconic

carlossainz55: i guess the duckies are good for one thing - gifts

yourusername: it’s definitely a perk!

carlossainz55: but i’ll deal with all of their chaos if it means being with you

yourusername: awwwww i love you too

yourusername: so much we have five kids before being married…

carlossainz55: is this a hint?

yourusername: i don’t know you tell me?

kimiantonelli: PLEASE DON’T PROPOSAL WITHOUT US THERE

jackdoohan: that is a threat

olliebearman: bagsy being a bridesmaid

isackhadjar: i know someone who can get you the eiffel tower?

gabrielbortoleto: omg my first wedding party !!!

carlossainz55: let’s all slow down for a second - i will propose but you little devils will not be involved…

yourusername: but they’re so cute 😢

carlossainz55: maybe… but only because i love you

fin.

note: kinda on fire today? i will be crashing in like two hours so i had to be productive while i could be

[ohhoneypascal]

Get me to Paris asap

[cuntiel]

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Max's ducklings

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max one-shot with the rookies. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The first time you jokingly referred to the rookies as yours and Max’s ‘kids,’ it had been just that—a joke. A harmless, offhand comment made while watching Kimi tail Max through the paddock like a lost puppy. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but then Gabriel had started tagging along too, and soon, Oliver was trailing after them both.

It became a running gag between you and Max. Every time you saw one of them lingering near your boyfriend, you’d nudge him and whisper, “Your sons are waiting for you.” Max would roll his eyes, grumble something in Dutch under his breath, and pretend not to care. But over time, the joke started feeling a little too real.

You were the one who noticed it first. Max would casually check on them in the garage, making sure they had everything they needed. He’d offer Kimi a few words of advice about tyre management, remind Gabriel to stay out of trouble on the track, and even critique Isack’s qualifying performance like a strict but well-meaning father. And it wasn’t just them—Liam, Oliver, and Jack, who had already taken their first steps in F1, had somehow joined the ever-growing group.

“They’re not my kids,” Max insisted one evening after a race, arms crossed as you teased him about it. “They’re grown men. They don’t need parents.”

You smirked, sipping from your drink. “Oh, really? Then why did you tell Kimi not to overwork his tires like that again? And why did you give Gabriel that pep talk about confidence? And why did you tell Isack to ignore the media when they criticized him?”

Max scowled, grumbling into his beer. “They’re just young. They need guidance.”

“They need parents,” you corrected playfully. “And, like it or not, you’ve become a dad.”

Max groaned dramatically, but he didn’t argue.

The paddock caught on quickly. Social media was soon flooded with memes about ‘Papa Max’ and his ‘ducklings.’ A particularly viral post had an edited picture of Max and you, your faces photoshopped onto a mother and father goose, with Kimi, Gabriel, Isack, Liam, Oliver, and Jack waddling behind you. Even Christian Horner joined in on the joke one day, patting Max on the back and saying, “How’s fatherhood treating you?”

You expected Max to brush it off, maybe even get annoyed. Instead, he just sighed and muttered, “Exhausting.”

The real shift came after a particularly rough race weekend for Isack. He had made a mistake during the race and spun out, leading to a wave of criticism online. Pundits started questioning if he was even good enough for F1, and some of the comments were downright cruel. Normally, Max stayed out of these things. He rarely engaged in media debates that didn’t involve him directly. But that day, in the middle of a press conference, a journalist brought up Isack’s struggles, asking Max if he thought the young driver was cut out for the sport.

Max’s response was immediate. “Isack is a talented driver. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. It’s easy to sit behind a screen and criticize, but racing at this level is incredibly difficult. He’s learning, like all of us did when we started.” He leaned forward slightly, gaze sharp. “Maybe people should stop expecting rookies to be perfect and let them grow.”

Your phone buzzed almost instantly with messages. ‘DAD MODE ACTIVATED’ read one from Lando. Another from Liam simply had a bunch of crying emojis.

When you saw Max later that evening, you couldn’t help but tease him. “I think that was the most dad-like thing you’ve ever done.”

Max groaned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. You defended him like a protective father.” You wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I think deep down, you love your little ducklings.”

He huffed, but there was no real irritation in it. “I just don’t like seeing young drivers get ripped apart when they’re trying their best.”

You grinned. “Uh-huh. Sure. And next, you’ll be giving them bedtime stories.”

“If they stop making stupid mistakes, maybe.”

From that moment on, Max stopped fighting the joke. He still pretended to be exasperated when the rookies stuck to him like glue, but he never turned them away. When Liam had a tough weekend, Max was the first to check in on him. When Kimi finally had a strong race, Max clapped him on the back and muttered, “See? Told you it’d come.”

One day, as you watched the six young drivers standing around Max, hanging onto his every word as he gestured animatedly about car setups, you smiled to yourself. He’d never admit it, but Max had fully embraced the role.

Later that evening, as you two walked back to the motorhome, you leaned into him with a grin. “So, how does it feel to be a dad?”

Max groaned, shaking his head. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He sighed, glancing back over his shoulder toward where the rookies still lingered in the paddock. “Fine. Maybe… maybe it’s not so bad.”

You grinned, slipping your hand into his. “Our little family.”

[pedgito]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Tommy Miller x reader x Joel Miller

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | You need something to ease the pain, but Joel and Tommy aren't very generous.

author's note | this isn't for everyone, please read the tags. i'm already working for a follow-up on this, but if you decide to read this - thank you!! <3 also ily and thank you for the betas @gracieheartspedro @amanitacowboy

content warning | DDDNE — noncon & dubcon, there's not defined consent, reader is both drugged and has a head injury that is blurring the lines of reality, early outbreak days, dark!tommy, dark!joel, unprotected piv, restraints, degrading, deepthroating, creampies, this is literally them fighting over a shiny new toy, joel spitting on reader, marking/claiming, very little aftercare. this is dark fic, don't engage if you don't like.

word count — 5.3k

You had struck gold.

On, well, drugs.

There was the saying—only the strongest will survive. But, you’ve seen a clicker take down a man double its size without an ounce of struggle.

Then again, they were literal killing machines.

You’ve learned that sanity is what has kept you alive.

And lately, yours had been slipping.

It was the anxiety, the lack of food and water, the seventh group you’ve filtered into torn to bits overnight and because you were so weary – always sleeping above ground level and never really letting yourself succumb to deep sleep – had managed to slip away in the knick of time.

Regardless, you needed the drugs.

You’ve been on the run for two weeks, completely alone, raiding every hospital and pharmacy you’ve come across with no luck, all wiped clean.

Sometimes, the anxiety made your chest hurt — blood pumping into your ears so loud you couldn’t hear anything else, too aware of the functions within your own body.

It has gotten explicitly worse the past couple days and when you finally find some luck, therein follows the immediate feeling that it was too good to be true.

There was a catch.

This was a trap.

Well, fuck it.

What did you have to lose anyways?

You’ve been in this dilapidated house before, months ago when you were passing through with another group. So, when you find the bags, you’re wondering if this was just a mistake.

Someone had left these behind, surely.

There wasn’t anyone in the nearest vicinity, not a speckle of life anywhere to be found.

So, you dig.

There’s a treasure trove of bottles all half full or almost empty, scanning through the names until you find something worth taking.

Diazepam.

It could work, it would work.

By the looks of it, there’s only ten pills left and if you used them sparingly enough, you could stretch it out for a couple months, long enough to continue your search.

The end goal was always civilization, hopeful that you could stumble upon a well-established group that would be kind enough to take you in. 

Though, the outlook was grim.

You stuff the bottles of pills into your coat pocket and continue to dig, unsure why you’re feeling so greedy. Some of the labels are ripped and unintelligible, some of the bottles simply don’t pique your interest, crouched on the floor and burrowing through someone else's belongings like a rat.

You’re so focused that you don’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late.

“Don’t move.”

The voice is sharp, cuts through the silence like a knife and you freeze, hunched over and caught red-handed.

“Turn around slowly.”

You comply, unwinding yourself carefully, heart pounding in your chest.

There’s one man standing in the doorway, another a few steps ahead. 

They share a similar build and face, undoubtedly related. 

You raise your hands to show no threat, hands shaking slightly. “I’m just passing through,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

The closer man takes a step forward, but the gun doesn’t waver. “You with anyone?”

“No.” You hate how weak you sound, “No—just….just me,”

Dumbass. You should have lied.

Your hands are shaking noticeably and you’re not sure if it’s from fear or adrenaline or relief that you’ve scored something.

It doesn’t matter. 

“Empty your pockets,” his voice is indescribable, but demanding, eyes lingering briefly to the quieter man behind him that lingered like a shadow, as you hesitate, the gun clicks, “I’m not askin’.”

“I didn’t—take,” you panic, licking nervously at your lips, “I—you don’t understand,” you know they can hear the shuffle of the half-empty pillow bottle in your coat pocket, clear as day, “please don’t kill me, god—”

The idea seemed more intriguing now than it ever has.

The two men share a look, clearly one they have passed along a million times before.

“Turn around,” the man demands, “keep your hands up,”

You follow instructions with minor hesitancy, hearing the footsteps grow closer before the hands spread around your waist and up your ribs and you catch the gentle woosh of longer hair against your cheek that ultimately belonged to the other man.

You’re not sure whyor where the courage takes hold – it was stupid, outnumbered and unskilled when it came to combat, you were fighting a losing battle.

Your elbow swings back into the other man’s ribs and he grunts, roughly grabbing you by the back of your neck before shoving you at the one wielding the revolver, “Screw this, I’ll just fuckin’ shoot ‘er,” the voice belonging to the one with the menacing scowl and hard gaze.

“Joel, slow your goddamn roll,” it was a tidbit of information that he shouldn’t have let slip, feeling the hand at your bicep as it twisted behind your back tightly, gasping at the sharp sting of pain.

“Kill first, take later,” Joel reminds the other man, “we’ve been over this, Tommy.”

Joel. Tommy.

Brothers, clearly.

The outbreak was still fresh in hindsight, only two years since the attacks on the city started. It was clear that some people thrived in environments like this, feeding off violence to achieve their goal.

You’d stumbled into the wrong hands, all of your luck having officially ran out.

You’re not sure why they decide to spare you, but they do.

Time passes — seconds that feel like hours, before the butt of a gun is making contact with the side of your head. 

You’re out like a light, meeting the floor with an unkind thump that splits open the skin near your temple, blood pooling around the wound and along the dilapidated hardwood.

“She’s your responsibility,” Joel tells his brother, shoving the gun into his chest, “take care of it.”

—

There was no expectation of waking until it happened.

Everything felt fuzzy, light, more welcoming than you expected. You could feel the cool sheets under your skin, a hastily applied bandage to your head, but your hands were bound.

There was an uneasy feeling to the picture painted before you, the usual diluted blues and green and greys of the apocalypse replaced with something warm.

You moan slightly, shifting as you blink to collect yourself, immediately faced with one of the men from earlier with a different kind of concern etched on his face. 

As far as you could tell, he was alone.

And much more docile.

“Oh, woah, little lady,” he says, all charm in his thick southern twang, “you took quite a spill earlier.”

You moan again, this time in response, “You—he…hit me.”

“Joel? Yeah, he ain’t much of a people person,” Tommy explains, “he left for a bit, though. I patched ‘ya up, gave you some meds to help with the pain,”

He notices your gaze drifting, like it was too hard to keep focus despite your valiant effort. 

You nod in compliance.

You can feel the hand that settles between your thighs, a soft caress as Tommy checks gingerly at your wound, the press of his fingers digging into the supple flesh at the inside of your leg.

“I think you’ll be right as rain, probably best to keep you here for a couple days until we can let you go,” he admits, “seems a little negligent and unfair to force you outside to deal with infected in your condition.”

Tommy liked his trinkets, though.

Sweet, shiny things that peaked his interest.

There’s a softness to your features that has been long lost on many, just the subtle glint of weakness he needs.

“I’m so sleepy,” you slur tiredly, groaning softly as you turn to your side, feeling the hand shift from between your legs to graze up the curve of your ass and against your back.

It was a nice touch, comforting — warm, safe. 

No part of you can recognize who the hand belongs to, not in this state of mind, the room swirling with faint orange from the setting sun — was it a bedroom? 

Living room? 

Or, it was a dream. The afterlife, even.

Maybe you had died and this was the sick way your body was deciding to cope, cared for by your captors.

But, nothing about Tommy outwardly screamed danger.

Not like the way Joel's bared teeth, scruffy beard and stench of blood had. 

No, Tommy was sanitary, preened and clean; a wolf dressed up in sheep’s clothing. 

You can’t muster the care to worry about this now.

“Get some rest, darlin’,” he encourages, the touch moving to your hair now, curling the strands around his fingers gently.

You give into the medicine slowly creeping through your veins. Sleep overtakes you with little resistance. There is only darkness for a while, the absence of thought or feeling, until there’s the strange sensation you are being moved and manhandled. 

Your limp body in someone’s arms, then in their lap, against their chest before you’re pressed into the mattress again but on your stomach, head carefully angled to avoid injury or irritation. Not that it mattered, your entire body was numb now.

It is a new kind of warmth that blankets you.

You can distantly hear a voice before you slip back into unconsciousness.

“... sweet little thing,” he says.

The passage of time feels endless.

The weight in the bed beside you comes and goes, the room filtering between light and dark, unsure how many days have passed. Occasionally you wake to drink water or take a few sparing bites of food, just enough to placate your angry stomach as you’re continuously fed meds to remain complacent.

It isn’t that you mind—you don’t. It was the best care you’ve had in months.

Actually, you don't ever remember being cared for like this.

There’s only ever one set of footsteps, no voices aside from one, and the constant looming feeling that he was around. You weren’t unsettled by it, rather comforted. 

Tommy was being unbelievably kind despite your actions—he could have killed you outright, but instead, he was caring for you. You weren’t sure if his brother would be delighted at the idea, but he wasn’t here right now.

You can hear the faint chirp of crickets and a room blanketed in blue when the bed dips under the weight of someone sitting down again, and warm fingers brush across your cheek.

“Hey there,” Tommy’s voice sounds from behind you. “glad to see you awake.”

He sounds genuine.

You turn slightly to peer up at him, vision still hazy.

His eyes are crinkled with a slight smile, a thick mustache covering his upper lip. He’s stripped out of his jacket, clad in a shirt and jeans, and his touch still hasn't left you. Instead, it grows.

Explorative, you lie still.

There’s a wondrous edge to his gaze, his touch roaming the expanse of your body, clean of dirt and grime and suddenly you realize you’re dressed in fresh clothes, pants folded at the end of the bed. There was only a shirt and a thin pair of underwearing covering your body.

He had bathed you? Changed you?

Tommy notices the panic of the realization but soothes your worry with a touch that is gentle against your forehead, a much smaller bandage covering your head injury.

It’s weird, the faint glow that surrounds him.

Part of you wonders if this is still just a dream—maybe you’ve been dead for days.

His touch is so warm, guiding your legs apart as you gasp, his fingers resting over your core like they weren’t meant to be there.

“Wait,” you breath, thighs closing instinctively, “don’t—”

“Shhh,” Tommy soothes, the fingers of his opposite hand running along the side of your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he traces the flesh, “s’alright, you’re still lookin’ a little sleepy, sugar. Go on, you can rest,”

You’re only vaguely aware of how your bindings have changed, spread out at either end of the bedpost rather than bunched over your head, somehow feeling more restrictive than the latter.

Sleep was incredibly hard to fight, eyes fluttering through the growing curiosity of his touches, eventually slipping under the fabric of your panties.

“....well, look at that,” his voice is distant, but he’s met with a wet, warm heat as his fingers slide between your folds, watching as your lips part with the touch, “she loves me, don’t she?”

A soft mumble of a response in protest because it shouldn’t feel this good.

Tommy takes it in stride, the swift whip of his belt as it comes undone.

“Think I can make it quick,” Tommy says mutedly, feeling like you were underwater, “Joel should be back later, but I’ll treat your right, don’t worry,”

As the fabric goes, you come to, eyes widening as Tommy was already stripped of his jeans and underwear, cock hard and proud in his hand as he positioned himself between your legs, a gentle touch of his finger pressing inside of you.

The stretch makes you gasp, the fullness even more apparent as he adds another finger, pushing deep. It’s too much, the intensity of it all as you gasp and squirm against the bed. It was akin to something your body craved but your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

It’s good, though—almost dizzyingly so. Tommy smirks; he knows it.

There’s a tightness in your chest that screams danger, but every time you open your mouth to protest, only a moan comes out.

“Fuck,” Tommy groans as he watches your eyes fall shut, finger working loudly inside of you against your squelching heat, “how am I supposed to wait with you so ready for me?”

He wasn’t. You could feel him shifting instead, hands spread out over your thighs as the head of his cock pushed between your folds—up, down, his face tilted to examine the sight before him, neglecting the tugs against your bindings in protest.

“Just watch,” he murmurs with a nod, barely above a whisper, “you’re gonna come on my cock before you even realize what’s happenin’, darlin’.”

“Tommy, please—” you choke, but everything else is a soft cry as he pushes inside of you.

His hips snap forward, filling you in one swift motion. 

The stretch is intense and overwhelming, a gasp of pain ripping from your throat.

You nearly whimper at the sensation after, his hand twisting around to your back to push up, arching you off the mattress as he rocks his hips in a steady timing—so tender in his affections, now languid thrusts drawing out a heat in your core that you didn’t ask for but can’t fight against.

The fight was useless, no give to the fabric tied around your wrist, the weight of his body against you as his hands spread out on the sheets beside the pillow under your head, his head level with your own but his eyes focused on the way your cunt sucked his cock up to the base.

