Hii! Can You Do Something With Redbull Seb And These 46, 49, 52, 95, 4, 75? You Don't Need To Use All

slippery when wet // david malukas (kinktober day 1!)

summary: she looks so good in her halloween costume, and all he wants is to bury his head between her thighs until she screams his name. even if it is in pato’s bathroom.

prompt: semi-public sex

pairing: david malukas x female reader

warnings: bathroom sex, david has an eensie weensie little bit of a corruption kink, sting ray gets traumatized

she looked so innocent, dancing with lissie and elba, her tight white dress hugging her curves. the dress was a decent length, down to just above her knees, but in davids hungry eyes, it was downright indecent.

the trio had dressed for the occasion: a triplets costume as kiss, marry and kill appropriately. elba was kiss, lissie was kill and y/n was marry, a charming white veil falling over her hair.

david malukas was smitten, it was an open secret.

there was nothing he wanted more than to hike his girlfriends skirt up to her waist, rip her lacy panties in half and bury his head between her thighs until she cried from overstimulation.

“dude, stop undressing her with your eyes. it’s getting creepy.” pato o’ ward laughed, placing a red solo cup in front of him. “i get that you two are in love or whatever, but I do not want to hear you two having sex in the trailer before a race.”

“but it’s my good luck charm.” dave joked, finally managing to tear his eyes away from his lover “don’t worry, i wouldn’t do that to you. I respect you guys too much. sting ray on the other hand…gosh he’s fun to fuck with.”

“if you could stop being madly in love for five minutes, maybe you’d actually get something done.” pato joked, nudging his shoulder

well, how could dave get anything done when all he wanted to do was her?

he slipped behind her, resting his hands on his lovers waist before leaning down to rest his chin on the top of her head. she hummed in content, leaning into his touch, placing one hand on top of his.

lissie and elba gave them a knowing look before drifting off to find their respective partners: marcus was out on the porch with the other ganassi boys and elbas husband had long since vanished after pato sent him on a beer run.

“your friends didn’t have to leave.”

“they did when you gave me bedroom eyes.” y/n laughed, mimicking her boyfriends ‘fuck me’ eyes before she kissed him softly, turning around in his touch so she could hug him.

one of davids hands come down to gently squeeze her ass, a fistful of flesh in his comforting grip. she knew what he wanted.

“you look so innocent in white. with those carnations on your wrist and the lace on your hair. but nobody else knows what I know, my pretty perfect girl.”

“mhm, and what’s that.”

“how you sound anything but innocent when I have my tongue buried inside of you.” he rasped, lips just barely dusting her ear.

and that’s how they found themselves on one of the house’s cavernous bathrooms, their giggles echoing off the tile as david swept her off her feet, his lips stitched to hers with a grin as he guided her towards the vanity.

“david!” she giggled, feeling his hands venture up her dress, hiking the white fabric over her hips before he groaned.

“jesus, you even wore the leg garter.”

“um, yeah. hand to god, I was hoping you’d rip it off me when we got home.”

at the confession, he wasted no time dropping to his knees, kissing up her thigh before gripping the garter between his teeth and attempting to tear it off. when that didn’t work, the mclaren driver let out a disgruntled, well, grunt, before ripping it apart by hand. she gasped, feeling his hungry lips trailing up her thigh.

"here? in pato's bathroom?"

david shrugged. "i had a craving."

"for what?" she laughed

"you. on the counter, love. spread those gorgeous legs nice and wide for me."

she did as she was told, perching on the edge of the counter. her garter lay in shambles on the floor, which she had figured was going to happen at some point during the night. david's hands grappled for her lacy panties, the man barely paying the pattern any mind as he fought to yank them down her legs without breaking them (and he heard a few stitches pop, he can't guarantee there aren't any rips).

"you're my own personal angel, sweetheart." he breathed, sinking to the cold tile floor. the bathroom lighting was soft, framing her face in a gentle halo of light. "too wicked for heaven, but way too sweet for hell."

she breathed heavily as david's warm hands parted her slick lips, her juices dripping onto the counter.