He looks up briefly, tears in your eyes as they flutter shut in continued exhaustion.

“Don’t pass out on me now,” he teases when your eyes threaten to close, hips snapping forward to knock you back into the waking world, “I want you here for this, darlin’.”

He shifts slightly and your head is thrown back with an involuntary moan, every thrust dragging against that sweet spot inside of you that makes the world go white around the edges. 

He was right—he’s fucking right—and there’s no saving you from his cock as a full-body shiver invades you. You mumble something unintelligible, head throbbing with a dull pain.

“Look at you,” Tommy breathes and you force yourself to focus, unable to look away as his thumb dips between you both, teasing your clit with feather-light circles that make you tremble.

His touch is surprisingly kind, not indicative of his intentions or actions. He wants to make you feel good, he’s relying on it, actually. And you hate how it was working. Your walls clamp down tight on his cock as he grunts deep in his chest, pace increasing to an unrelenting speed that echoes through the room, skin on skin.

“God, please,” you moan, praying to an unknown, barely recognizing the needy pitch of your own voice. You tug at the fabric binding once more out of reflex, not even sure what you’d do if your hands were free.

He grins, low and predatory. “That’s it,” he says with a punctuating thrust, “Take it. All of it.”

His name is the only word left in your vocabulary for a moment, over and over and over again until he’s pulling out of you suddenly, hot streams of cum spreading out of your stomach and chest as he shoves your shirt up, the loss sudden and devastating despite your mind telling you otherwise.

Tommy slumps to your side after a moment, catching his own breath with a hand over his chest and his erection flagging between his thighs, biting your lip to stifle the quiet sobs as the realization of your situation had come into full-view.

No haze, no confusion, the medication wearing off. You were left with nothing but pain.

–

He’s sleeping beside you, has been for a while.

He redressed eventually, unsure as you had closed your eyes to feign sleep.

But, he looked so fucking peaceful.

He hadn’t bothered helping you much either, only slipping your underwear back on and shifting up the flimsy blanket to cover your shivering body, the cold biting at your skin—and you can feel the dried cum against your belly, the fabric of your shirt sticking to your skin.

You swallow the dryness in your mouth as you study him, the shadows under his eyes, the flutter of his lashes against his skin. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse on his face.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the creak of floorboards outside the room, and you freeze. 

It could only be one person.

“Tommy,” A voice booms in the distance, “Tommy!”

Tommy stirs beside you, groggy and unfocused, a slow realization dawning as he registers the call. It was Joel’s voice.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pushing up from the mattress.

By the panic on his face and the minimal calculation in your head—you should be dead.

He was supposed to take care of the problem.

Instead, he’s treated you like a plaything. A toy.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch him. He puts on his boots with haphazard urgency, more worried about Joel finding him beside you rather than your obvious state of living.

He meets your eyes for half a second, but there’s nothing there—not pity, not guilt, nothing.

A coward, through and through.

He ducks out the door before you can respond, leaving it ajar enough that you hear Joel’s accusation cut through the silence.

“...always makin’ me clean up your fuckin’ mess,” He argues, “if you hadn’t left those bags out and let me shoot her then—”

“I know, I know,” comes Tommy’s reply, more distant now, but you can still hear him scrambling for an excuse. “Just hold on a sec!”

You can hear the heavy footsteps approach, “Just get the fuck outta here for a few hours before I kill you too,” he threatens, though it sounded empty.

A creeping fear begins to settle in as you realize this is it—this time, there’ll be no reprieve.

When he approaches, his shadow creeping through the door, you have no choice but to face him. Hands still bound, you were helpless.

“Rise and shine, little thief,” his voice carries.

Joel examines the room with careful eyes, taking note of the half-eaten food and dirtied rags. It doesn’t take a genius for him to realize his brother had dragged this out for a while. Joel was only gone a few days, but he’d been keeping you sustained and alive without needing to.

And against Joel’s instruction.

Joel shakes his head in silence before he’s pulling the gun out of his jeans, finger on the trigger and you don’t know why—but you beg.

“I–please, please,” you begin, your voice raw, “I don’t wanna die. Joel, please.”

He flinches at you using his name, stepping closer as he presses the barrel into your forehead and cocks the lever back, “I’ll do anything. I’ll help—I’ll be…be good. Tommy kept me alive for a reason, r—right? He could have killed me too.”

“He can’t,” Joel tells you, “my mistake for thinkin’ he could.”

You struggled against the bindings as you kick your feet, shoving the sheet away to reveal your state of undress, “He did a lot worse,” you snap at him, “you—your brother, you’re fucking monsters, no real men would do what he did.”

That has him lowering the gun just a fraction, like he’s considering it. 

The shadows of doubt flicker over his eyes, and in that moment you see your chance.

“I can help. Steal—lay low,” you attempt to convince him, helplessness thick in your voice. “You don’t gotta kill me. I’ve just been trying to survive.”

“You think I believe a word comin’ outta your mouth?” Joel says, but now it feels more like he’s trying to convince himself, “Why were you stealin’ our meds? You got some camp you were takin’ ‘em back to?”

“No,” you reply quickly, insistent, “no—it was just me. I just—I needed something, anything to get rid of this feeling that I have all the time. It’s constant panic.”

Joel seems to pause, a silent deliberation. He eyes your figure, strung up and helpless. It was worse than just killing you outright.

“Or, let me go,” you plead, hoping desperation might unearth some small fragment of mercy. “I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. I swear.”

His jaw tightens, and you think he’s about to pull the trigger. Instead, he curses under his breath and lowers the gun entirely.

“You’re pathetic,” he spits, tossing the gun aside and opening his knife to cut at your bindings, “Get up.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging your arms over yourself for some semblance of modesty, unmoving on the bed.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “I don’t trust you. You’re gonna prove yourself or die tryin’ to.”

He throws you your old pile of clothes folding on the table beside your bed, reeking up mildew.

“Get changed, now,” He demands, but doesn’t leave,

Fine. Whatever.

You shift to your knees and strip the top over your head, wincing at the throb of pain between your legs as Joel seems to freeze, spotting the mess dried on your stomach.

“You ain’t never shot a gun, have you?” Joel asks suddenly, “Killed anyone?”

You shake your head impishly.

“I’m good at being quiet, sneaking around,” you admit, aware of the way his eyes examine your breasts, the gentle curve as you pull the shirt over your head and toss it aside, “At least—I was.”

Letting you go was risky, but shooting you now seemed like a waste.

You had nothing to offer and Joel didn’t need that on his conscience.

Not that he really cared, but disposing of your body was more trouble than it was worth.

You recognize that same flicker of greed in Joel’s eyes that was prevalent in Tommy’s.

For Joel, it was more subdued and brought out by the sight that his brother had already staked a claim over you when he shouldn’t have, leaving Joel to clean up his mess.

He really didn’t appreciate that.

Luckily, Joel knew just how to fuck with Tommy; stealing his favorite toy.

He steps closer, a dangerous grin spreading across his face as you freeze, pausing your movements as you sit stripped down to your underwear before him.

“Didn’t even clean ya up, did he?” Joel mocks using the barrel of his revolver to motion at your chest, growing increasingly irritated at the situation before him.

“No, he didn’t,” you admit sheepishly, watching Joel’s free hand disappear behind your head until he could tip your neck back, exposing your bare chest as he gathered saliva in his mouth to dribble the spit over your chest.

You hated to admit it, but you were pliant.

Like putty in his hands.

“Clean it up,” he demanded.

Your eyes searched for mercy that would never come before dropping to your chest, the glistening mess trickling down to the waistband of your underwear. You stare back up at him nervously, but his face is stoic, unwavering.

You clear your throat softly and trial your fingers through the spit and drag it back up your chest, cleaning away the mess that Tommy had left, using the dirtied shirt to wipe yourself clean.

Before you can muster a response, he’s shoving two fingers past your lips, pressing against the back of your throat so hard that you choke, “He use this too?”

You shake your head impishly, lashes fluttering as he presses his fingers down against your tongue, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion. You sputter around his digits, tasting him and the salt of his palm.

Leaving his fingers in your mouth, he pulls you up to your feet with a matching furiosity to his previous actions that has you paw at his wrist for leverage, eventually releasing his fingers from your mouth with a pop and leaving you slack jawed and breathless. 

You don’t have time to recover, though, before he’s pulling his knife out and slicing clean through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Joel,” it’s a moan this time, breathless. 

He ignores you.

“Gonna show you what a real man does,” Joel says ominously.  

His rough hands push you to the floor, knees hitting the wood with a painful thud as they knock against each other.

“I’ll let you live,” he says gruffly, his own pants unfastened until he can shove them down enough to free his cock, precome already beading at the tip and dripping down his shaft.

He’s hard—so fucking hard—and just the sight of him makes your stomach churn in anticipation and fear, made worse by the hand that grips into your hair, forcing your mouth open as he pushes past your lips with the head of his cock.

“But, it ain’t without you provin’ how much you wanna,”

You gag instantly and Joel tightens his grip against the back of your head. There’s little to no fight in you after the display of power, your breath hitching as he pulls his cock out suddenly, gasping for air before he’s guiding himself back into your mouth, a rough but steady rock of his hips as he holds your head between his palms, fearful that he could kill you like this.

A simple snap of your neck and it would be over.

You were a fool for thinking this would be an easy end for you.

But, at least Joel was upfront about his fucking intentions. 

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Joel seethes, snapping his hips twice and rough as you sputter around his cock, chin slick with your drool, “want you to remember this,”

There’s no choice other than to comply, quick and shallow breaths through your nose as Joel fucks your mouth with little care, the taste of him heady on your tongue as his cock forces down the cries in your throat.

He was making you earn this.

Making you work for the trust, freedom—your life.

He’s relentless, a predator through and through.

There was no haze keeping you compliant, only a faint throbbing at your head and the sight of a powerful man standing over you, fist in your hair as stared up the line of buttons that led to his face, a soft growl in his throat at the sight of his cock disappearing into your mouth, eyes rolling back slightly when he pressed too hard.

You knew there wasn’t much choice in the matter, but you weren’t sure how defiant you would be if things were different—it was clear that Joel and Tommy could survive, and in turn, they could keep you alive too—couldn’t they?

You nod gently to his earlier statement, focusing on him as your now free hands roam up under the fabric of his clothes and squeeze, thankful for the brief reprieve as his cock slide back toward the tip of your tongue and rests there, watching his face scrunch and contort as he comes without warning.

It’s thick spurts against your tongue that are blended with his low, guttural groans as he slowly loosens the grip on your hair and offers a low, “Know damn well what’s good for you—like that,” he notes casually.

You wipe hastily at your mouth with your open palm as your rise on shaky legs, eyeing him cautiously before he tuts with his tongue, pushing your hand away, “Ain’t done with you quite yet,”

There’s a split second where you think about making a break for it, eyeing the door with a flicker of hope, but Joel’s grip is tight and forceful, feeling the sharp tug as he pulls you into his lap, facing you toward the bar at the end of the bed, gripping it as he silently guides your hands there—for a moment, you think he’s going to tie you back up like Tommy had, but he doesn’t.

He takes a seat on the center of the mattress and shifts his jeans down and off, your back to him as he settles you between his legs, watching the discarded clothing fall to the floor as you hold your breath.

You can feel the hot press of a palm flat against your back, up your spine as it curves around your shoulder, “You’re gonna go to Tommy after I fuck you,” Joel explains, gripping his cock as he slides it between your folds and presses in slow, gasping at the thickness as it spreads you open, “and tell him how this is all mine,” his hand squeezes at your hip, guiding your back against his cock as you grip at the metal frame, feeling him shift slightly until he’s on his shins, pistoning his hips into you with fervor, “and I don’t,” thrust, a rough grunt following, “fuckin’—” you moan shakily, biting at the skin on your bicep to muffle the noise, “share.”

He’s relentless, really.

His grip is bruising, not holding back in his strength as he guides your hips down against his cock, feeling the sweat in his palms as he breathes heavily behind you.

“Maybe you were a damn blessing,” Joel says softly, maybe not even aware he’s said it aloud until he continues, “been prayin’ for one for a while,”

“I’m—” You croak, speaking weakly, “I’m not,”

“Dunno,” Joel argues, “ain’t religious either, to be honest,”

You laugh at that, though it was mostly just a soft noise that filters out of your nose as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, frustrated with how much pleasure he was bringing you despite his nature and intention, using you for whatever means he felt was necessary.

“Pussy like this,” He notes with amusement and a tinge of fondness, “goddamn miracle if you ask me.”

Then suddenly, his chest is at your back, hand wrapping around your neck as he pulls you back.

His other hand curls around the inside of your thigh, drifting close to your dripping, swollen cunt.

There isn’t much expectation in a return of pleasure until his fingers are moving against your clit in tandem with his quick thrusts, a begrudgingly welcomed touch as he groans against your shoulder, his teeth biting into the skin until you cry out.

“Difference between Tommy and I,” he states, guiding you over the edge of your orgasm as you shake, head falling back against his shoulder helplessly before he groans low, animalistic in your ear before you feel his grip tighten, hips stuttering as he came deep inside your cunt, “I claim what’s mine.”

Joel didn’t need your response—he just held you tighter, like something earned, a prize won, something no one else would touch again.

When the silence settles around you and you’ve dressed obediently under his command, the only thing stronger than his words was the way your body still remembered both of their touches.

[letternotekisses]

overwatch men react to you doing the ‘fake bj prank’ 🫦

Reinhardt pulls an almost adorably curious face when you suddenly drop to your knees in front of him, his mouth open in a small ‘o’ that soon turns into an excited grin once he catches sight of you tying up your hair. His hand instinctively comes to his belt - his cock growing stiff and heavy within moments, although his joy deflates almost instantaneously when you stand back up after ‘finding’ your ‘lost’ hairpin. He covers himself with a nearby sofa cushion and waves you off when you giggle and ask why he’s blushing.

Cassidy immediately gets comfortable, he knows the drill. Stubs out his cigar as quick as a flash and all but slams his Peacekeeper on the table beside him. It’s only when he realises you’re actually reaching for something you’d ‘dropped’ on the floor and not ripping his belt off wildly with your teeth does he stand there like an absolute melon. Don’t even ask him about it because he’ll simply lower his hat in shame and mourn over the loss of his cigar. That was Cuban. But you both know he’d forgo many more just for the chance of your perfect lips around his thick cock.

Genji is actually surprisingly hard to prank. If you try to ‘drop’ something or go to pick something up directly in front of him he’s much too quick to do it for you. Always the gentleman, but it grew almost annoying being unknowingly outsmarted by him every time. You had to get real creative with it - kneeling low and close to fiddle with the loops of his trousers gets him spluttering and looking around wildly for someone in the halls, before you pat his thigh and rise with a smile, claiming the new belt you’d got him looks so nice on. He’s adorably confused for a minute, before he mentally vowed to get you back. Although, you fear he may not get the point of the prank because you definitely had the best orgasm of your life after he was done with you. Sigh it’s the little things.

Hanzo raises a brow to you when you slide smoothly to your knees, your hands bundling your hair up until it’s tied back neatly. His back is stiffening the moment any part of you grazes his thigh and he instinctively reaches out to smooth the stray hair that escaped your grasp, the other hand settling upon the button of his waistcoat until…you’re giggling? And he sits back with a small embarrassed huff at his eagerness, a blush settling high on his sharp cheekbones. You pepper kisses all over his face to make it up to him and his fickle pride, which only makes him flush darker. He won’t stay mad for long, but similar to his brother - he’ll plan on getting even. Usually in the form of overstimulating you until you’re teary-eyed and whining or not letting you cum at all :-)

Junkrat is tittering with excitement the moment you walk into the room, let alone your little prank. As soon as you even try to get near him he’s jumping your bones and growling some nasty shit in your ear - you should have known that his insatiable nature would interfere with this. Oh well, might as well indulge him, hm? You don’t even get your dues either - as he’s too busy shimmying your trousers down your hips so he can get his daily taste of that pretty little cunt you were hiding away from him for so long.

Reaper is…not really the type of man you’d like to prank, but who says you’re any type of normal. It’s why he likes you. He won’t even let you finish your little prank because he knew what you were playing at from the start. He thumbs your head with his clawed gauntlet, a growling laugh low in his chest as his heavy cock rests on your face, pulsing hotly against your skin. Hey - you got yourself into this, but service him well enough and he’ll let you cum this time. Maybe? Who knows. He did like your attempt though! You should try and prank him more often if this is the outcome.

Lucio almost has a heart attack when you get to your knees - he had a concert due in ten minutes! But his cock betrays his best interest when it twitches to life and with ashamed (but not rly) delight he goes to fiddle with his trousers only to find…you were licking your thumb and wiping a smudge off of him. The poor guy actually almost beats himself up about assuming what you’re down there for until you explain to him with little giggles between kisses. You have a little something planned after his concert to cheer him up anyways.

Baptiste is like the largest gentleman at heart, so when you even dare squat down to even try and prank him he’s manhandling you so he can eat your pussy first. It gets weirdly competitive when you try to insist on it (so you can perform your epic awesome prank) so now you’re just 69ing. Wrong method right execution? You can’t really find yourself too bothered with Baptiste’s talented tongue deep in your cunt and his cock buried down your throat. Later, maybe. A man who insists his woman cums comes first is a man. Period.

Lifeweaver is too sweet about it to the point it might rot your fucking teeth out. It almost pains you to prank him because you just wanna suck the soul out of him through his dick. He doesn’t even blink when you’re ducking between his legs, or dropping things on purpose because he’ll just fucking help you pick them up. It’s almost infuriating so you instead take your frustrations out on actually blowing him instead. Niran palms your cheek with hands softer than aloe, his cock bulging your cheek as you swallow him deeper. Curse him and his magical body. You just wanna lick him all over.

Sigma is an intelligent man. You know it, he knows it, the ants on the ceiling probably fucking know it. That being said - he was convinced he’d memorised all of your mannerisms completely. So when he pushed back from his desk to greet you and you immediately dropped to your knees, bundling your hair up, he was happy to make quick work of his slacks. He is both humbled and down-crested to find it was a prank. He bundles you into his lap, murmuring nothings to you in Dutch. It’s enough to convince you to make it up to him - to warm his long cock with your perfect cunt while he works. Perfect. Try not to squirm…too much.

Roadhog yeah that ain’t gonna work on him. Not only does he have a sixth sense for when you (or Rat) are up to mischief, he also knows that you know he much prefers your sweet little pussy to your mouth. He thinks it’s worthy of a little punishment. Nothing too big, just something to keep you walking funny for a few days. (Good luck.)

Ramattra is very much accustomed to your human oddities by now, he’s grown tolerant of you (dare I say fond) enough to be unbothered by whatever you do. Treat him like a giant climbing frame for all he cares, you couldn’t make a dent. He knows exactly what you’re up to, and only when you’re whining for a scrap of his attention does he give it to you. Poor, sweet little human, begging for him? He’ll give you exactly what you crave, but you must remember that you asked for this when the silicone of his cock is buried impossibly deep in your tiny cunt, his cold, metal fingers splayed across the small of your back as he tuts down at you. Squirm all you want, Ramattra insists on taking his time with you.

Mauga won’t let you get off that easy either. He watches you go down with a grin that could rival the sharks back at Samoa. Watching you come back up has that smile dropping and an almost evilly mischievous glint appear in his eyes that has your panties just a tiny bit wet. In retrospect it was a good idea to prank him. In truth, when he has his fat, veiny cock buried down your throat and his meaty fingers deep inside of your cunt? It was a great idea. 10/10. In fact you should do it again.

Doomfist knows something is up the moment you tie your hair up because usually he just holds it back for you while he fucks your fac—oh. He quirks a brow at your giggles, but it’s not long until you’re quickly silenced. He soon has you riding his thigh with an intense desperation in your eyes as he thumbs your lip, cooing mockingly at the wet spot on his expensive suit trousers from where he’d kept you there so long. You cum when he thinks you’ve made it up to him, which might be a while, considering how much Akande seemed to be enjoying it, his chest reverberating with every pleased rumble. You’d think twice again next time about pranking the leader of Talon. (Probably…not.)

Also, PSA, if you don’t like my work, block me! Please don’t be negative and leave hate where it’s not needed.

[multicohn]

summary: the rookies notice that their partner is missing from an important race and immediately thinks the worst

warnings: this took me DAYS to do 💀 some might be longer than others but keep in mind that i do like all the rookies and some were just easier to write for — ooc? since i don't know them that well, some might have similar situations but i tried to not have them as the same scenario — missing or misspelled words maybe? i might have missed it cause this is quite long — drivers wanting to die / thinking their s/o died ( jokingly ) — death jokes in general — just the rookies being dramatic and thinking the worse

pairing(s): gn! reader x jack doohan, gn! reader x isack hadjar, gn! reader x ollie bearman, gn! reader x kimi antonelli, gn! reader x gabriel bortoleto ( all written separately )

genre: fluff, dramtic drivers, established relationships

author note: lawson and alonso are not included

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

jack doohan - australian grand prix

the first race of the season would be in jack’s home country. he felt excited, but also very nervous. jack wanted to prove that he deserves to be a main driver and that he can pull in results. sure, it’s only the first race, but if he doesn’t prove that he deserved that seat, he’ll be dropped quick.

jack bit his nails as he stood in the garage. he made it into the second round of qualifying, but was easily knocked down the longer it went.

was he upset? yes, but y/n made him see that it wasn't his fault.

now, however, jack hasn't seen y/n since that morning.

he's aware that they're most likely with pierre's girlfriend, kika, but they haven't answered any of his texts either. pierre wasn't worried, use to kika not coming until a few minutes before he had get in the car or she just came and go.

jack wasn't use to it though. y/n normally popped in to see him or at least texted him back.

did their phone die? break? is franco trying to steal them before stealing his seat? ARE THEY BEING THREATENED BY ESHAY'S?

"jack"

nevermind.

“y/n!” jack shouted in relief as they walked towards him

“sorry” they quickly kissed his cheek as kika walked away to do the same with pierre

“kika’s heel broke so we had to go get her a new pair of shoes and my phone went flat”

jack breathed out a sigh of relief before engulfing their partner in a hug.

"i thought i was going to die" y/n rolled their eyes

"i've always made it on time”

“yeah, well, i thought franco was trying something or that you were being threatened by an eshay” y/n nodded while trying not to laugh at the thought of jack thinking an eshay was trying to have a go at them

“i’ll make sure to remember to bring my portable” jack pouted at their words

“no. you’re not allowed to leave me at all on race days”

“what if i need to go toilet?"

"i'll stand outside"

"you can not be serious..."

jack placed his hands on their shoulders and stared right into their eyes.

"dead serious" y/n scoffed and started swatting him away.

"get in the car!"

"you haven't given me a good luck kiss yet!"

"you aren't getting one!"

"oh so you want me to crash?"

"jack!"

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

isack hadjar - japanese grand prix

the sound of someone texting him made isack momentarily snap out of his trance and look down. a smile creeped onto his face as the familiar contact name of his partner sat at the top, but it slowly washed off his face as he read through their messages.

loml <3: baby im here!

loml <3: there’s lots of people

loml <3: they have ( favourite food )!

loml <3: hey so…

loml <3: i think im lost.

they hadn't been at the previous races due to conflicts with their own personal schedule, but had reassured him that they would be able to make it for this race and would be by his side for bahrain as well. isack had cheered when they revealed the news after friday's practice sessions ended.

y/n had landed a few hours ago, but isack was already making his way to the track when they did ( he had been dragged and strapped into the car by his manager because isack tried to run off to the airport ).

“isack?” his trainer knocked on the door and called out to him before opening it

“you good, mate?” isack only stared at his phone, his race suit still hanging around his waist

isack took a deep breath in and spun around.

his trainer blinked as he brushed past him, determination obvious. however, isack was walking away from the garage.

"wha — isack?! that's the wrong way!"

"no it isn't!"

the trainer quickly caught up to him and grabbed hold of isack's shoulder. the driver turned around, his determination had slipped and fear seemed to have consumed isack.

“what’s wrong?”

“my partner got lost"

"oh, well..." his trainer had no clue on how to comfort the driver who was trying to pull himself away

"at least they're here?" isack whipped around so fast that it startled his trainer

"that doesn't matter! they aren't with me! i can't race knowing they're not here waiting for me! what if they fell into a ditch and died or something!?"

he watched as his trainer opened his mouth to reply, but it fell on deaf ears as isack caught sight of y/n. he sprinted towards the garage, leaving his baffled trainer.

"y/n!" they didn't even have a chance to turn around before they felt isack crashing into their back, his arms tightly secured around them.

"i thought you fell into a ditch and died or something" y/n turned their head to stare at isack with an offended expression

"why was that your first thought?" isack didn't answer and continued to squeeze them tightly

( his trainer literally had to pull and carry him away from y/n so that he would get in the car )

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ollie bearman - british grand prix

despite their relationship still being relatively new, ollie found himself having "withdrawals" as kimi called it. he felt weird and itchy when y/n wasn’t by his side, but when they were ollie would just aimlessly follow them around. fans thought it was cute and started comparing him to a dog more than a bear.

however, ollie received devasting news on the day of the british grand prix.

they would be late.

ollie thought then and there that he should just die.

the young driver arrived at the paddock with sadness beneath his fake smile. he raced towards the garage, only gave short answers to those who questioned him about something or rushing through with signing something, barely having time for pictures. ollie didn't meant to come off as rude, but he really just wanted to curl up in his drivers room and wait for them, but he couldn't.

esteban who was hit with a sense of boredom wondered why he couldn't hear his teammate's usual chatter and when he peeked around the corner, all he saw is a pouting ollie.

"ollie? what's wrong?"

he mumbled an answer, but due to all the noise, esteban didn't hear a thing.

"what?" ollie huffed as he leaned closer to hear

"my partner isn't here"

he crossed his arms with an irritated expression while esteban glanced over at ollie's team who were all collectively ignoring the upset driver.

"they told me they were going to be late, but i didn't think it would be this late! what if they got into a car accident?!" he only had a few more minutes to spare before they would start forcing him into the car

esteban only nodded along as ollie continued to think the worse — he's certain he heard something about an alien abduction. the younger driver didn't even notice that his teammate had left halfway through until he spun around to see a tired looking y/n just walking in.

if ollie was a dog, his ears would’ve perked up and tail would be wagging.

“y/n!” he cheered before jumping them

thankfully, ollie had enough strength as to not let them fall over.

“ollie, you’re heavy, i can't breathe”

"you wouldn't be talking if you couldn't breathe" they groaned lightly as he pressed their bodies together

“why are you so late?”

“traffic”

“you should’ve ran” y/n scoffed

“yeah, don’t think so” ollie lifted his head from their ( neck / shoulder / chest — depends on height )

“do you… not love me enough?” his eyes widened at the thought while y/n stared silently at him, but that just made ollie grow even more nervous

“why aren’t you saying anything? do not love me anymore?!”

“ollie. get in the damn car”

“and now you’re trying to get rid of me?! y/n, i will cry”

“i don’t think your team will let me near you if you do”

“i’ll kill myself”

“ollie!”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

kimi antonelli - italian grand prix

kimi dislikes the word “possessive”. he isn’t possessive, he just doesn’t trust anyone around partner so they should stay by his side until he’s in the car and then stay beside someone he trusts while he races. that person was george’s girlfriend — carmen, but kimi’s hasn’t been liking her recently since she always stole them away.

y/n is HIS partner. how dare she keep them away from him.

carmen would pop up out of nowhere and take y/n away while george held him back from chasing them down. his partner would be returned before he had to get in the car, but that didn't matter to kimi, y/n should be with him the entire time unless they aren't allowed ( like meetings, but he was able to convince toto to let them in ).

kimi impatiently tapped his foot while george hummed to himself. he didn't speak, but kimi knew the older man was amused by the situation. would it be bad if he took george out right now? toto does favour him and valtteri is here, so it should be fine, right?

an evil glint sparkled in kimi's eyes that george was unaware of since his back was now turned.

"it's his fault for letting his girlfriend take away my partner" kimi nodded to himself as he glared at the taller man

however, he never got to initiate his plan.

"kimi"

"my purpose in life has been restored"

he sprinted towards his partner and snatched them away from carmen ( yes, kimi did glare at her, but she only laughed before going to george ).

“i hate when she does that” he scoffed before wrapping them in a tight squeeze

y/n wondered if their boyfriend was a snake in his past life by the way he hugged them.

“we just lost track of time” they managed to say, but kimi wasn’t having any of it

“you were almost late. i’m going to tie us together whenever she comes”

“you still have ten minutes”

“it would’ve been a hour, but noooo” y/n laughed and kimi finally loosened his hold on them

“sorry, sorry, i know important this race is to you” they threaded their fingers through his hair before pressing a quick kiss to kimi’s cheek

“is that all?”

“you got to put the rest of your stuff on”

“i’ll put it on when you kiss me properly”

“everyone’s looking…”

“y/n. i will not get into that car unless you kiss me”

they felt toto turn towards them and they cursed kimi quietly before pressing their lips to his.

kimi smiled happily and skipped off to put on the rest of his race gear.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

gabriel bortoleto - brazilian grand prix

this particular race weekend had been a huge deal for gabi and y/n is well aware of it. the driver felt bad about not being able to spend much time with their partner, but y/n understood and was able to keep themselves entertained without gabi.

“where are they?” he tapped his foot impatiently while staring at the empty hallway

practice and qualifying has gone well, the crowd went absolutely wild when he managed to push the car to p6, but then a few other drivers managed to get better times and that knocked him down to p10. gabi wasn’t upset about that though, what he is upset about is how his partner has seemingly disappeared the moment they arrived at the track.

sure, gabi does blame himself since he was instantly swept up with journalists and fans that seemed to increase every time someone left. y/n had given him a quick kiss before making their way to the sauber hospitality. gabi didn’t get to check in on them, at least physically, since he had a meeting and other duties to attend to before changing into his race suit. gabi didn’t think anything of it; they might have gone to get food or needed the bathroom.

but, this long? something must have happened.

he didn’t want to think the worst, but he couldn’t help it.

“how likely do you think someone here would be a kidnapper?” nico slowly turned towards gabi who stared at the wall, no thoughts seemingly behind the younger driver’s eyes

“what?” gabi blinked

“nothing” he tried to brush it off, but nico wasn’t having it

gabi sighed and started explain.

��maybe they ate something bad? or lost track of time?”

yeah, that seemed more reasonable than them being lured away and stuffed into a random van.

gabi thanked nico before wondering off back to his side of the garage.

"it's fine. maybe they did eat something bad or didn't realise how close the start time is — it's happened before..." he sighed and crossed his arms before closing his eyes

gabi drowned out the noise and envisioned himself on the track. it calmed his mind, but only slightly.

he didn't know much time had passed since he entered his own head, but gabi instantly recongised y/n the moment they were close enough. they always wear a certain ( perfume / cologne / spray, etc ) that gabi is all too familiar with, it helped that y/n is the only person he knows to wear it.

their arms wrapped around his ( waist / mid-section / shoulders ) and gabi opened his eyes and turned around.

"where were you?"

"i think i ate something weird"

a sigh slipped past his lips while his shoulders sunk in relief.

"at least weren't lured to a van and almost kidnapped"

"what?" gabi shook his head

"don't worry about it"

he pressed a soft kiss to their ( neck / cheek / forehead ) before walking away to grab his helmet. y/n stared at their boyfriend's back, confusion washing over them as they replied his words in their head.

"by the way..." with his helmet now in his hands, gabi walked back over to stand in front of them

"i'm going to handcuff us together if you leave like that again"

"gabi —" he cut them off with a kiss on the lips before quickly making his way to his car while putting on his helmet

y/n only sighed and rubbed their forehead.

[millers-girl555]

i love a miller man and his belly

[eloquentlytired]

18+ NSFW. MDNI.

dreamlike — tommy miller x fem reader

warnings: slightly dark content, dark!tommy, smut, unspecified age gap but reader is over 22+, masturbation, handjob, cheating, tommy’s moral compass breaks down, unclothed grinding, surprise ending, sex outdoors, tension, maria ily this isn't personal I just rlly like ur man

notes: hi guys it's been 100 years I'm sorry ily + take this bc im ovulating 😎 tommy miller suddenly making me feel things bc of gabriel luna that's right. likes and reposts are appreciated🥹

“I don't think you've settled down quite just yet.” joel tells him one day while they're eating breakfast together. tommy glances, swallows then responds.

“I don't know what you mean.” but his eyes betray him as they return somewhere for the fifth time; at a distant specific table where you're reading some silly book again.

your food is yet to be touched while tommy’s and joel’s are nearly gone.

“tommy we're too old for this shit, you and I. you're my brother, I already know what you'll do before you even do it.” joel throws the bait and tommy bites it.

“I’m not doing anything joel except—”

“except eating Maria's food while throwing damn heart eyes at her.”

tommy hisses at joel’s truthful interruption, not so much at being interrupted but at the validation of those words.

“I’m just making sure she likes the food.” joel deadpans, tommy does the same right after because of his own words. gods, he is pathetic.

“fuck, just shoot me already.” joel shrugs at his brother's words and doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's grinning. “tell your wife, I'm sure she'll be delighted.”

tommy shakes his head and keeps on eating. he stresses over his thoughts so much that, lucky for you, he misses your piercing gaze and the bite of your lips.

he spends days trying to blame it on something other than him being a terrible person. the breakout, the virus, the living circumstances, the we need to work faster from Maria or that everyone depends on him for the hard stuff.

sure, tommy had chosen this in the first place but he doesn't even know if he wants whatever this is anymore. what does he want?

“mister miller!”

the tension leaves his shoulders as he watches you walk towards him, only wearing that favourite sundress of yours and an oversized jacket.

it's the first real summer that wyoming has felt since the outbreak. tommy only appreciates it because he's too lazy to gear up for winter.

“you’re early.” he says and finds himself smiling as you flop down beside him, sitting on the green weeds.

the snow is still melting but it doesn't make things less cold — but clearly you don't feel the cold he does.

“I helped in the kitchen so they let me off early.” you explain and tommy hums. he thinks about the past months when he'd found you during patrol, covered by the snow and nearly dead. he'd never ridden back home faster, urging for the medics to help you out and thank gods they'd done a great job. now you were here, a few months later, and trusting him more than anyone else while tommy was just a straight up bastard.

he fed you more than others, brought you new clothes that you might like and most importantly showed you his spot. that well hidden spot outside the fences which was an hour's walk away... it wasn't even special but it was spacious and quiet and a little cleaner — and suddenly he was calling it our spot instead of my spot.

for months you'd come here, chat with him and draw in your worn out notebook. the pages were running out and tommy made a mental note to find you a new one. fuck.

“what’s this?” tommy murmurs while his hand points at a very specific drawing on the left page.

he seems to pale while you just feel yourself growing hot. you'd drew him back in the cafeteria when he was looking at you, when he thought you were so unaware of his eyes but you always knew.

“I just—” you try to find the right words, or better yet the right excuse, but you can't. “I just did it.”

tommy catches on your tone as if you were afraid to receive a reaction. his reply surprises you.