"fuck, baby." he exhaled. "i got you this worked up already?"

she nodded, nudging him with one silver stiletto-clad foot. "david. please."

"patience, my sweet girl." david hummed, clicking his tongue before running his fingers over entrance. "so good for me." he breathed, the cold air to her most sensitive area making her jolt.

and when his tongue licked it's first path up her cunt, she couldn't stop the moan she let out; a hearty, yet strangled cry that she was certain could be heard through the drywal if not for felix's phone being hooked up to the sound system, currently blaring the monster mash.

she would never get tired of the way david ate her out, like he was on death row and she was his last meal. he paid her so much care and attention, her arousal dripping down his face as he practically french kissed her heat, strong hands keeping her legs spread for him.

"oh god, david." she whined, bucking against his face, tangling one hand in his curls.

"i know honey, i know. god, i love this pussy. but you need to stay quiet. we can't let anybody hear those sexy noises you make." he slurred, drunk off the taste of her as he plunged his tongue inside her without warning.

she tried to form words, tried to even just let out an expletive, but all that came out was another strangled moan, this one louder than the first, followed by a series of whimpers as she leaned back against the mirror, almost fucking herself on his tongue as she struggled to keep her hips under control.

“david!” she whined, pouting when he pulled away from her, a mischievous grin on his face.

“you promised to be quiet, love.”

“fuck off. I can be quiet, I will be so fucking quiet.” she begged. “please david, I need your tongue.”

“you have to be so so quiet, pretty girl. or I’ll have to put your panties in your mouth to muffle those pretty whines.”

he focussed his attention back on her aching core, tongue lapping up every last drop of the juices spilling from her. she bit her lip to stop herself from moaning, hard enough to draw blood as he sucked her clit in between his lips.

“oh my god, david.”

“what the fuck?!?!”

david stumbled to his feet, almost tripping in the white lace lying against the floor as he moved the shield his girlfriend from the interlopers eyes.

“sting ray? what the fuck, dude!” david shouted, trying to wipe off his face. it was pointless: they were both flushed red and it was obvious what they had been doing.

of course, the garter and panties on the floor would probably give it away.

sting ray robb stood in the doorway blinking as he tried to comprehend what he had just walked in on. “have you never heard of locking the goddamn door! I have seen things that no man should ever see!”

“haven’t you ever heard of knocking!”

shocked, dumbfounded and a little traumatized, sting ray shut his eyes and backed away from the doorframe, practically slamming the door closed with a disgusted shout.

“I have seen things I can’t unsee!” his idaho drawl carried down the hall as david and y/n stood stock still in the bathroom, laughter on their rosy cheeks.

“dave!” she scolded “why didn’t you lock the door?”

david shrugged, kissing her forehead. “you distract me too much. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“if I lock the door, can we finish what we started?”

“david malukas!”

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @clemswrld @httpiastri @libraryofloveletters @lorarri @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @diorleclerc @love4lando @thatsdemko @oconso

☏ LATE NIGHT TALKING, op81 voicemail blurb (18+)

☏ MOONY’S VOICEMAIL — a series in which formula one drivers send a voicemail to the reader. what about? prompts may vary. (maybe fluff or smut, idk)

voicemail summary: late at night, oscar sends a voicemail to his partner about missing them. it was a welcome voicemail, to say the least.

content warning: explicit language, smut (minors dni!), mentions of sexual acts, masturbation (m), dialogue heavy, blurb, dirty talking!oscar, my guy oscar is down bad

note: MY HANDS SLIPPED IM SORRY (i think about his voice a lot). did i just make this? yes. is it because i’m thinking about him? yes. this is probably going to be a one-off unless i feel like i should do more or if people like it lol

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out!

“hey baby. i- uh, it’s 11 pm here in qatar right now. i’m not sure if you saw the race but it was exhausting.” his breath shuddered. fabrics were torn off his body.