“do I really look at you that way?” he asks and you nod, the strap of your dress falling off your shoulder clearly to test him.

tommy has never succeeded in any tests in his entire life.

you lay on the ground, indifferent about the weeds tangling in your hair. tommy’s face hovers over yours as he kisses you, one of his hands sneaking beneath your dress to squeeze your thigh and nothing more.

“tommy.” he swallows his own name from your lips, his lips kissing you feverishly yet the rest of his body doesn't dare move. tommy just sticks to laying beside you while his elbow achingly supports his weight.

he cannot trust himself to move, to slip between your thighs and only kiss.

the hand he's placed on your thigh earlier starts to retreat but you don't let it as you use both of your hands to capture his wrist.

“sweetheart.” tommy warns, his eyes blown wide with lust while his chest heaves up and down. he’s affected by this, feeling overwhelmingly lustful like he's young again, while also fearing the consequences of this. the aftermath of it.

for the first time you don't listen to him, pushing his hand between your thighs until his fingers come in contact with your soaked panties.

you hear him cursing beneath his breath, fuck this, as he touches you after what feels like forever.

he rubs you through your panties, his massive hand feeling the material soaking further as his thumb finds your clit. your head turns and you bury it in his chest while tommy just rubs.

his breath is hitched and he's in a far worse state than you for a different type of reasons. you drool on his shirt and throb against his fingers because you're excited, you feel good. on the other hand, tommy cups and fondles your pussy possessively while stressing over the limits. he can't do more than this — he shouldn't.

“can I touch your cock?” you whisper almost too shyly and tommy wishes joel would have just shot him when he had asked the first time.

your hand unzips his trousers and takes out his cock because tommy has obviously agreed, because it's your fault for looking at him with those sparkling eyes.

your foreheads collide as tommy touches you and you touch him.

his fingers eventually sneak beneath your panties because he wants it to be fair, you're touching his bare cock so he's entitled to your pussy right?— or maybe he really is just an asshole deep down.

nothing like the tommy that maria loves, nothing like the tommy that everybody respects. no, once again he's the tommy miller that only joel knows.

your fingers circle around his cock, feeling it at first, before caressing every inch of skin you can get. your eyes are on tommy’s as your foreheads keep touching and a soft smile occupies your face while you stroke his cock.

you're smiling and touching his dick and tommy likes it too much.

“you need a new notebook, don't you?” tommy asks through gritted as your fingers squeeze around his hard cock. because it's definitely the right time for conversations.

you nod, mouth slightly agape as his fingers circle your swollen clit and then dip between your lips, feeling you dripping.

“anything else?” he asks too softly while his nose brushes against yours, offering some intimacy that isn't just sexual.

“pencils?” you don't order him or demand. you ask because you care and tommy likes that you care in that way. it's always only if it's okay with you and that's exactly how he needs it.

“notebooks.. pencils.. whatever you say, it'll happen.” he slaps your pussy, not too hard, and you whimper.

you can feel your nipples hardening beneath your dress while your pussy simply leaks for tommy miller. your legs shift and you spread them.

tommy sways his hips, fucks his cock into your tight but soft fist and curses.

the summer breeze carries your soft whimpers and tommy’s gentle grunts. your hand strokes him a little faster as your thumb purposely brushes against his sensitive slit and you don't fail to notice the way tommy’s hips twitch when you do it.

the front of his shirt is a mix of your drying drool and his sweat but it doesn't bother him. his solid focus is to fuck your small fist and, of course, to pleasure you which is his first priority.

tommy can handle you, his middle finger circling your wet entrance slowly before he pushes in, the slide smoother than he'd expected. he adds a second finger minutes later, then a third.

you stroke his cock as he thrusts his fingers inside your pussy and for a while nothing else really matters.

the squelching of your cunt is loud and tommy curls his fingers inside you, reaching a place that makes you see stars. “tommy!” you gasp in that angelic voice and he goes a little crazy, fingers digging into your sweet spot as he becomes a little desperate with his thrusts.

your lower tummy shudders with delight and your thighs flex as his fingers thrust into your tight pussy recklessly, poking at those sensitive nerves every damn time.

tommy thinks you warn him about your orgasm but he's also not sure as he's too busy watching your face and your pussy reacting simultaneously. your eyebrows furrow and your mouth forms a small ‘O’ as your walls are suddenly gripping his fingers too tight, too deep.

you cum with a shuddering moan of his name and coat his fingers generously, becoming a spectacle. you squirt for him, because of him, and he'd draw out more if it wasn't for time running away from you two.

tommy seems confused when you push his hand away but then everything happens so fast. he can't stop it, he swears.

he watches as you roll to your side, your chest brushing against his, and slip his cock between your thighs. tommy can't breath when his entire girth slides between your pussy lips, soaking through, until his tip kisses your clit.

“no sweetheart—” tommy warns weakly but you're already moving, swaying. his cock is wet with your juices as it slides against your pussy, harder than ever, and he is utterly defeated.

“please cum on my pussy.” you mumble against his lips and he kisses you otherwise he might do worse. he satiates himself with this situation, sucking your bottom lip while thrusting his hips upwards and taking half of what he wants. something he doesn't deserve.

his balls swell and then clench as he orgasms, lowering his hips a little to cum on your pussy. he fulfils his promise, painting the surface white with his cum before resting his forehead on yours again. spent.

it's quiet for a long time as his arms remain lazily wrapped around your body. you melt against him, into him, and you two do your best to catch your breath.

when he looks at you again, the sun is setting right behind you and making you look surreal. you're like a dream while tommy is just there with a stupid smile on his face and half indecent because of what you've done.

then suddenly he doesn't feel real, his body is all too light before it gets incredibly heavy.

he hears his name being called out repeatedly tommy tommy tommy and he jumps, looking around with sweat dripping down his back.

maria stands over him as he lays on the couch because he's home — not outside the fence. not with you.

“I told you to cut day drinking with joel. he's bringing back old habits.” his wife tells him, pressing a kiss on his forehead before walking away.

tommy rises and stumbles to the window. the snow is still there, white and thick, while the red calendar on the wall reads December 25 like it's a fucking joke. like he'd never met you secretly in the spot that belongs to you and him.

reality hits hard as you pass by his house, that familiar notebook resting against your chest as you hug it preciously. you look at him instinctively, as if feeling his burning gaze, and you smile.

“merry christmas, mister miller!” you yell cheerfully and tommy nods, forcing his best smile.

miracles can only go so far and in the end, tommy can be content with just dreams.

[warmestsugarcookie]

i NEED more tommy miller x reader content PLEASE

[dannyriccsystem]

Hihi I don’t want to overwhelm you but I was wondering if you could do texts with rookies after they said i love you for the first and the reader says bye and it’s just fluffy fhhfhs

THEY DON’T LOVE YOU LIKE I LOVE YOU

FORMULA ONE ROOKIES X READER TEXTS

SUMMARY: F1 Rookies tell you they love you for the first time!

WARNINGS: Fluff :), men yearning

FEATURING: GB5, IH6, JD7, KA12, LL30, OB87

The Hadjar propaganda is spreading to me. Sorry for lack of real updates today! I had some tests and a project to work on… 😒

GABRIEL BORTOLETO - GB5

—

ISACK HADJAR - IH6

—

JACK DOOHAN - JD7

—

KIMI ANTONELLI - KA12

—

LIAM LAWSON - LL30

—

OLIVER BEARMAN - OB87

[pearlessance]

Three's A Crowd

Tommy Miller x f!reader x Joel Miller

Summary: Tommy's new girlfriend is awfully sweet. When Joel finds out she's got a big appetite that only he can fill, he decides to satisfy the craving. Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, threesome, praise, seduction, age gap(20yrs), size difference, oral sex galore, unprotected sex, photos taken during intercourse, mention of sending nudes, throat bulge, usual smut antics NOTE: i'm not sure if this is actually any good considering it was writen in just a matter of days because i was inspired by the new promo, gabriel luna the man that you are 😵‍💫😵‍💫 !! MASTERLIST [crossposted to AO3]

 Joel Miller knows his brother like the back of his hand. 

Which is why it’s not surprising when Tommy lets him in on the details about his secret new girlfriend. Secret—because you’re the daughter of their most consistent client. 

At first, Joel tells him how stupid it is to risk the company like that. It’s irresponsible to put on the line their biggest cash cow just to fuck around with the only daughter of the man that funds Miller Contracting through the winter. And then there’s the fact that you don't exactly fit Tommy’s type.

A rich girl with an even richer daddy compared to all those wild girls from Tommy’s previous female fixations? It doesn’t line up. It makes no sense in Joel’s head. 

Even as his brother tries to explain, “I didn’t go after her. Not at first. She came onto me.”

Joel’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the other propped on the open window of his truck as they drive home from a particularly exhausting day. He furrows his brows and asks, “Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious? You sure she actually likes you and isn’t just tryin’ to get her daddy’s attention?”

Tommy snorts. “Even if she was, I wouldn't care. You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?”

“Jesus Christ—”

“An’ I mean love, Joel. Not like. Love.” There are stars in his eyes and he knows it’s a serious matter but Joel can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

He thinks it must be high praise coming from his brother who goes home with a different girl every other weekend. “That good, huh?”

“Better than good.” 

And he knows Tommy’s got a one-track mind, so there’s really no use fighting it. So he just says, “Be careful. Don’t go gettin’ caught 'cause the business will pay the price.”

Tommy agrees and Joel lets it go. Doesn’t think about it again, even when Tommy cancels their plans to go out that weekend in favor of your company.

Well, not until he’s standing in your kitchen going over blueprints with your father, that is. 

Joel tries not to glance out of the floor-length windows in the kitchen to the backyard. He tries not to look at the movement in the pool that repeatedly catches his eye. And he tries, really fucking hard, not to allow his attention to linger on the way that white bikini rests so snugly against your chest, or the way your wet hair cascades down your back and sticks to your smooth skin, or the way his cock twitches in his jeans when the impressive swell your ass shakes as you pull yourself up and out of the pool.

He understands his brother a little better when he sees you, Joel thinks. Understands why he’s willing to risk such a high-profit opportunity for the chance to see you underneath him. 

Your father leaves the kitchen to find an old set of blueprints to compare to the new ones, and Joel begins to panic as he realizes this is the moment you decide you’re done swimming. 

When you open the door to the kitchen the hinges creak. Joel takes note of it. 

Water drips onto the white tile floor, the same quick rhythm as the thumping of his heart against his sternum. You cross the kitchen and open the fridge door without even looking at him. 

But Joel certainly looks at you. Can’t help but to, really. You’re like some decadent display as you break the seal of an icy bottle of water and begin to take long, slow drinks from it. Your lips are plush and swollen and Tommy’s words reverberate in the back of Joel’s head. 

You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?

“Thirsty?”

He nearly chokes. Joel knows you’re likely just being hospitable. Kind, even. But he feels like he shouldn’t be speaking to you, not when you’re close to naked and dripping wet. And if not because of your father upstairs, then certainly because of his brother’s affinity for you. So, despite the way his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth, he says, “No, thanks.”

Joel turns his eyes back to his blueprints, folding the corner once, twice, trying to focus on anything but the weight of your stare.

If you notice his unease you ignore it as you slide up to the counter beside him and peer down at the layout of your father’s newest home renovation. You’re so close he can feel the heat of your skin, can smell the chlorine in your hair. “Hm,” you say. “This is for the guest room?”

“Bedroom D,” he corrects.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You turn away from the blueprints, spine resting against the marble countertop in favor of studying him instead. “You’re Joel, right? Tommy’s older brother?”

There’s no sense in lying, Joel thinks. Though he does consider it for a moment. “Uh…yeah,” he says. And then he clears his throat and nods, repeating a little more firmly, “Yeah.”

Your stare is so hot against his skin, eyes unabashedly roaming down the column of his neck. He shivers as your attention lingers on the small sliver of his chest that’s revealed thanks to his decision this morning to leave one of the buttons on his flannel unsecured. You’re standing so close to him now that a drop of chlorinated water falls from the ends of your hair and onto his arm.

Joel feels the cool liquid slide down his too warm-skin, melting as if it were ice, heating to the temperature of his blood that sings in his veins beneath your scrutinization.

He watches your tongue slide over your pretty bottom lip and his breath catches in his lungs. “Hm,” you say again, the sound a little fonder this time. “I see where he gets his good looks from.”

It’s been a long time since someone flirted with him so openly. Even longer since someone your age even took a second glance at him. And even though he knows, by the rule of his own morality, that you belong to his little brother…Joel can’t deny the giddy feeling it elicits in his chest. Can’t deny that he likes your attention, either.

“Found them,” your father suddenly says, bounding down the stairs with folded blueprints in his hand. 

Joel clears his throat and you take a small step away from him, but otherwise seem unphased by the intrusion. He tries to ignore the lingering buzzing beneath his skin, tries to shake off what remains of the electrified energy you’d created.

You greet your dad with a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’re going out tonight. Your father asks with who, and you glance past him, staring only at Joel as you say simply, “Just a friend.”

And he knows you’ll likely be at his little brother’s apartment within the hour. Thinks about preparing himself for yet another of Tommy’s cancellations of guy’s night but this time there’s no frustration on Joel’s part. 

Because he doesn’t blame his brother at all. If anything, he understands a little better now. Understands why getting drunk with Joel at a bar is a far less tempting activity than spreading those pretty thighs of yours. Understands why he’d rather stay home than go out, especially if you’re there in his bedroom on your knees for him. 

His assumption is confirmed later that night when he gets a text message.

Tommy: Have to cancel again. Sorry, something came up.

Joel knows exactly what ‘came up’ and decides to put on an old western movie to distract himself instead.

But when he lays in bed that night, the image of you in your bikini surfaces in his brain and makes a home there. He tries for an hour to get himself to relax enough to shut it out, to just go to sleep.

Eventually, though, he realizes there’s no fucking point in trying. And even though you’re in his brother’s bed and your father’s blueprints are sitting on the kitchen table downstairs, Joel Miller takes his cock in his hand and has the best orgasm of his life. He thinks about your smooth skin and supple curves, thinks about the way that single droplet of water felt against his skin, thinks about your pink tongue and the way you looked at him with such insatiable hunger.

It’s a secret Joel decides he’ll take to his grave.

He tries not to think of you after that. Tries to keep his distance from you, from your house in general. Joel’s not a man who enjoys technology but opts for emailing your father instead of meeting with him to avoid another post-pool incident.

Tommy finally makes it to guy’s night two weeks later but he’s glued to his fucking cell phone. Joel tries to make conversation, tells him about upcoming projects and opportunities for contracts, and mentions that this summer has been their most profitable yet. But Tommy only nods every so often. Giving Joel a stupid, uninterested, “Yeah, for sure,” or “That’s great, Joel,” or “I don’t know, maybe.”

There’s no salt to his words, no meaning other than oblivious agreement. And it starts to anger Joel because Tommy’s been distracted by girls before but never like this. Never so much so that he can’t sit and have half a conversation with his brother. Eventually, he lets out an annoyed sigh and says, “If you’ve got somewhere better to be you can just fuckin’ go, Tommy. Jesus Christ.”

The irritation seems to finally get his attention. Tommy locks his cell phone and says, “She’s sending me pictures, distractin’ me, I’m sorry,” but there’s a stupid ass grin on his face and Joel can feel the insincerity radiating off his brother.

Joel rolls his eyes and waves down the bartender for the check. 

“No, no, okay,” Tommy insists, setting his phone face down on the bar top. He shoos the bartender away and says, “Okay, seriously, you’re right. I’m sorry.” It’s a little more genuine this time, and so Joel decides to meet his brother halfway.

“You really like her? S’that what this is?”

That smile returns to Tommy’s face, eyes glossing over in a mystifying way. He must, because Joel’s never seen him like this before. “We’re not even together,” he says.

Joel’s brows furrow. “What are you talking about? You spend every weekend with her, you might as well be.”

“Believe me, Joel, I’ve tried, man. She’s…I don’t know how to explain it. She doesn’t want anything serious. Doesn’t wanna be exclusive or nothin’ but isn’t fuckin’ around with anyone but me. I just…” he shakes his head and his eyes widen and Joel can see the awe in them. 

“So she’s acting like you,” Joel supplies.

It makes Tommy laugh. But the more he explains, the more Joel starts to believe it. “She’s so sweet but that girl is insatiable. Just wants to fuck and have a good time and that’s it. Doesn’t care about much else.”

“I’m not sayin’ you shouldn’t have fun, Tommy, but don’t let her consume your whole life. Get some space every once in a while,” Joel says. But he understands the infatuation, understands exactly how enticing your company would be. 

He leans in close, one hand wrapped around his whiskey glass and the other tapping the back of his phone. “Those pictures…she’s taking pictures in the shower, Joel. For me. An’ you wanna know what she just told me the other day?”

Joel knows what’s coming next. Knows Tommy’s about to clue him in on something Joel has no business knowing, but he can’t fight off his curiosity. “What?”

“Said her biggest fantasy is a threesome with two guys. Told me, and I quote, that she wants to get fucked while she’s got my dick in her mouth.” He makes a sound of disbelief but there’s this grin on his face that lets Joel know Tommy’s biggest fantasy is to be with a filthy girl like you.

Joel just shakes his head.

But the image his brother paints lingers in his brain for days.

In fact, he’s still thinking about it during his next meeting with your father. Thinking about the fact that you’re up in your room, fantasizing about getting fucked by two guys at once when your dad suddenly says, “I’ll be out of town for a couple of weeks, I hope you don’t mind I gave my little girl your phone number. Just in case anything goes wrong. It won’t, but I hate being so far away while she’s here alone. I’m sure you understand, being a father and all.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to respond, unsure how to explain how terrible an idea that is, so he says nothing. Just nods stiffly and begins discussing the renovations for the ensuite of bedroom C. 