“it was a good sprint— i’m sure you saw that. you congratulated me.” he chuckled deeply. “but right now— it’s just extremely exhausting. qatar’s humid. the warmth is disgusting— i took shower more than i should’ve. but i did.”

“now i’m just here in bed and… yeah. i hope you’ve had a good day. i’m certain you did— it’s just uh… ah… i can’t go to sleep.”

“‘ve just been thinking about you,” oscar mumbled, “haven’t seen you for weeks— and not even our videos did any justice.”

“‘s like i need to talk to you in order to get off,” he chuckled, precum leaking out of his cock as he stroked his length with his right hand. “if this day wasn’t as languid you probably would’ve gotten up already— you’re always eager to see me fuck myself with my own hands. you know nobody can stroke me like you do.”

“i- ah,” he moaned quietly, “i’m just thinkin’ about your mouth and the way your tongue would lick at the tip— ‘m rubbing it like how you’d tease me. but i can’t help it.”

“i’d stroke it fast and hard now but all i seem to think about is you and how you’d tease me,” he grunted quietly. “wish it’s your mouth, baby. god~ i wish it’s you sucking my cock right now.”

“but i suppose i have to be patient huh,” he chuckled breathlessly. “good things come to those who wait~ or whatever the fuck they say.”

“but right now i’m just gonna think about you,” he uttered quietly. “i’m gonna think about how you whine and cry about your hole not getting fucked— then i’ll cum to the thought of you getting stuffed full by me.”

“for now, enjoy your day, hm? i’ll talk to you soon. i love you.”

— beep —

can we get max Emilian brain rot? Teasing him with a little show, getting him worked up with lingerie, not letting him touch you uGH

trying to combat my weird writers block aaaahh I hope you enjoy this 🤍

pleasant surprise (1.2k) max verstappen/fem!reader nsfw blurb

You can hear him in the kitchen, pouring himself a sugary drink and humming loudly to a song he’s had stuck in his head for the majority of the day. It makes you smile as you stand in the bathroom, staring yourself down with critical eyes because you want it to be perfect. A good surprise. Something Max will look back on when he’s gone for the week and has no one else but his hand and his vivid imagination.

It’s black, thin and strappy. The lace is so intricate and pretty that you can’t help but run an appreciative hand over the material, admiring the way the cups are holding your tits and enhancing them perfectly. It was hard to find good lingerie that did wonders for your body nowadays, and you usually went for the boring old cotton because comfort was always your first priority in that regard. But you’d gone shopping with Kika in Spain a few weeks ago and had come across this gorgeous set in the display window. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it, ignoring your friend’s teasing smile when you purchased the lingerie.

“Babe?” Max’s voice drifted down the hall, footsteps getting closer and you quickly turned around with wide eyes.

“In here,” you strategically placed yourself behind the door so he wouldn’t spot you as he walked by. “I’ll be right out.”

Your boyfriend made a sound of acknowledgement and you figured his attention had been pulled by his phone, because he didn’t say or do anything else as he continued walking toward the bedroom. You took one last glance at yourself, wiping at your glossy mouth until the feeling of the sticky substance irked you; Prompting you to switch the light off in the bathroom before you started going at your face with a wet wipe.

You’d spent too long on your makeup. Granted, Max was going to probably ruin it in five minutes but you wanted to look pretty for at least a few minutes.

The man in question was standing with his back to the door when you entered, completely oblivious to your presence as he tapped away at his phone. His head twitched to the side when he heard you clear your throat gently, but he still didn’t pull his eyes away from his phone screen.

“Daniel just sent me this funny— Whoa.” He’d managed to turn around in his little ramble, light eyes going unnaturally wide as he caught sight of you standing in front of him. He swept his gaze from your toes to the top of your head, mouth opening and closing like he wasn’t sure what words to utter.

His reaction alone made you preen a little, biting down on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay as you took a step closer to him. Max’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes lingering on your midriff before you locked eyes.

“You look—“ he trailed off, clearly at a loss for words.

But what his mouth didn’t say, his body clearly made up for. His reaction spoke a thousand words and managed to boost your confidence as you turned around slowly, showing off your pert bottom hugged by the lacy thong. Max made a small noise in his throat, setting his phone down without tearing his eyes away from you before he quickly closed the distance between the two of you.

What he wasn’t expecting was for you to take two steps back, tutting loudly enough for him to halt his pace and frown at you in deep confusion. He looked dumbfounded, having been so prepared to put his hands on you and watching you melt like putty.

But your stance was different, rigid back and eyebrows raised on your forehead in a teasing display that made Max’s palms itch with the urgent need to touch you.

“You can’t do that.” He said quietly, confused by your lips breaking out into a wide smile.

He looked a little lost as he reached out his hand to place on your waist, making a sound of protest when you spun out of his reach. His hands balled into fists as he fought the natural urge to grab and pin you against the nearest surface just to hear your squealing laughter.

But he liked this game. Whatever you were doing was making his joggers feel very tight all of a sudden.

“I can and I will.” You said, voice going up in a teasing tone as you took a cautious step forward with narrowed eyes, like you were expecting him to jump forward and grab you. You looked pleased when he stayed put, reaching your arm out to touch his right pectoral with the pads of your fingers.

Max glanced at your fingers, the way they were mapping out the muscles of his skin and he inhaled quietly when you swiped over his nipple over his t-shirt, eyebrows pulling together. It was only when you put pressure in your fingers that he took a few steps back, letting you walk him back until his knees hit the bed frame. He sat down gingerly, reaching for your waist but stopping immediately when you made a noise of disapproval.

“You’re just being cruel.” He said, annoyance pinching his face as he looked up at you and it made you grin because you knew how tortured he must’ve felt.

“I’m being tactical.” You said, gently straddling him and placing both of your hands on his shoulders. “I know that you’re gonna rip these as soon as you get the chance and I paid too much for them.”

Max sucked in his lips to hold his smile back, nostrils glaring with laughter and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“I can always buy you new—“

“No.” You cut him off with a shake of your head, laughing. “Just… enjoy it.” You reached for his hands and guided them back, placing his palms against your ass.

It was hard to contain the gasp when he immediately squeezed, like he was trying to grab as much flesh in his hands as he could. You grind forward with a muted moan and it makes Max swear in your ear as you finally sit crotch to crotch.

You lean forward to capture his mouth in a kiss, smiling at the way he eagerly responds and circling your arms around his shoulders to bring him into you.

“Fuck, you smell good.” He murmured when you separated, eyelids fluttering shut when you kiss down his jawline to his ear, burying his nose in the softness of your hair.

You suck small hickeys into the skin of his throat, paying extra attention to his Adam’s Apple because you know that it makes his eyes roll. Your hands grab into him a squeak leaves your lips when he suddenly drops back on the bed, taking you with him and the expression on your face makes him laugh.

“I’m staying on top.” You said, arching a brow like he’d ever say no to that and he grins like you know he would, pulling a hand back to spank your ass cheek. “Max!”

“Get to it then.” He says it jokingly, but there’s a fire in his eyes that makes you comply happily.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

this was kinda rushed 🫢 but I just wanted to do this quickly so I could go back to writing my fic. I’m in such a slump rn that I’m trying to get out of but I hope this was somewhat enjoyable. thank youuu for your lovely request 🤍

idk why but i can image seb making baby leclerc ride him but he refuses to help her kinda just going use me how you like darling because he wants to see her teary eyed and begging, just reaffirms that hes the only one who can get her off properly. like aww poor baby cant even get her body to listen to her, this is why youre all mine

WLCBDKCJ SEB U FOKKENG BETCH

"i c-can't seb," you choke on a sob, eyes brimming with unshed tears out of frustration and sheer fucking need, your knees were sore and your legs were practically non existent from holding the position for an unsatisfying amount of time. "please, i-i can't." you whine, blinking rapidly as the tears finally slipped down your cheeks.

you were a needy mess. a beautiful spoiled piece of work... and sebastian wanted you to stay that way. his needy little princess, so dependent on him.