Less than a week later, Joel gets a phone call from an unknown number, and his gut sinks because he knows it’s you. He debates on ignoring the call but then begins to worry that something’s actually wrong and puts himself in your father’s position. Thinks he’d be furious, had it been Sarah, if she’d called someone for help and they’d ignored her. 

So, he presses his cell phone to his ear and says, “Hello?”

“Joel? Hi, sorry, I know it’s kinda late. Do you think you could come over really quick? I need your help.”

“Help? With what?” It doesn’t really matter, he thinks. Because he’s already lacing up his boots, phone held to his ear with his shoulder.

“I locked myself out,” you explain. “My dad’s out of town for work and I didn’t grab my key before he left. You have a spare, don’t you? For the renovations and stuff?”

Joel can’t help but wonder where you’ve been for the last few days. Someplace you wouldn’t have needed to come home, it seems. “Uh, yeah, I do,” he says. “I’ll be there in a minute. Hang tight.”

He finds you standing on your front porch with a backpack slung over your shoulder, your phone charger in your hand, and a look of relief on your face. “Thank you so much,” you immediately say. “I swear I never forget my key but I was distracted this time.”

Joel unlocks the front door for you and lets you inside. He lingers on the threshold, saying, “No, it’s fine. No worries at all.”

“Come inside,” you insist, and he can feel the bad decision from a fucking mile away.

“Really, it’s fine. I’ll just—”

“Please,” you interrupt. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? Let me make you something to eat before you go. It’s the least I could do.”

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. But he does.

Joel nods, unable to resist you and how pretty the word please sounds in your mouth. He follows you into the kitchen, lingering at the island counter as you drop your bag onto the floor next to the stairs and immediately plug your cell phone into the extra outlet he’d placed into the backsplash per your father’s request during last winter’s renovation. You look over your shoulder at him as you open the refrigerator and ask, “You like grilled cheese?”

“Uh, yeah. I do.” He sits in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the way you move as you prepare the bread and heat up a cast iron pan. Eventually, he finds the courage to ask, “You…uh…were you at Tommy’s?”

He watches as your cheeks redden the smallest bit. But there’s no shame in your voice as you answer simply, “Yes, I was.”

“Figured you’d tire each other out eventually,” he teases.

You laugh softly, and the buttered bread sizzles as you place it into the pan. As you lay the slices of cheese on top of it you explain, “Wasn’t like that. I’m home for the weekend so Tommy can talk to you, actually.”

It surprises him to hear it, in truth. “Me? What for?”

You flush an even deeper crimson. “Uhm…I think it’s better that you hear it from him,” you say.

Joel’s mind wanders to a million places as you dig out a spatula and flip the grilled cheese. But then a terrifying thought strikes him and Joel suddenly asks, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Ew, no,” you say with a laugh. “Believe me, Joel, I like creampies just as much as the next girl but I’m not irresponsible about it.”

This time, it’s his face that warms. Joel swallows hard and sits on the barstool at the island, trying not to think about your inadvertent admission, trying not to imagine it, to imagine how fucking good it would feel to—

“Here,” you say, placing a glass plate in front of him with a perfectly crispy grilled cheese cut diagonally. He’s thankful for the distraction, thankful to convince himself the watering of his mouth is from the food in front of him and not the thought of how you would taste on his tongue.

“Thanks,” he says simply, trying to massage some of the tension from his shoulders. It had been a long day on the job site and he’ll admit to himself only that a grilled cheese and the sight of a pretty girl certainly feels like a treat.

You seem to notice his discomfort and ask, “You okay?”

He nods and takes a bite of his sandwich. It’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had and he tries to hold back his moan to no avail. When he looks over at you, you’re wearing a satisfied grin that only widens when he says around another mouthful, “This is incredible.”

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, you step up behind him and place your hands on his shoulders. Joel opens his mouth to stop you, to tell you this is wrong, inappropriate—but then you kneed your fingers into the tender muscle, and his eyes flutter closed. 

All argument leaves him as quickly as it appeared, and all he can manage to say is, “Jesus Christ.”

Your quiet giggle is the cutest thing he’s ever heard. And Joel knows he should be thinking of his brother right now, knows he should be thinking of your father, thinking about the fact that you’re just a young woman, twenty years separating the two of you…but all he can focus on is the way your hands feel on him.

They’re warm and soft but clinical in their pursuit, thumbs pressing hard into the muscle that brackets his spine. Your delicate fingers feel like heaven, bringing relief he never realized just how badly he needed.

You slowly massage down his back, pushing against the knots, working them free. When you get to his lower back, he groans when you slip your hands beneath his navy t-shirt. You’re touching him with no barrier and it steals the breath from his lungs.

Never in his life has he wanted to be touched by someone so badly. Never in his life has he enjoyed the feel of another person’s skin against his so much. Your thumbs dig into the sore muscles, working the tension out.

You lean in so close that he can feel the heat of your breath against the shell of his ear as you say, “Will you take your shirt off?”

He’s thankful you’re standing behind him, however. Because it means you can’t see the way his cock stiffens in his jeans.

The words are tempting and seductive and wrong, he knows. He looks back at you and the heat in your eyes takes him off guard. The angle has his mouth so close to yours you’re sharing the same breath.

It’s then he knows just how badly you want him. As much as he wants you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say. While you speak, your fingertips trace soft patterns into the skin of his lower back.

Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he does it anyway.

You step away from him only long enough for Joel to grip his t-shirt at the back of his collar and pull it over his head, laying it on the marble countertop.

And then you go back to your ministrations as if nothing changed; massaging the tension from his muscles, starting low and working your way back up to his shoulders this time. But it is different, Joel knows. Because he can feel the heat of your skin against his and his heart rate picks up, a different kind of tension filling him instead.

But it feels so fucking good that he doesn’t ever want you to stop.

So, he eats what remains of his grilled cheese. Lets you work the tightness from his bones, trying not to hiss in pain when you touch a particularly tender spot in the center of his back. You lighten the pressure there and begin building back up to it slowly, bringing him to heights of euphoria he’d never known existed.

When he wipes the crumbs from his hands and pushes his now empty plate away, Joel knows he should stop you. But he doesn’t, because he can no longer find a reason good enough to say the words. He lets you dote on him in a way he doesn’t deserve and soaks it up while it lasts.

And when you press a sweet, chaste kiss to the top of his spine, Joel feels the energy shift but doesn’t say anything then, either.

Because he likes the way your lips feel against his skin. Even more so than your soft hands.

You do it again, a little higher this time. You kiss the back of his neck and he shivers. He realizes you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin, because he can feel the smile on your lips as you press another wet, open-mouthed kiss to the junction of his shoulder.

Joel’s cock has never been this hard, he thinks. He’s never wanted someone so badly, has never been so incapable of making the right decision as he is at this very moment.

His breath comes fast and labored as you press yourself to him. You’re not wearing a bra beneath your oversized t-shirt, and he can feel your pebbled nipples against his back. Your hands move forward, circling his abdomen, sliding up and over his chest. He knows he should stop you now, knows this is the beginning of something he can never come back from.

But the two of you are all alone in this big empty house, and how can he deny you? He doesn’t have the strength. Not then you slide pretty, delicate fingers over his soft stomach, through the dark curls that disappear into his jeans.

Your hand is slow in its pursuit but still adamant as you palm the bulge in his jeans. Even through the thick denim, the feel of your hands on him makes him shake. He cock throbs with each gentle stroke, each small movement. “You can tell me to stop,” you tell him. “Is this okay?”

He can’t bring himself to say anything, but the moan that escapes him is answer enough. He places his hands on the edge of the counter and straightens his spine, getting a full view as you undo the button of his jeans and lower the metal zipper at an agonizingly slow pace.

And then you’re slipping a hand inside his jeans, below the elastic band of his boxers, and all thoughts eddy out of his head. He can think of nothing, nothing as you begin to stroke him. Your hands are small, barely fitting around his cock, but you make do with what you have and it’s more than enough.

You pull him out of his jeans completely, and it’s a sight to behold, seeing his cock in your pretty hands. He tries to catch his breath as you pull one of your hands away for a single moment. And when it returns, your fingers are sticky with webs of spit.

This time, when you wrap your hand around his cock, you’re able to stoke him a little easier, the added lubrication allowing for freer movement. You move slowly at first, hands grazing from base to tip.

He watches with reverence as you familiarize yourself with him. When a bead of precum forms at the tip of his cock, you use your thumb to add it to the sticky wetness already in your hands. Joel can feel the smile on your face as you continue to press desperate kisses to his spine, and he knows he won’t last long like this.

Watching you stroke him with both of your small hands, watching you take care of him like this…it’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

So he closes his eyes. Lets himself sink into the moment with you instead, listens to your pretty whimpers as you press your tits against him. He wants to reach around and slide his hand between your thighs but knows better, knows that this is already bad enough.

You tighten your hands around his cock, squeezing a little harder, and he feels his end begin to build at the base of his spine. “Fuck.”

“Does it feel good?”

He tries to breathe slowly, tries to draw it out. But you pick up your pace, stroking him a little faster, and Joel can’t stop the groan that escapes him.

“You make me so wet, Joel,” you whisper against his skin. “I think about you and touch myself sometimes, thinking about how fucking big you are, how good it would feel to have you touch me…how good you’d feel inside of me.”

Your filthy words bring him to the brink. Joel fights it, doesn’t want to finish so fast he embarrasses himself. He wants to see the look on your face, wants to fuck you right here on this kitchen counter that he built.

Joel clenches his fists instead. Stays stone still because he knows if he moves an inch he’ll be giving into these desires. Knows a single shift in position would have him pulling your shorts down your thighs and licking your pussy until he makes you cry out for God. 

But it’s not his place.

It’s not his fucking place, and you’re not his fucking girl.

So he doesn’t move.

You do, though.

Joel tries to catch his breath as you pull away from him, the absence of your touch leaving him cold and wanting. But then you’re nudging your way in front of him, in the small space between his knees and the island, and then you’re lowering yourself to the marble floor.

You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?

Slowly, you run your hands over his jean-clad thighs. You look up at him through your lashes and he feels a little like he’s being worshipped.

And when you lean forward, pretty, soft tongue licking the underside of his cock, Joel can’t keep his hands to himself. His resolve withers, and he threads his fingers through your hair but is careful not to rush you.

He lets you take your time, lets you swirl your tongue over the head, lets you taste every inch of him to your heart’s content. And when you finally take him into your mouth, cheeks hallowed out, creating a tight seal around him, Joel’s head falls back in bliss.

You savor it, relish in it, swallowing him down inch by inch. He hits the back of your throat and still you keep going, choking on him, nose pressed against the hair below his navel. With each pass, you begin to bob your head, tongue smoothing over the sensitive tip. You set an insatiable rhythm, drool sliding down your chin.

It doesn’t take him long. His hands tighten in the hair at the nape of your neck and he breaths out, “Fuck, fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-”

Your watery eyes meet his and the adoration in them sends him over the edge. Joel finishes at the back of your mouth, your fingernails digging into the meaty flesh of his thighs almost painfully, but you take everything he gives you and swallow it down.

It’s the sexiest thing he’s seen in all his life.

When he finishes, Joel strokes your hair affectionately and you smile up at him with his cock still in your mouth. It makes him laugh, and he realizes how soft and sweet this moment feels. How easy it is. How he never wants it to end.

Slowly, you sit back and begin to stand to your feet. Your lips are swollen and red and glossy, even when you wipe the spit off your chin with the back of your hand.

You cross the kitchen, grab your phone, and make your way to the staircase. “Thanks again, Joel. Can you lock up on your way out?”

He doesn’t understand how you can feel so casually about this. Doesn’t understand how you’re likely texting his brother as if Joel’s cock wasn’t just in your mouth, as if the taste of his release doesn’t linger on your tongue. 

The guilt doesn’t set in until he’s in bed that night. He can’t sleep, because he knows he has to say something to Tommy but knows, too, he’ll likely pay the price of a right hook in reparation. 

At three in the morning he sends a text to his brother; Come over in the morning. Need to talk. Important. 

Joel doesn’t sleep. He lays in bed and thinks of you, as he so often does these days. Thinks about how uncomfortable it’s going to be to tell his little brother that he indulged himself in the pretty little thing he’s been spending all of his time with. He decides he’s just going to say it outright, tell him the truth without beating around the bush, and immediately apologize for it afterward.

Because he is sorry, Joel thinks. Not sorry that he did it, but sorry that it’s hurt people in the process.

How can he come to regret the most gratifying sexual experience of his life? It’s a comfort, to hear some of Tommy’s words echo in his brain. 

We’re not even together.

She doesn’t want anything serious.

It’s like she just wants to fuck and have a good time and that’s it.

Joel hopes his brother feels a similar way. Tommy’s never once indicated he’s ever wanted to settle down with a woman, but…something sits in his gut and twists up his insides. Because as much as he wants to deny it, Joel knows this…knows you are different. What Tommy feels for you is different.

He’s drinking whiskey by ten in the morning for no reason other than to calm his nerves.

And Joel’s thankful for the liquid courage when Tommy finally pulls into the driveway at noon. He comes barrelling through Joel’s front door with a scowl on his face, and for a second Joel wonders if his brother already knows and is here thinking Joel had every intention of keeping this secret of yours.

But when he speaks, Tommy doesn’t seem angry. Just…concerned. “What’s up, man? Pretty ominous text to wake up to. Where’s Sarah? She alright?”

Joel shakes his head and raises a hand between them. “Sarah’s fine, she’s alright,” he says quickly. “Staying with a friend this weekend. Sorry, I guess I should have mentioned it wasn’t a life or death situation.” 

For Tommy, anyway.

With a slow nod, Tommy’s shoulders slump and he drops himself onto the couch. “Alright, then. That’s good. I was worried, came haulin’ ass over here.” It’s then he notices the tumbler in Joel’s hand, half filled with amber-colored liquid. “You good, Joel?”

He takes a seat next to his brother and tries to recite the speech in his head. But nothing comes out. Joel opens and closes his mouth once, twice, and then finishes off the whiskey in his glass.

Tommy’s patient, for what it’s worth. He lets Joel adjust in his seat three different times, saying nothing while he tries to find the courage he’s been building for the last twelve hours.

“I…I, uhm…I have to tell you something an’ I…” Joel shakes his head and squeezes his jaw. “Alright, look. I…did something.”

A quiet, curt sort of laugh leaves Tommy. “I know what happened last night, Joel. She already told me.”

It surprises him. Not that you told him, Joel can’t fault you for that considering he’s presently trying to do the same thing. What’s surprising is that Tommy seems relaxed about the whole situation. Relieved, even.

A million different questions surface on the tip of his tongue, but only one comes out. “What?”

“It’s alright, man,” Tommy says, laying a comforting hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“You’re not…mad? I don’t understand. I let her—”

Tommy’s mouth stretches into one of the widest smiles Joel’s ever seen on his brother’s face. “It was good, huh?”

Joel doesn’t know if saying yes is a good idea. Doesn’t know if a simple three-letter word is sufficient enough for the things you made him feel with that pretty, pink tongue of yours. 

But it seems his thoughts are written plainly on his face. “Fuck yeah, it was,” Tommy says with a laugh. “She called me right after you left her house last night. Told me everything. She makes a mean grilled cheese too, doesn’t she?”

Try as he might, Joel can’t seem to wrap his head around what’s happening. Can’t seem to process his brother’s ease, his indifference. He tries to put himself in Tommy’s place but knows that if it was his bed you slept in for the last week, Joel would be furious to learn you’d wound up on your knees for someone else.

But if that someone was Tommy? His own brother?

Maybe that’s why it’s different. Because Joel would never do something to hurt his brother intentionally. And he knows, too, that Tommy would never do it to him, either.

He trusts his brother with everything in him. There’s not another soul on the planet who knows him like Tommy does. So, surely, he knows that what you and Joel did wasn’t born of malicious intent, right?

“She’s a sweet little thing,” Tommy says quietly, as if they’re sharing a secret. “But that mouth on her is somethin’ else. She’s a talker, through and through.” There’s pride on his face as he speaks. “Said she felt real bad, runnin’ out on you like that, but she’d gotten so wet from just goin’ down on you that I could hear it through the fuckin’ phone, Joel.”

Though he tries not to, Joel begins to wonder what would have happened if you’d stayed, if you hadn’t disappeared so fast to take care of the ache that had settled between your thighs.

It would have been only fair, right? You helped him. He would have helped you.

“She wanted me to talk to you about something, anyway,” Tommy says.

He’d nearly forgotten that you’d mentioned the same thing last night in all the chaos. It piques his interest, because what on Earth could you need Tommy to ask him?

But his answer comes quickly when his brother says carefully, “You remember a couple of weeks ago when I told you what her biggest fantasy is?”

A threesome.

Joel’s standing from the couch and shaking his head before his brother gets another word out. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind, Tommy?”

“Joel, just listen—”

“Listen to what, man? You got any idea what you’re askin’ me right now?”

There’s a smirk on his face as he stares at Joel from the couch, looking just as comfortable as if they were having a normal conversation about what they should eat for dinner. “I’m askin’ you to fuck my girlfriend,” he says.

Somehow, the word girlfriend surprises Joel more than the rest. It’s the very first time he’s ever called anyone his girlfriend. “I thought you weren’t together.”

Tommy shrugs. “Call it what you will. Does it really matter?”