"poor baby can't handle taking care of herself," he tuts, cupping your face gently and cooing, "just bounce, yeah? up, down." he coaxes you, allowing a slight hint of mercy to overcome his unrelenting demeanor, and meeting your hips with a forceful thrust. you gasped.

"i-i cant, sebby." you whine, now full on sobbing and whining. your hands touching upon his naked torso. "please.. please just fuck me already."

sebastian feigns pity, wiping your tears with such a tender caress, you instinctively lean in to his touch. "what would people say if they see you baby? you know you have a reputation, so kind... so innocent..."

you sob, "dont care... wan' you, please seb." you guide his hands to where you met, moaning when his hands touched upon you.

"always have to fucking get what you want," he grunts, eyes darkening. he pulls you in for a searing kiss, both tongue and teeth clashing in the desperate tangle— and he fucks into you, your body thrumming by the way his thrusts were acquainted with that... that sweet spot that made you compliant in his hold.

"who can fuck you like i do?" he mumbles, breathing ragged, your response was merely a plethora of undistinguished whines and helpless moans. "who can make you feel this good?"

"seb..." you writhe, gripping his shoulders for something tangible to hold.

"no one else hase. nobody can make you feel like i do." he whispers on the strands of your hair. certain. so self sure. so fucking cocky.

hello fellow nando fucker. may i humbly request some nando mirror sex. because i know he loves looking at himself <3

hehe ofc u can!! as we know, this man's ego has its own gravitational field

afab gn reader ♥

first of all: mirror foreplay

he's got you between his legs at the end of the bed, the mirrored door of the wardrobe in front of you both

your legs are spread, tangled over the wide muscle of his thighs, and your back is nestled against his broad chest

nando reaching around you to cup your chin between finger and thumb, tipping it up so you make eye contact in the mirror

"want you to watch"

(the 'if you don't watch, i'll stop' is unspoken, but clear)

constant praise, whispered into your ears and against your skin as he covers your shoulders and neck in love bites and bruises

"you look so lovely, so perfect for me, such a pretty pussy, all wet and ready for me already, don't look away, want you to see how lovely you are"

one hand playing with your tits as the other slides towards your pussy, gliding the pads of his fingers thru the wetness gathering there

your eyes flutter shut as he slides two thick fingers inside you, the stretch already delicious, and he rumbles a reminder to you to keep them open

and oh, when you open them -- you already look debauched, red and purple littering your neck, your pussy pink and swollen as fernando fingerfucks you with obscene wet noises

he makes you keep eye contact with him as he adds a third finger and speeds up, bringing his other hand down to circle your clit

"cum for me, want you to watch yourself come, so pretty, so lovely..."

and after he fingers you through that orgasm, and you come back down to earth and stop trembling against him, he manhandles you onto your hands and knees

(even if your arms give out, and you end up kneeling down and presenting your ass to him. which he spanks a few times)

and he makes you watch, maybe tangling a hand in your hair or wrapping a hand around your throat to pull your head up, as he fucks you from behind 😇

Toto’s NSFW Alphabet

Boredom got the best of me. I wasn’t going to, but alas, here we are.

Keep reading

Movie Night | Fernando Alonso

It was supposed to be an innocent movie night, it really was. Except you were completely and utterly turned on- not wanting to admit it because Fernando seemed so excited to watch this movie. You really wouldn't be in the desperate state you were if he hadn't come out of the shower, dripping wet and leaning on the door frame and all- you really were set up for failure.

So there you were, head on his shoulder, with his arm wrapped around you as you clenched and rubbed your thighs together to get some friction going. You could feel his calloused hands rub your shoulder occasionally and that was not helping at all- it was actually doing the exact opposite, it was making you so desperate and needy you felt like you could scream. Jus the feel of his hands against your skin burning desires into you. But he seemed so interested in the movie and just didn't seem as horny as you were, plus you felt bad since this was the first time in a while where you two managed to sit together and relax. Except for you though, you were definitely not relaxed.

You frankly had no idea what you were watching, you'd even manage to forget the name of the movie in the haze you were in. All you focused and cared about were his stupid grey sweatpants and how good his arms looked through his t-shirt and good he'd feel if he just fucked you into the couch right now-

"Is the movie not good?" He asked, face turned to yours, smirk tugging on his lips.

"No no, it's great." You chirped, lying as to cover up your thoughts. Even after all this time, he still made you all flustered.

"Hm, yeah you like it?" He asked, now completely turned to you, his face exhibiting a sort of cockiness you were far too familiar with; he had caught onto your lie and was going to make you admit to it.

"Yeah, it's nice, I'm glad we get to do this." You smiled nuzzling into him to distract him.

"Yeah, yeah." He replied, kissing your head and drawing circles on your arm before chuckling and continuing, "Except I've noticed something."

You shut your eyes in his chest, you knew where he was taking this conversation.

"You seem a bit, uh, distracted." Without seeing his face, you could tell he was smirking.

"Oh really? yeah sorry I must be uh, zoning out." Now you had to hold your ground, you weren't going to give up so easily.

"Hm yeah, is that why you were rubbing your thighs during a funeral scene?" He asked, almost unable to contain the laugh that vibrated through his chest. "Is there something you want to tell me? Cariño are you getting turned on at funeral scenes? Or is something else on your mind?"

The blood was rushing straight to your face. You were so distracted that you hadn't noticed that he'd not only see you rub your thighs, but he was fully aware of your lack of interest in the film.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You huffed, pretending to be offended.

"Hm, you don't?" He asked, pulling you away from him so he could see your face.

"Nope." You lied again, despite knowing that he was on your case. You couldn't even look him in the eye, nor could you look at any other part of him, his arms holding you felt so good, your thoughts were at the verge of wandering away again, despite your circumstances.

"You're not turned on?" He asked again, eyes crinkling on the sides from his smirk.

"Nope." You couldn't get any other word out, afraid that your lie would get caught.

He didn't reply this time, only pushing you further away till your back hit the couch, making your eyes widen in response. His silence made you nervous, his devilish smirk not aiding your cause. He brought his face close to yours, close enough where you could feel his breath on your lips. One of his hands propping him over you, while the other slid down your waist, pausing at the hem of your panties, stretching it and letting go abruptly, the noise clearly audible despite the movie in the background. Your yelp only made him chuckle.

"You know I don't like it when you lie y'know."

"But I'm not lying." You whined, trying to get yourself out of the trouble you'd be in momentarily.

"You're not? What if I put my hands in your little soaking panties to check, hm?" He asked, his hands already making their way to your very wet entrance. "Oh, would you look at that, my naughty little girl was lying."

You gulped, eyes fixated on his, chest heaving against his, anticipating his every move. You knew how hot he'd get when he'd punish you, and you knew that despite your futile efforts, that movie had been long forgotten between you two.

-

-

-

-

A/N: I don't talk about my second favourite Spaniard enough, god he's so hot I need him like I need air.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the blurb. As usual, send in requests or criticism, love u all<3

i would kill for a jack & joe jr x reader smut at palm beach !! something to the tune of sibling rivalry ,,

What The Boys Will Do

synopsis: two kennedy brothers, a smoldering rivalry, and a girl who knows exactly how to stir the pot at palm beach. it’s all a game of who gets to win... until they realize they’re both playing for the same prize.

word count: 4.8k

pairing: john f. kennedy x reader, joe kennedy jr. x reader

rating: 18+; includes explicit sexual acts

author's note: for that one other anon who requested joe jr smut, this is for you as well!

December in Palm Beach meant nothing like the Christmases you'd known before. No snow, no biting wind, just the relentless Florida sun beating down on the Kennedy compound's whitewashed walls, turning everything golden. The Atlantic stretched beyond the garden wall, a glittering blue expanse that seemed to mock the very concept of winter.