“Yeah, Tommy, it does matter. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for this girl. Tell me this doesn’t mean anythin’ to you, that doing somethin’ like this wouldn’t fuck it all up in a minute.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t lie to you, brother. ‘Course she means somethin’ to me. That’s why I wanna give her everything she wants. And she wants you too, Joel. Is that so bad?”

Joel sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots.

For a second, a single second, he considers it. Thinks about how any price is worth it for a single night with you, to hear the sound of your moans, to feel your warm breath against his neck again. He’d bet you sound real pretty, all filled up with him.

“Don’t trust anyone else to take care of her the way I do,” Tommy says. “No one but you.”

It’s too much. It’s way too much to ask of him.

“You’re insane, Tommy,” he says, grabbing his whiskey glass from the coffee table and escaping to the kitchen to refill it. He wishes he had something a little stronger.

He’s not surprised when his brother follows him to the kitchen. Tommy leans against the archway and says, “You can say no.”

“Good, 'cause I’m sayin’ no.”

Tommy laughs, but Joel thinks there’s no joke to be found. “Just wanted you to know the offer’s there and she’d jump at the opportunity. Y’know, if you change your mind, that is. Ask her about it, if you wanna.”

“I won’t.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, not tryin’ to push it or anything. You know how to get ahold of me.”

And then his brother retreats, leaving Joel with nothing but his whiskey and his thoughts.

Thoughts that run rampant in his brain. Filthy images of you beneath him, back arched in pleasure, pretty mouth hung open just wide enough for Tommy to slip inside.

How terrible would it be, really? Tommy might have impulsive tendencies, but he seems so sure of this. And if there’s not an ounce of jealousy in his brother, so much so that he offers you to Joel like some sort of prize…maybe there won’t be the repercussions Joel’s afraid of.

Maybe it’ll be as Tommy says. Maybe it would just be a good, safe way to give you what you want, to indulge your wildest desires. 

And it would certainly be an indulgence for him. Just feeling your hands on him had brought Joel bliss like he’d never known. He can’t imagine how much higher he’d feel if he could taste you, if he could finish deep inside of you and not at the back of your throat.

It takes twenty minutes of pacing in his kitchen and another ten of shaking the nerves from his hands before he picks up the phone and calls you.

“Hey, Joel. I was just thinking about you.”

“S’that right?”

“Mmhm. Did…did Tommy talk to you yet? He told me he was going to this morning.” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. He did.”

A strange sort of silence stretches on. He can hear your hesitance and realizes you’re just as nervous as he is. “And? What did you…what did you say?”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you he declined the offer. Not when it was a no mostly out of fear and unease. “You wanna tell me how this is gonna work?”

You snort and he can almost see the playful smirk on your face. “I think you know how it works, Joel.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, but can’t fight off the smile that climbs onto his face and makes a home there. “Brat.”

“Hm, I think I prefer the term princess.”

Joel laughs but thinks the name is real fitting. He can see why Tommy likes you so much—can understand why he wants to give you everything it is that you desire. Everything about you is so playful and carefree and innocent. You’re just so sweet. A tooth-rotting confectionary. 

“I don’t know how it’ll work,” you finally say. “I’ve never done something like this before, but I know it’s what I want.”

Your conviction is reassuring. Both you and Tommy seem certain that this is the path you want to take, no unease to be found within either of you. But it’s not the physical that worries him. It’s…everything else. “An’ what happens if it becomes something more? Sex is just sex until it isn’t.”

He can hear the smile in your words as you ask, “You worried about catching feelings for me, Joel Miller?”

“I’m bein’ serious,” he insists. “Tommy feels somethin’ for you. I know it and I think you probably do, too. I don’t want to do this and ruin what the two of you have been workin’ on.”

“You won’t ruin anything,” you insist. “And if…if things do get…complicated, then we’ll just take it day by day. No use in worrying about something that might not happen, right?”

It’s such a naive way of thinking. Joel wishes he wouldn’t have said no so quickly. Wishes, too, that you were a little different. Maybe if you weren’t so sweet, so tempting, he wouldn’t be so worried about ‘catching feelings,’ as you’d put it.

Your voice is quieter as you say, “For what it’s worth, Joel…I like you, too.”

By the end of the phone call, you manage to convince him to consider it. To genuinely give the idea a shot, to weigh all the pros and cons. You promise not to be disappointed with either decision and though he knows the whole thing has been your idea, Joel believes you.

Several days later, Joel stops by with the intent to fix the creaky hinges on the door to the pool. But the moment he steps into the kitchen, Joel forgets all about the task at hand because he can hear your moans echoing through the house.

He follows them like a moth to a flame.

The door to your father’s bedroom is wide open. And in the center of the king-sized bed, covered with gray satin sheets, is you and Tommy.

Tommy’s turned away from the door, but you’re looking right at it. Looking right at Joel, as you bounce in his brother’s lap. When your eyes connect with him, your pace only picks up, your moans only grow louder.

Joel watches, frozen in time, as you chase your release. Tommy swirls his tongue around your pebbled nipple, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. You thread your fingers through his hair and moan his name but you stare right at Joel.

He can’t breathe. Has suddenly forgotten the process of inhalation. He’s seen you in your bikini but never like this, never completely bare. You’re beautiful, Joel thinks. Beautiful in a godly way; a woman the poets write for, a woman the sculptors display in cathedrals.

You reach a hand between your bodies, circling your clit and arching your back.

The thought doesn’t even cross Joel’s mind that he should leave, that he should give the two of you some privacy. It feels right that he’s here. 

You grind yourself on Tommy’s cock and give Joel the sweetest, most innocent smile as you say, “It’s so big, you’re so deep. God, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Tommy grabs at the soft swell of your ass, lifting you just to slam you back down onto his lap. “Yeah? Gonna cum all over this dick, princess?”

I prefer the term princess.

No need to wonder why, Joel thinks.

“Mmhm, yes, yes, right there.”

“Can feel her gettin’ all messy,” Tommy says. “If I knew you’d get this wet ridin’ me in your daddy’s bed I would’ve said yes weeks ago, pretty girl.”

Joel knows the reason you’re all worked up has nothing to do with the location and everything to do with his eyes on you, but he stays silent. Stays still.

Even as he watches you fall apart on his brother's cock and soak the satin sheets beneath him. Even as Tommy does the thing that Joel’s been dreaming about every night for days, filling you up with his release. 

He doesn’t linger. He doesn’t fix the creaky hinges, either.

Joel barely makes it back to his truck before he’s reaching into his jeans to stroke his cock, right there in the driveway in broad fucking daylight.

It only takes a few quick tugs before he covers his hand in sticky ropes of cum. He tries to catch his breath, wiping the mess you’ve made of him onto his jeans and driving home ten over the limit. Before he makes it inside to shower and change, Joel sends a text message to both you and Tommy that reads; Okay. I’m in. My place. Friday night at ten.

He tries not to think about it too much. Tries to go on about his work week like normal, going through the motions of making dinner each night and taking Sarah to school every morning with Tommy in the passenger seat.

They don’t talk about it, though Joel can sometimes feel his brother staring at him a little too long as if there’s something he wants to say. But he doesn’t. They don’t bring it up until after Joel drops Sarah off at her friend’s house for another weekend-long slumber party. 

Tommy says, “I’m gonna take her out for dinner. Do you want to come with us? Could help break the ice a little. Loosen you up.”

He agrees, and instead of going home, they pick you up from your house. You’re wearing a pleated blue skirt that’s a little too short, but Joel thinks you look like something divine. Tommy helps you up into the truck, and everything starts to feel real the moment you’re sitting between them. Joel behind the wheel, Tommy on the passenger side.

You look so small in the center of the cab, surrounded by two brothers who possess nothing but longing for you. Like pretty prey caught in the clutches of two predators.

Joel has to readjust himself in his seat when you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. Sweet. “Missed you,” you say. “You look good. You both do.”

He doesn’t comment on the fact that they’re both still in their work attire; dirty blue jeans, sun-faded t-shirts, and muddy boots. He’s surprised to hear your appreciation, considering how put together you always seem to be.

But maybe that’s the appeal for you. The blue-collar archetype. Your daddy probably expects you to marry the son of one of his friends, just another rich boy.

If he could see you now…

Tommy slides his hand to the inside of your thigh and squeezes. “You hungry, princess? Let’s get you somethin’ to eat.”

As much as he hates to admit when his brother’s right, dinner works wonders for Joel’s nerves. The three of you talk the entire time; you tell Joel about your friends and the subjects you’re studying in that fancy college you got into on a full ride. It’s not the one your father wanted you to attend, but it’s the one you wanted.

Even though he knows Tommy has heard it all before, he lets you and Joel have this moment. He sits beside you and smiles at you as you speak, eyes glued to the side of your face and full of adoration. Joel realizes then that he thinks his brother might be in love with you.

He gets it. Thinks it must have been a real easy fall.

Tommy slots himself in the conversation naturally. The two of you clue Joel in on some of your inside jokes and it doesn’t feel weird at all. He doesn’t feel left out like he’d worried he might be, and he doesn’t feel jealous when you steal bites from Tommy’s plate because you steal things from Joel’s, too.

It’s easy. Nothing feels forced, no conversation out of place.

Halfway through the meal, you switch sides of the booth and sit next to Joel instead. You lay your head on his shoulder and he holds your hand beneath the table and it feels right. Tommy smiles at the two of you and carries on with his story as if the dynamic you’ve created has existed for years and not just hours.

When it’s time to go home, Joel finds that his nerves have completely vanished.

Tommy offers to drive. And he’s thankful for it because it allows him to focus on just you.

You take Joel’s hand and lay it in your lap, palm open. He shivers as you trace the lines in his hand. You ask him, “How are you feeling?”

And the answer comes to him easily. “Good,” he says. “Better.”

“Told you,” Tommy says, one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. “She’s a real good girl, Joel. Always does as she’s told.”

Even though the sun is setting below the horizon, he can see the crimson that stains your cheeks and it brings a smile to his face. “S’that right?” He takes your chin gently in his hand and forces you to look up at him. “You a real good listener, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, she is,” Tommy answers wistfully. “Why don’t you g’’head and give Joel some sugar, princess.”

You lean into Joel’s side, pressing a kiss to his jaw. It feels good just being close to you, holding you in his hands, but when you touch him, it’s something else entirely. An uncontrollable desire, an unfamiliar sort of decadence.

Joel cradles your face in his big hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone, and gently presses his lips to yours. It’s soft at first, a tender curiosity. He kisses you again, a little more heated this time, and when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip you grant him access as if it’s second nature. 

His tongue explores yours, tangling together, invading your sweet mouth. Joel thinks you taste a little like honey and a whole lot like fortuity. If you had asked him ten years ago if he’d ever imagined he’d be in this spot, tasting the inside of his brother’s girlfriend’s mouth, Joel would have said it was a delusional thought. 

Yet here he was, cock stiffening in his jeans from something as simple as a kiss. Like he’s some teenage boy, experiencing a woman for the first time.

But it is his first time experiencing you, and Joel knows that’s what makes all the difference. 

The kiss turns sloppy and desperate. And when your panting breaths turn to moans, Joel realizes Tommy’s hand on your thigh has disappeared beneath your skirt.

It surprises him, the magnitude of the moment. Joel would have thought he’d feel jealous somehow, envious that his brother’s touching you and he’s not. But there’s nothing but satisfaction to be found. Joel likes to see the dark look in your eye, likes to see your breath hitch in your throat.

He takes your legs and spreads them wide, draping your thigh over his, giving his brother more room to touch you.

“What do you think, brother? Think we should give her what she needs before we even get home?”

Your face is so close to his that your breath fans across his spit-covered lips as you say so beautifully, “Please, Joel.”

A smirk finds its way to his mouth. “You look so fuckin’ pretty when you beg, sweetheart,” he says. “S’that what you want? Hm?”

You nod frantically, eyes pleading.

“Hold your skirt up, baby,” Tommy instructs. And you do as he says without question, fabric bunching around your hips. 

Joel can’t deny the pleasure he finds in discovering you’re completely bare beneath. Even from his spot in the passenger seat, he can see how glossy your pussy is with arousal, desperate to be touched by both of them. “Oh…look at that, Tommy. She wants it bad, doesn’t she?”

“Always does, brother. Needy little thing. S’why she needs the two of us,” Tommy says. His fingers trail lazily over your slit, a teasing caress. He presses his index finger against your clit and makes a satisfied hum, a sound that comes from somewhere deep in his chest. “Can feel your heartbeat right here, princess. Tell Joel what you want.”

“I want him to touch me,” you say, a little bit breathless. “Want him to make me cum while you kiss me. You taste so good, Joel. You make me so wet.”

The words don’t sound filthy or obscene in your voice, despite how vulgar they are. Joel squeezes your jaw in his hand and delights in the way you grin when he says, “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Wanna see the look on your face when he fills you up with his fingers.”

You’re so pretty, Joel thinks. But it’s nothing compared to the way your pupils dilate as his brother stretches you open. Your lips part and Joel takes the opportunity to crush his mouth to yours, to taste the sweetness you possess. 

He drinks up your moans as Tommy sets a steady pace between your thighs. Joel grabs the back of your knee with a rough hand and spreads your legs further apart. He can hear how wet you are, can feel the goosebumps as they form down the column of your throat.

Joel pulls away from your spellbinding kiss only to catch his breath. “How’s it feel, baby? That feel good, hm? Tommy takin’ good care of you?”

“Yes, yes—mmm—fuck. His hands are so big, feel so fucking good,” you whimper. One hand is clutching Joel’s shirt, holding on for dear life, and you move the other to rest on his cock. You gently knead it over his jeans, and he wonders if you can feel just how hard he is for you.

It doesn’t take long until his brother has you trembling. Your thighs shake and a crease forms between your brows as you chase after the relief you seek.

He kisses you again, tongue brushing against yours, and when you breathe Joel’s name into his mouth he knows what you need before you even ask. 

Slowly, experimentally, Joel’s hand on your knee travels upwards. Over the soft skin of your thigh, taking it all in, savoring you—and then his fingers are circling your clit while Tommy’s are shoved deep inside of you, curved to hit the perfect spot, and you come undone within seconds. 

“Oh, God, Tommy, I—”

“I know, baby, it’s okay. Go ahead,” he says, giving you full permission. 

The words are the last thing you need to reach the full height of euphoria. You’re reduced to a trembling mess in his hands and Joel thinks this is so much better than his dreams. Better than standing in the doorway, watching you, wishing he could hold you.

“That’s it,” Joel praises. “There you go. Bein’ so good for us, sweetheart.” Wetness coats his fingers as he continues to circle your clit until your breath stutters in your chest. He kisses you hard as Tommy’s rhythm begins to slow, eventually stilling completely. 

You wince as they both pull their hands away from you at the same time, a synchronized movement. 

Tommy pulls the truck into Joel’s driveway and chuckles as he looks at you, skirt still hiked up around your hips, limbs boneless. He strokes the side of your face and kisses your hair. “You’re alright, princess. We’re just gettin’ started.”

Joel climbs out of the truck and adjusts your skirt, holding you with an arm around your waist to ensure your balance until both feet are on the ground. Tommy comes to your side and slides his hand into yours, handing Joel the keys.

While he works to unlock the front door, Joel can’t help but smile at the sound of your sweet giggles. He looks over his shoulder to see his brother kissing your neck and grabbing your ass, and the two of you look so infatuated with one another that it’s intoxicating. A magnetism he can’t help but be drawn to, a warmth he wants to embrace.

The minute you walk in the door you’ve got your hands on Joel again. You slip them beneath his t-shirt and he’s thrilled to give you what you want. He pulls it off over his head, discarding it on the back of the couch, and lets out a pleased sigh as you begin peppering wet kisses over his chest, down his sternum, fingers grabbing needily at his skin. 

Tommy stands behind you as you lower yourself to your knees between them. He runs his hands through your hair lovingly and says, “Show him what you do best, baby.”

You smile up at him and it takes Joel’s breath away. He’s never seen someone so pleased to please him, never felt this wanted in all his life. The metal of his belt buckle clinks against the button of his jeans as you undo them, pulling down his zipper in a way that’s familiar to you now.

When you pull his cock out, you wrap one hand around it and guide the tip to your mouth. He’s so hard already that he aches, but the feel of your soft tongue on him grants him ease. You lick every inch of him, an indulgent sort of torture. And then you’re swallowing him down, creating a tight seal with your plush lips.

Your mouth feels like heaven, Joel thinks.

“Look at the way she’s got her legs pressed together,” Tommy murmurs, thumb caressing your temple gently. “Gets so turned on with a dick in her mouth she just doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

“We’re gonna take care of that for you,” Joel says, cupping your jaw in his hand. He shifts it a little lower and can feel the outline of his cock through your throat as you swallow him down, gasping for air you never once ask for. “Gonna take care of everythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

Pleasure coils around his spine, a vise-like grip that threatens to end this night well before he’s ready for it.

Tommy grabs a handful of your hair and draws your head back. Strands of spit still connect you to him and drool runs down your chin. It’s the most pornographic thing he’s ever seen. Tommy laughs and says, “I know, brother. S’almost too good.”

Joel knows it should be a strange thing to hear, but it feels innate. He helps you back to your feet and pulls your shirt over your head while Tommy unzips the back of your skirt and slides it down your legs.

You turn and wrap your arms around Tommy’s neck and he lifts you up in his arms like it’s second nature. Joel supposes it is—the two of you have had a whole lot more practice together than he has. Tommy starts towards the stairs, heading towards Joel’s bedroom, but you let out a whine and reach out for him.