You'd been staying with the Kennedys for nearly two weeks now. Ambassador Kennedy and his wife Rose had extended the invitation through your father—business connections, naturally—and you'd accepted with polite enthusiasm that masked your genuine curiosity. The Kennedys were American royalty, after all, and their sprawling Palm Beach estate was the stuff of newspaper photographs and whispered gossip.

What you hadn't counted on was the brothers.

Joe Jr. and Jack Kennedy were studies in contrast. Joe Jr., the eldest, carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who'd never questioned his place in the world. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a square jaw and clear eyes, he moved through rooms like he owned them, which, you supposed, he technically did. His laughter was loud, his opinions firm, his handshake crushing. The golden boy, groomed for greatness from birth.

Jack was... different. Leaner, sharper somehow, with eyes that seemed to catch everything. Where Joe Jr. commanded attention, Jack slipped into it sideways, with a wry comment or an observation that made everyone in earshot suddenly aware of his presence. He was quieter, but no less intense—just more selective about when to deploy his considerable charm.

And both of them watched you.

You first noticed it during tennis matches, when you'd catch Joe Jr.'s gaze lingering a beat too long on your legs as you reached for a backhand. Then at dinner, when Jack would pass you the salt before you'd asked, his fingers brushing yours with deliberate slowness. Small moments, easily dismissed individually, but collectively forming a pattern you couldn't ignore.

Neither brother spoke of it directly. Instead, their rivalry leaked out in a thousand tiny ways: Joe Jr. cutting Jack off mid-story to tell a better one; Jack needling his brother about some Harvard football game he'd fumbled; Joe Jr. casually mentioning his plans to enter politics while looking pointedly at his younger brother's thinner frame, still recovering from some illness.

And always, always, their eyes would flick to you afterward, gauging your reaction.

You weren't naive. You understood the game being played, and rather than shy away, you found yourself leaning into it. A laugh at Joe Jr.'s jokes that lasted a touch too long. Asking Jack to explain something political, your body angled toward his, eyes wide with manufactured fascination. Accepting Joe Jr.'s invitation to swim, then emerging from the water with your bathing suit clinging to every curve. Borrowing one of Jack's books, then returning it with comments that showed you'd actually read it, watching surprise and something hungrier flicker across his face.

It was intoxicating, this power. Dangerous, perhaps, but no more dangerous than the cocktails Ambassador Kennedy mixed himself each evening—strong enough to burn, sweet enough to make you forget the burn until morning.

Today had been particularly charged. A boat trip along the coast, all of you packed into the family's sleek vessel, salt spray and sunshine and too many bodies in too little space. Joe Jr. had insisted on teaching you to steer, his chest pressed against your back, hands covering yours on the wheel. Jack had watched from his seat at the stern, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the tight set of his jaw.

Later, back at the house, Jack had cornered you in the library, ostensibly to show you a first edition of Fitzgerald, but really to stand close enough that you could smell his cologne and count the freckles across his nose.

Dinner had been unbearable—the brothers seated on either side of you, Rose Kennedy oblivious to the tension as she discussed Christmas arrangements, the younger Kennedy children squabbling over dessert. Joe Jr.'s knee pressed against yours under the table; Jack's foot hooked casually around your ankle.

Now, as evening settled over the compound and the family dispersed to their various entertainments, you found yourself needing air. Space to think. The beach called to you—empty, you hoped, and cool with the night breeze.

You slipped out through the garden gate, shoes dangling from your fingers, and made your way down to the shore. The sand was still warm from the day's heat, fine-grained between your toes. You walked until the house lights dimmed behind you, then settled on the sand, knees drawn up to your chest, watching the moonlight dance across the water.

"Thought I might find you here."

Joe Jr.'s voice startled you. He stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his linen trousers, jacket discarded, shirtsleeves rolled up to expose tanned forearms. In the moonlight, his features seemed harder, more defined.

"Did you follow me?" you asked, not moving to make room beside you.