He can’t deny how warm it makes him feel, seeing you all wrapped up in his brother but still reaching for his hand. The smile you give him the moment he touches you makes his heart constrict in his chest. It’s such a soft, intimate moment, and Joel can think of nothing but your conversation on the phone last week.

You worried about catching feelings for me, Joel Miller?

He wasn’t a week ago. But now…? Now, he’s not so sure.

Tommy lays you down in the center of Joel’s bed and the sight of it pushes away his anxiety. You’re so beautiful with your hair splayed out behind you, an angelic sort of halo. The thought crosses his mind that you might have always been meant to exist in his bed.

It feels like second nature to crawl over you, to let his hands roam over your chest, your ribs, your hips. Joel follows each caress with a kiss, mouth following the echo of his hands. He sucks a bruise into your hip, ensuring this moment is real with physical, tangible evidence.

When he gets to the crease of your thigh, Joel sits up and spreads your legs wide. “Look at that,” he whispers. Tommy’s pulling off his worn t-shirt and working on his jeans but pauses long enough to appreciate the sight of your pussy, glossy with arousal and what remains of your first release. “She’s so fuckin’ pretty, ain’t she?”

“Yeah, she is,” Tommy agrees. “Taste’s real pretty, too.” He leans over and presses his mouth to yours, a messy, needy sort of kiss. You whimper as Tommy asks, “What d’you think, princess? Think Joel should get a taste? Hm?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. “I want it so bad, Tommy, please.”

“Want it, huh?” Joel slots himself between your thighs, his mouth an inch from where that ache resides. “Maybe we should make her wait a little longer, Tommy. Make her wait ‘til she needs it.”

“No, no, please,” you cry. You buck your hips, trying to find reprieve, but Joel’s hands on your waist hold firm. “I do, I do, I need it, Joel, please, please.”

He looks to his brother to make the decision. Tommy’s got a wicked grin on his face as he watches you writhe on Joel’s sheets. “Think you’ve been real good today. But don’t go forgettin’ your manners, princess. When Joel licks that pretty pussy of yours, you better say thank you.”

The moment he slides his tongue through your slit, your spine bends, arching off the mattress. Your shoulders slump and your breath comes fast. “Oh my god,” you moan. “Thank you, Joel, fuck.”

He tries to give you the same tentative treatment you’ve given him; tracing every inch of you with the flat of his tongue, memorizing the sweet taste, sucking your clit into his mouth. He can feel it pulse with need, and Joel understands the fever.

Your thighs clamp down around his head but Joel doesn’t mind. He just presses his mouth against you harder and flicks his tongue a little faster.

“Tommy,” you whimper. Joel looks up to see your chest heave with each shaking breath. You reach out for his brother with trembling fingers.

“I’m comin', baby,” Tommy says softly. “Don’t you worry.” The mattress dips beneath his weight as he kneels beside you. He cradles your head in his hand, supporting your neck while he eases his cock into your mouth. 

It’s the hottest thing Joel Miller has ever seen in his fucking life.

You grind yourself against his face and he supplies the friction you seek. Arousal coats his facial hair, enveloping his senses in nothing but you. Your moans, your taste, your scent—you, you you. He thinks he’ll never want it any other way but this.

Tommy guides your mouth with a hand wrapped in the tangled strands of your hair. He fucks your face and you whimper around his cock like there’s nothing else in the world that could ever compare. He smiles down at you and says, “You’re gonna make her cum, Joel. Can you feel it? Get’s real sloppy when she’s right there, right on the edge.”

Joel groans against you and focuses his mouth on your clit, giving him just enough room to slip a finger inside you to massage that sweet spot.

You stretch your arms above you and fist your hands in the sheets. When you reach the summit, Joel can feel it on his tongue, can feel your pussy tighten around his finger, can feel your thighs shake around his head.

Tommy pulls your head back, giving you a moment to breathe as another orgasm surges through you. Your moans echo in Joel’s room, the prettiest-sounding symphony he’s ever heard. “Good fuckin’ girl,” Tommy praises, just as breathless as you. “Bein’ such a good girl for us, baby.”

Joel doesn’t relent, doesn’t stop licking your clit until you’re giggling and twisting in his hands at the overstimulation. You sound so satisfied, so happy. It pleases him to see the elation on your face. When he finally pulls away, Joel snakes his arms beneath you and pulls you up to your knees. “So good,” Joel agrees. “But she’s gonna give us another one, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

All you can do is nod and it makes both brothers laugh.

“She’s usually got so much to say,” Tommy teases. “Think we’ve got her fucked dumb, brother.”

“That’s alright,” Joel whispers. “We’ll do all the thinkin’ for her, hm? Take such good care of this sweet little pussy. Turn around, baby. On your hands and knees.”

You do as he says blissfully, ass arched beautifully on display for him. Tommy maneuvers himself in front of you and you take him in your mouth on instinct. Second nature, habitual.

Joel positions himself behind you and slides the head of his cock through your slit. “This what you want, sweet girl? This what you dream of?”

Leaning back, you stroke Tommy with your hand and look up at him as you answer Joel’s question. “Yes,” you say. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw you. Knew I needed you, Joel. Knew I needed you both.”

“Three’s a crowd, princess,” Tommy says. “But I think I like this one.”

Joel’s inclined to agree. He pushes into you slowly, sighing in contentment at the gratifying tightness. You’re so wet, so warm. “Goddamn, baby,” he groans, gripping the supple flesh of your ass to keep himself tethered to earth, to keep himself grounded. 

Tommy holds your face in his hands, smoothing his cock over your lips. “Oh, she likes it, Joel,” he says. “Should see her face. Can I take a picture, baby? So Joel can see how happy you look with his dick all up in your guts? Hm?”

The words are crude but Joel can feel you tighten around him as Tommy speaks. “Mmhm,” is all you can say, sticking your tongue out to lick the underside of Tommy’s cock.

He reaches over to the nightstand where his cell phone sits. Tommy angles his phone just right, and the shutter echoes in the room as he takes his photos.

Joel pushes into you real slow. And when he’s buried to the hilt you let out a gasp and hold onto Tommy’s thigh for support, balance wavering. “It feels so fucking good,” you say.

Tommy takes a couple more photos, tries a couple of different angles. But Joel thinks no image will ever beat the one in front of him.

He watches your pussy stretch to make room for him, watches you soak his cock, desperate for it. Tilting his hips forward, Joel sets a steady pace, easily finding a rhythm that has you moaning out his name. 

Satisfied with his work, Tommy sets his phone back on the nightstand in favor of the filthy exhibit before him. He guides his cock back to your mouth, groaning at the feel of your tongue. 

Joel thrusts into you and feels that coil begin to form around the base of his spine again.

You’re moaning around Tommy’s cock and he’s smiling like there’s no place else he’d rather be. Joel understands that, too—because he thinks you’re the most perfect girl that could have ever stumbled into their lives. “S’this what you needed, princess? Needed us both, hm? Dirty little girl.”

“Our girl,” Joel muses, captivated by the way you squeeze him as he says it. He fits so perfectly inside you, like you were made for him, made for this. “Stretchin’ her out so easy, brother. Sweet little pussy’s just cryin’ for it.”

Tommy’s head falls back and his hips stutter. “Just like that, princess,” he praises gently. “Yeah, shit—gonna swallow it all like a good little girl, ain’t you?” 

You make a sound of approval at the back of your throat. Joel can see you look up at his brother, cock-drunk and starry-eyed, and he feels his chest pull tight with a strange sense of pride.

Joel slows his pace just a little, long enough for Tommy to take what he needs from you, for you to focus on just him. And then he’s breathing hard as he holds your head still, nose pressed against his navel. His shoulders draw tight and then gradually relax as he spills his release at the back of your throat. 

When Tommy pulls out of you, his cock is covered in spit and cum but you do as he says, dutifully swallowing it all up like the perfect girl you are. And you even clean any remaining mess with your tongue, licking it up with sweet reverence.

He’s close—so close it aches, but he wants you to give him another before this is other. Wants to make it worth your while, wants to know how it feels to make you cum while he’s buried deep inside you. 

You arch your back and press your cheek against the mattress, looking back at Joel from over your shoulder.

Tommy moves to your side, smoothing your hair out of your face with one hand, and then he slips the other beneath you and circles your clit with skilled, deft fingers.

The response is instantaneous. Joel can feel your pussy pulse around him, sees the strain on your face as you fight the pleasure. You say his brother's name like a prayer shrouded in ecstasy.

But Tommy just shakes his head. “Nah, princess. Ain’t up to me this time. You gotta ask Joel permission.”

He doesn’t understand at first, this almost silent communication between the two of you. But then you say, “Joel, please. Please please, I need to cum so bad, it feels too good.”

You sound so fucking pretty, begging for him like that. “Been so good…I think you’ve earned it,” he says gently. “Go ‘head, sweetheart.”

Tommy continues to circle your clit as you clench around Joel’s cock, uttering quiet praises in your ear. 

You tighten around him and Joel’s right there, right there—and then you say, “Cum with me, Joel, please. Cum with me, I wanna feel it.”

And it sends him over the edge. His name in your mouth, begging him to fill you up. He buries himself so deep inside you that there’s no telling where he ends and you begin, and it’s the best orgasm he’s ever had in his fucking life. 

You shudder beneath him and Joel leans forward, pressing his forehead to your spine. He thrusts into you until the last drop, giving you all of it, giving you everything he has to offer.

As you come down, Tommy pulls his hand from beneath you and combs his fingers through your hair. He’s got that stupid grin on his face, but Joel’s not sure he’s ever seen his brother this happy before. 

The three of you just lay there for a moment, saying nothing, unmoving, basking in the afterglow. Joel’s not quite sure how he’s meant to navigate this, not sure what he’s supposed to say or how he’s supposed to feel about the fact that the best sex he’s ever had was with his brother’s little girlfriend. 

But he does know how to take care of a woman. So, he does. Joel eases himself out of you and disappears for only long enough to find a washcloth, wet it with cool water from the bathroom sink, and grab an icy bottle of water from the fridge. 

When he returns to his bedroom, Tommy holds you in his arms while you speak to him in a hushed tone. It worries him a little, truthfully.

So when Joel sits on the side of his bed to clean the light sheen of sweat off your forehead and the mess between your legs, he asks, “Everythin’ okay?”

“Everything’s good. So, so good,” you answer easily, giving him one of those honeyed smiles.

Tommy takes the bottle of water from Joel’s hand and breaks the seal. “Drink,” he says, passing it to you. And you do, listening so obediently.

But the moment your hands are free again you say, “Joel? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he says. And he means it. Whatever it is you need, whatever it is you want, Joel wants to give to you. He’s come to understand his brother in this, too.

“Do you think you’d want to…I don’t know. Maybe we could do it again?”

He laughs. Genuinely, truly laughs, because Tommy’s been right this whole time. You’re insatiable.

But you quickly amend your words. Saying, “I mean, not…not now. But maybe…maybe I could stay? For the weekend?”

Joel finds the thought of you leaving at the end of the night an unbearable one. And he knows he’ll likely feel the same once Sunday evening rolls around, and he’s not quite sure what that means for him or you or Tommy…but maybe it’s not something he has to worry about today. 

He kisses your forehead and says, “‘Course you can, sweetheart.”

And then you’re reaching for him again, urging him beneath the sheets. You lay your head on Joel’s chest and drape your leg over Tommy’s hip, and you look so at ease, so peaceful that his heart constricts at the sight. You’re so good, so sweet, and Joel thinks he’d do anything to keep you happy.

Later, as your soft snores and shallow breaths fill the silence, Tommy playfully kicks Joel in the shin and says, “Ain’t no use tryin’ to talk yourself off the ledge, brother. Easier to just enjoy the freefall. Take it day by day.”

Joel thinks his brother might be right. Thinks that this might get complicated and messy and dangerous…but for now, for today…he’ll savor the sugary sweetness while it lasts.

[cuntiel]

Fuck those god awful flannels for taking their drip into a field and shooting it in the back of the head execution style

[jungwnies]

f1 rookies | finals season

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, isack hadjar, jack doohan, gabriel bortoleto, and liam lawson ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : the 2025 f1 rookies try to help their high school senior girlfriends with essays in subjects they’re terrible at...except for one smarty-pants.

୨ৎ : genre : comedy & fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 2061

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : no race this weekend ... unfortunate.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you sighed dramatically, forehead pressed against the cool surface of your desk, your statistics textbook open to a page that looked more like ancient runes than math.

kimi peeked into your room, hair still damp from his post-training shower. “you okay?”

“no,” you groaned. “i have to write a proof essay for stats and i don't even know what the question is asking. like. what even is a chi-square test? is it edible?”

kimi padded over, curious despite the visible fear creeping into his eyes the closer he got to the math. “show me.”

you pushed the textbook toward him like it was radioactive.

he sat beside you, peering at the assignment sheet, lips moving silently as he tried to read it.

“…it’s just numbers,” he said finally, like he was offering wisdom from the gods.

“not just numbers!” you cried. “it’s probabilities. it's… math with extra steps and suffering.”

he frowned, tilting his head. “okay. maybe… we do it like a race.”

you blinked. “a race?”

he nodded, warming up to the idea. “look — the data points are like racers. the chi-square thingy tells you if they finished where they were supposed to finish or if something weird happened. like… if max verstappen somehow finished last.”

you stared at him.

“that’s actually—” you blinked. “that’s… kind of good.”

kimi perked up immediately, straightening in his chair. “yeah?”

“yeah! like expected vs. observed outcomes.”

he grinned, proud like he just set a world record. “see? i’m a genius.”

you giggled, reaching out to ruffle his damp curls. “you’re a genius and my emotional support calculator.”

he flushed slightly, smiling as he leaned over your notes. “okay, now write that down. but make it sound smarter.”

together, you cobbled together a rough outline — him offering racing analogies every five minutes, you translating them into statistics lingo — and slowly, your essay started to take shape.

by the end of the night, you were half asleep on his shoulder, your laptop still open, and kimi was scrolling through chi-square memes on his phone like he was actually invested.

“next time,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead, “pick an easier subject. like, uh… tire pressure.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

you flopped onto your bed dramatically, clutching your crumpled list of socratic seminar questions to your chest.

ollie sat at your desk, spinning lazily in your chair, sneakers kicking the floor. "alright, hit me," he said confidently. "what’s the topic?"

"free will versus determinism," you mumbled.

the spinning stopped. "versus… what now?"

"basically if we’re actually making our own choices or if everything’s already determined by fate or whatever."

he blinked. "that’s—" he paused. spun half a turn. "that’s horrible."

"right?"

you sat up, tossing the paper at him. he caught it clumsily, holding it like it was evidence in a murder trial.

"okay," he said bravely. "let's prepare. like sparring. you ask the question. i'll answer. we'll crush it."

you grinned, feeling slightly more hopeful. "alright. first question: do humans have free will?"

he sat up straighter, nodded like a professor. "yes. obviously. i chose to have cereal for breakfast instead of toast."

you stared.

he stared back.

"expand on that," you said, trying not to laugh.

"i… woke up. thought about toast. but then thought about cereal. then chose cereal. therefore: free will," he said, counting on his fingers like he was delivering the sermon on the mount.

"that’s not exactly the level they’re expecting," you said gently.

he looked personally offended. "what do they want from me? a thesis?"

you giggled, crawling over and tapping his forehead. "less toast. more philosophy."

he groaned dramatically, throwing himself backward into the chair. "you know what? tell them life is like… racing."

you blinked. "go on."

"you think you're choosing everything — when to brake, when to turn — but a lot of it’s already decided by where you start, how good the car is, who’s around you." he shrugged. "you're choosing. but also, you’re not."

you stared at him, jaw dropping slightly.

"wait. that’s… actually brilliant."

he looked smug. "yeah. i have like… two brain cells. but they’re powerful."

you burst out laughing, shoving his chair lightly. "you're my philosophical weapon, bearman."

he grinned, reaching out to boop your nose. "go in there, say something about cereal and racing, and you’ll win life."

ʚ・isack hadjar

you sighed dramatically, slumping over your laptop. “isack. i’m going to fail biology.”

he flopped onto your bed like a ragdoll, arms spread wide. “what’s the topic?”

you pointed to your screen. “i have to write a research paper on parasitic mind control.”

he sat up immediately, looking way too excited. “like zombies?”

you nodded grimly. “fungus that takes over ants' brains. worms that control fish. it’s horrific.”

isack beamed like you just told him christmas came early. “that’s so sick.”

you gave him a look. “yeah. sick. and confusing. and complicated. and i have no idea where to start.”

he scooted closer, peering at your half-typed notes. "okay okay okay. listen. this is easy."

you raised an eyebrow. "you failed high school biology."

"details," he said, waving a hand. "first, write something dramatic. grab their attention."

you frowned. “like what?”

he grinned. "start it like: 'imagine you're walking through the jungle… and a fungus eats your brain from the inside out.'”

you blinked. "that's… actually kind of good?"

"i'm french," he said smugly. "we know drama."

you laughed, slumping against him. "okay, what about the actual science part?"

he shrugged. "google it?"

you gave him another look.

he grinned wider. "or we make it up."

"isack."

"kidding! kidding!" he said, throwing his hands up. "we'll be semi accurate."

you sighed, grabbing your textbook again. "alright, fine. help me brainstorm."

two hours later, your "brainstorm" session had devolved into him pitching increasingly insane theories about zombie ants building secret underground cities and whether or not humans were already infected without knowing it.

(you were 60% sure he wasn’t joking.)

by the end of the night, your essay actually had a strong intro, a rough outline, and a lot of isack’s terrible but weirdly inspiring ideas scribbled in the margins.

he flopped onto the bed dramatically as you typed. "you're welcome for the nobel prize."

you laughed. "you’re lucky you’re cute."

"obviously," he said, already dozing off beside you.

ʚ・jack doohan

you groaned, flopping onto your desk dramatically, your french textbook sliding dangerously close to the edge.

jack leaned over your shoulder, chewing gum casually like he wasn’t about to experience a full-blown existential crisis. "what's wrong?"

"i have to write a whole essay in french," you moaned. "about my childhood memories. and i can barely even say bonjour without crying."

he grinned. "alright, alright. let’s do it together. how hard can it be?"

you gave him a flat look. "do you even speak french?"

jack paused.

then, without missing a beat: "no. but i know how to say croissant."

you buried your face in your arms.

"okay, okay," he said, standing up dramatically. "don’t panic. i have resources."

you peeked up at him. "resources?"

he pulled out his phone, typing aggressively. "pierre gasly. we’re calling for backup."

you stared at him. "jack. you can’t just facetime pierre for my homework."

"watch me."

three rings later, pierre’s blurry, confused face appeared on screen. "mate? everything okay?"

jack grinned, tilting the phone so pierre could see you buried under a pile of french worksheets. "yeah bro, can you help my girl with her french essay? she's suffering."

pierre blinked. smirked. "of course. what’s the topic?"

"childhood memories," you mumbled from under your arm.

pierre laughed. "easy. start with quand j'étais petit(e), je… then you just lie for the next five sentences."

jack nodded like he was absorbing ancient wisdom. "got it. lie. good plan."

you giggled despite yourself, sitting up. pierre rattled off a few starter phrases, jack repeating them horribly with a thick aussie accent that made you laugh so hard you almost fell off your chair.

thirty minutes later, you had the rough beginnings of an essay — half of it thanks to pierre, half of it thanks to jack’s chaotic moral support.

when you finally hung up, jack grinned, ruffling your hair.

"see? teamwork."

you beamed at him. "you’re ridiculous."

"and you’re gonna ace it," he said confidently. "just… maybe don’t pronounce anything the way i did."

ʚ・gabriel bortoleto

you slumped dramatically against the back of your chair, spinning aimlessly as your world history textbook lay open on your desk.

gabriel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling knowingly. “homework?”

"yeah," you groaned. "i have to write a five-page essay about how the roman empire influenced modern society."

he perked up instantly. "i love the roman empire."

you blinked. "of course you do."

he jogged over, pulling up a chair like he was about to host a ted talk. "okay, first of all — aqueducts. engineering marvels. you have to mention aqueducts."

you scribbled it down obediently. "aqueducts. got it."

"and roads," he added, already starting to gesture with his hands. "they basically invented the highway system. you ever think about that? roman highways."

you nodded, typing faster.

"and then there’s the legal system!" he continued, eyes sparkling. "so much of what we use today — courts, contracts, property laws — came from roman principles."

you stared at him, slightly overwhelmed. "how do you know all this?"

he shrugged, grinning. "i read. also, tiktok sometimes. but mostly reading."

you giggled, glancing at the growing list of topics he was rattling off. "okay, but i need, like, structure."

"structure!" he clapped his hands dramatically. "introduction: why the roman empire mattered. body paragraphs: engineering, law, military, politics. conclusion: the vibes are still alive today."

you snorted. "did you just say vibes in an academic plan?"

he winked. "scholarly vibes."

you tried to focus, typing as he ranted — but soon enough he was deep-diving into random side topics like roman concrete, weird emperors, and the fact that vending machines were technically invented by ancient engineers (somehow???).

“gabriel!” you finally laughed, cutting him off mid-rant about julius caesar's calendar reforms. “stay on topic!”

he blinked innocently. “i am on topic.”

you giggled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “you're my favorite chaotic historian.”

“and you're welcome for the best essay of your life,” he said, proudly tossing your pen onto the bed.

ʚ・liam lawson

you groaned, dramatically sliding down the couch until you were nearly horizontal, a stack of history books balancing dangerously on your stomach.

liam glanced over from where he was gaming on the floor. "what's wrong now, princess?"

"i have to write an essay about the economic effects of the industrial revolution," you mumbled. "for advanced history."

he paused his game.

turned.

and gave you the most falsely confident smile you’d ever seen.

"easy," he said, tossing his controller aside. "i know all about that."

you blinked. "you do?"

"yeah," he said, nodding seriously. "the industrial revolution… that’s when people invented factories. and, uh… steam. steam was big."

you stared.

"lots of steam," he added, deadpan.

"liam."

he grinned. "okay, fine, i don’t know shit. but i am great at making things sound convincing."

you laughed, tossing a pillow at him.

he crawled over, plopping next to you, skimming your textbook like it was written in alien language. "alright, so… just say that people started making stuff faster. like, mass production. and the economy got booming. profit. money. cha-ching."

you scribbled a few notes, giggling. "you’re literally just saying capitalism noises."

"exactly!" he said proudly. "that's history, babe."

you groaned, but couldn't stop smiling. he peeked over your shoulder at your half-written paragraph.

"also mention… pollution," he said, squinting at a random heading in your book. "people were coughing and stuff. very historical."

you laughed harder, shoulders shaking. "you're the worst tutor."

"and yet, you're smiling," he teased, bumping your shoulder.

you shook your head, finishing your messy draft while he threw in random "facts" like, "probably some guy tried to steam-power a horse" and "definitely child labor, don't forget that."

when you finally set your pen down, exhausted but a little triumphant, liam wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"see? history made easy. just add steam, money, and mild suffering."

you leaned back into him, laughing. "remind me to never let you help me again."

he smirked against your hair. "you’ll come back. i’m irresistible."

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[clara-a7]

Ｆ１ ＲＯＯＫＩＥＳ ＧＲＩＤ | 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖 dnf

彡CONTAINS ; jack doohan, isack hadjar, gabriel bortoleto, ollie bearman, kimi antonelli

彡WARNINGS ; crying, crash

彡RESQUESTED? ; No~ (requests are open!)

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

A/N ; Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language, not my best writing

⤷Jack Doohan

It was a big day, Jack’s home race in Australia. You stood in his garage, watching anxiously as the race began. But not even a lap in, everything fell apart.

Jack lost control. His car spun out and slammed into the wall. The collective gasp of the crowd echoed through the air, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat hammering in your chest. A DNF. His first home race, and it ended before it even truly began.

When he finally stepped into the garage, his eyes found yours instantly. His heart was already heavy, weighed down by disappointment and frustration, but seeing the tears streaking your cheeks made it even worse. He hadn’t just let down his team, he had let down the people who loved him.

Ignoring the pit crew, the engineers, and even the team director’s piercing gaze, Jack walked straight to you. His only concern was you.

Wordlessly, he cupped your face, resting his forehead against yours. His touch was warm, grounding despite the storm raging inside him.

“Babe…” he murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his sad eyes searching yours.

You tried to blink away the tears, tried to stay strong for him. “Please don’t be sad, babe. What matters most is that you’re okay.”

Your hands found his, squeezing them gently, trying to pour every ounce of comfort you could into your touch. “Please don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m still so proud of you.”

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. “Babe… I’m so glad to have you.”

He gave you one last lingering kiss on your cheek before he was pulled away by his team, their expressions serious, their words already forming reprimands. But for just a moment, none of that mattered because in his lowest moment, he had you.

⤷Isack Hadjar

Today was supposed to be everything he had dreamed of his first Formula 1 race. After a strong qualifying session, he had placed as the best rookie on the grid. He was ready. A little nervous about the rain, but still eager to prove himself to the team.

But before he even had the chance, it all went wrong.

During the formation lap, he lost control. The car spun, slamming into the wall. Just like that, his debut ended before it even began.

Isaac entered his driver’s room, shoulders tense, avoiding the worried glances from you and his parents. Silently, he pulled off his helmet and gloves, placing them on the table beside you.

“I don’t want to talk about it…” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

You exchanged worried looks with his parents, but his mother was the first to respond.

“That’s okay, mon cœur. Take your time,” she said softly, wrapping him in a gentle hug as his father stood beside them, offering quiet support.

After a few moments, they gave him space, leaving the room so the two of you could be alone.

You hesitated before stepping closer, trying to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at you. Your heart clenched at the sight his eyes red, tears drying on his cheeks. You knew Isaac well. He wasn’t one to talk when he was hurting, and no words of reassurance would reach him right now.

So, without warning, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

At first, he didn’t react. He just stood there, tense and unresponsive. But then, as the familiar scent of your perfume surrounded him, something in him eased. His arms came around you, holding you even tighter, his chin resting on your shoulder as he exhaled shakily.

“I just want to go back to the hotel…” he whispered against your ear.

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

“Okay, love. Let’s go.”

For now, you didn’t need words just each other.

⤷Gabriel Bortoleto

His first F1 race. The atmosphere was electric, but tension weighed heavily in the air. After multiple crashes throughout the race, your hands were clammy, gripping onto the fabric of your jacket as you watched anxiously. Ten laps to go. Gabriel was holding onto P14 not where he wanted to be, but still pushing, still fighting.

Then, disaster struck.

Lap 47. He lost control in the Mouillier turn. The car snapped out from under him, skidding across the track before slamming into the wall and coming to a halt in the gravel trap. Your breath hitched. The seconds dragged as you waited for a sign any sign that he was okay. Then, finally, his voice crackled over the radio.

“I’m okay.”

Relief flooded through you, but it didn’t erase the sinking feeling in your chest. You knew how much this meant to him. His first race, and it ended like this.

By the time he finished the post-race interviews and debrief with his team, you were already waiting for him in the paddock, arms crossed tightly, trying to keep your emotions in check. A gentle pressure on your shoulder made you turn around.

Gabriel stood there, his face calm, a small reassuring smile tugging at his lips. But you could see the sadness beneath it the way his eyes lacked their usual spark, the way his shoulders sagged just slightly.

“I’m okay, don’t worry, babe,” he said softly.

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. His grip tightened just a little, like he needed something to ground him.

“I know you are,” you murmured, stepping closer. “But you don’t have to pretend with me.”

His breath wavered for a moment, his façade cracking. You lifted a hand to his face, your fingers grazing over his jaw before settling on his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a second, as if letting himself rest—just for a moment.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this…” he whispered, frustration laced in his voice.

You shook your head, your thumb brushing over his skin. “One race doesn’t define you, Gabriel. You belong here. And you’ll prove it—not just to them, but to yourself.”

He exhaled deeply, pressing his forehead against yours. “How do you always know what to say?”

You smiled softly. “Because I know you.”

A silence settled between you, but it wasn’t heavy it was comforting. Gabriel gave your hand one last squeeze before whispering, “I love you”

⤷Ollie Bearman

This was supposed to be his moment.

His first full season as an F1 driver something he had fought so hard for. After replacing a driver for two races last year, he had proved himself, shown the world that he belonged here. And now, with a seat of his own, he was determined to show them why he deserved it.

But then came the crashes.

FP1: A mistake. A miscalculation. He braked just slightly too late, his tires clipped the damp grass, and in an instant, the car slid out of his control. He hit the wall hard.

FP3: The same mistake. The same grass. The same outcome. Except this time, after hitting the first barrier, the car spun and slammed into the opposite wall.

Two crashes in one weekend.

By the time he made it back to the hospitality suite, the weight of it all came crashing down on him. He barely acknowledged the team’s reassurances, their forced smiles and murmured, “It happens, don’t worry.” He knew they were trying to ease the sting, but it didn’t matter.

When he saw you, the last bit of composure he had shattered.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he stepped toward you, his breathing uneven, his body tense with frustration and disappointment. He didn’t say anything he didn’t need to. He just reached for you, wrapping his arms around you as if holding on for dear life.

You immediately embraced him, your hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his shoulders shaking slightly as the adrenaline, the fear, the frustration all of it poured out of him.

“I messed up,” he choked out. “Twice. I—I don’t even know if I deserve to be here.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands cupping his face. His eyes were glassy, his lips trembling slightly as he tried to keep it together.

“Hey,” you murmured softly. “You do deserve to be here. One bad day doesn’t change that.”

His fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt as if afraid to let go. “I just… I don’t want to disappoint everyone.”

“You’re not a disappointment,” you assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re human. And you’re learning. No one expects perfection.”

He let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly, though you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced yet. That was okay. You would remind him as many times as he needed.

For now, you just held him, letting him take the comfort he needed. Because tomorrow was a new day, and no matter what, you would always be right there with him.

⤷Kimi Antonelli

It was his first F1 race. His dream finally realized. The youngest driver on the grid praised for his talent, adored like a younger brother by the other drivers, carrying the weight of a thousand expectations on his shoulders.

But then, the rain came.

The track was treacherous, the visibility near impossible, and in the chaos, Kimi lost control. His car spun out violently before slamming into the barriers, ending his race in heartbreak.

As soon as you heard his voice over the radio shaky but confirming he was okay you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. But relief quickly turned into urgency as you searched for him across the paddock.

You moved through the crowd, your heart pounding, until your eyes landed on a small circle of drivers gathered tightly in one spot. Their race suits, soaked from the rain, formed a protective barrier around someone. And then you saw him light brown curls damp against his forehead, his head slightly lowered as the others murmured words of reassurance.

Max was the first to notice you. With a small nod in your direction, he spoke gently, “Your girlfriend is here.”

At those words, Kimi’s head snapped up. His eyes, still clouded with disappointment and frustration, softened the moment he saw you. A small, almost hesitant smile flickered across his face before he pushed past the drivers without a second thought, heading straight for you.

Before you could even ask if he was okay, his arms were already around you tight, desperate, as if grounding himself in your presence. You felt his body tremble slightly against yours, whether from the cold or the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, you weren’t sure.

You held him just as tightly, your hands gently running over his back in slow, soothing motions. “I’m here,” you whispered against his damp race suit, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

For a moment, he just breathed.

The paddock was still noisy, the rain still falling, but in that embrace, the world seemed to slow.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly over his cold skin. “You will,” you reassured him. “This is just the beginning, Kimi. One race doesn’t define you.”

He searched your eyes, as if trying to find the belief in them for himself. And then, with a deep breath, he nodded.

Max and the others stood back, watching quietly, knowing he was in good hands.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

And with his fingers still laced tightly with yours, you led him away because no matter how tough the race, he would never have to face it alone.

[happy74827]

Butterflies

[Harvey Specter x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You know you’re screwed when you feel them fluttering in your chest {GIF Creds: jeysuso}.

WC: 717

Category: Fluff

For all my Harvey lovers out there, I made a cute fluffy quickie (I’m seeing a lot of my fics being swarmed with love so why not add to it 🤗)

『••✎••』

It happened over a bottle of bourbon. A spilled bottle, actually. But a bottle of bourbon nonetheless, and that is important to note.

You didn’t mean to spill the alcohol all over your date, but he had made some comment about how you shouldn't be wearing a dress with a plunging neckline, so you just… happened to tip the entire thing over him.

The man was furious, of course, but he left pretty quickly after that. And you were left with a mess on the floor and a waiter hovering at the side, asking if you wanted another bottle.

You told him no. You just wanted to go home.

You didn't want a new date; you didn't want to sit at this stupid table with the stupid white tablecloth, the stupid, gaudy candlesticks, or the stupid waiter with the stupid, expectant look on his face.

"Miss?"

"No, thank you," you say, a little more firmly, gathering up your things and leaving as much cash as you can on the table. If you were smart, you'd have brought an umbrella, but you're not smart, so you'll just get drenched like an idiot.

But, fortunately for you, the person calling your name knew you well enough to know you weren’t that smart.

Before a drop of water could even hit your hair, a tall, dark figure steps out in front of you and blocks the downpour. Some might consider this a gentlemanly action, but you knew the man, and he was hardly ever gentle.

"You're welcome," Harvey says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're a pain," you reply, but you're grateful for the cover.

"And you're dateless. So, I see two options: we can have dinner and a drink back at my place, or we can do dinner and a drink back at mine."

You can't help but laugh. "Did you use this on Scottie? I see why she left. That line was bad."

"You're not going to ask how I knew you were here?"

"Nope. You probably had Louis stalk me."

"Don't talk about the puppy like that."

"So you did have him stalk me!"

"I prefer the term 'make sure you were alright,'" Harvey replies, and he holds out his arm to you. "Guy was a douche. Let me buy you dessert to make up for it. And I don’t mean in the biblical sense, although that can be arranged, too, if you'd like."

"Harvey, you’re such—"

You turned to him, ready to tell him exactly what you thought of him, but the words died when you met his eyes. Those same eyes that allured you into taking his offer at Pearson Hardman. The same eyes that made you agree to work with him on the case despite your better judgment.

In a flash, you saw the whole thing: your first meeting, the cases, the laughs, the looks, the touches. And now, the moment.

When you were younger, the term butterflies had never really made sense to you. The idea of feeling them in your stomach seemed ridiculous, and yet, there you were, feeling them for the very first time.

They were all fluttering around inside of you, and all you could think was, "Oh, no."

And as if the universe had heard you, it suddenly stopped raining, and you both stood there in the middle of the street, the moon casting a warm light on your faces.

Harvey noticed it, too, and his expression softened. His usual cockiness was replaced with a gentle concern. "You okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "Yeah."

Harvey reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering a moment longer than it needed to. He gave you that signature grin and asked, "You look like a velvet cake kind of girl. Am I right?"

He was right.

Goddamnit, he was right.

And as he swaddled you in his coat to keep you warm as you both went back inside, the anger and confusion you felt earlier melted into a quiet, warm glow.

Date night had not gone according to plan, but when his lips met yours and your hands slid through his soft, brown hair, you realized that, perhaps, sometimes, it was good to deviate from the plan.

The butterflies seemed to agree.