He shrugged, a fluid motion that spoke of absolute confidence. "Maybe. Or maybe I just needed some air too." He settled beside you anyway, close enough that his arm brushed yours. "It's a madhouse in there. Mother's on about Christmas decorations, and Jack's being... Jack."

The way he said his brother's name carried a weight you couldn't quite decipher. Irritation? Jealousy? Both?

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joe Jr. picked up a handful of sand, let it sift through his fingers. "You know exactly what it means. He's been following you around like a lost puppy for days. It's embarrassing."

"I hadn't noticed," you lied, watching his profile.

He turned to face you then, his expression skeptical. "Sure you haven't. Just like you haven't noticed me watching you either, right?"

Your heart kicked against your ribs. This was it—the thing neither brother had been willing to say out loud, suddenly made explicit in the darkness.

"Joe—"

"Don't," he cut you off. "Don't pretend you don't know what's happening here. Between us. Between you and Jack. All of it."

You swallowed hard. "And what is happening, exactly?"

His laugh was short, almost bitter. "You're playing with us. Both of us. And you're enjoying it."

The accusation should have shamed you. Instead, it sent a thrill down your spine, a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the lingering warmth of the day.

"I'm not playing anything," you said, but your voice betrayed you, coming out husky and low.

Joe Jr. shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours now. "Liar," he said, but there was no anger in it—only a strange sort of admiration. "You've got us both twisted up, and you know it. The question is..." His hand found your waist, fingers splaying wide. "What are you going to do about it?"

You should have pulled away. Should have stood up, brushed the sand from your clothes, walked back to the house and the safety of other people. Instead, you turned toward him, close enough now that you could feel his breath on your face.

"What do you want me to do about it?" you whispered.

Something flashed in his eyes—triumph, maybe, or relief. "I want you to stop pretending you don't want me."

And then his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding, his hand sliding from your waist to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you. There was nothing gentle about the kiss—it was all teeth and tongue and barely restrained hunger, months of watching and wanting compressed into a single, explosive moment.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands finding his shoulders, fingers digging into the solid muscle there. He was so different from Jack—broader, harder, radiating a physical presence that seemed to overwhelm everything else. His kiss tasted like bourbon, and you found yourself responding with equal fervor, as if some dam had broken inside you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. "Tell me to stop," he said, but his hands were already moving, one sliding up your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress.

"Don't stop," you breathed, and something wild flashed across his face.

He pushed you back onto the sand, his body covering yours, mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I've watched you with him," he murmured against your skin. "Seen the way you look at him. The way you laugh at his stupid jokes." His teeth grazed your neck, making you arch against him. "Is this what you want from him too?"

The question sent a jolt through you. "Joe," you gasped, not answering, not needing to.

His hand found the hem of your dress, pushed it up around your hips. The night air was cool against your suddenly exposed skin, but his palm was hot as it slid up your inner thigh.

"Say it," he demanded, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "Say you want me. Not him. Me."

You couldn't speak, could barely think with his weight pressing you into the sand, his touch so close to where you needed it. Instead, you pulled his face down to yours, kissing him with all the pent-up desire of the past weeks.

He groaned into your mouth, his fingers finally slipping past the barrier of silk to find you wet and ready. "Christ," he muttered, forehead pressed against yours. "You're soaked."

The crude observation should have embarrassed you. Instead, it only heightened your arousal, knowing how much he wanted this—wanted you. His fingers moved with expert precision, circling, dipping inside, drawing out your pleasure until you were writhing beneath him, sand sticking to your sweat-dampened skin.

"Joe, please," you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for.

He seemed to know, though. With swift, efficient movements, he unbuckled his belt, shoved his trousers down just enough to free himself. You caught only a glimpse in the moonlight—thick, straining against his palm as he stroked himself once, twice.

"Tell me," he said again, positioning himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against you. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you breathed, and it wasn't a lie, not in this moment with the ocean roaring in your ears and his body hot and hard above yours. "Please, Joe, I want you."

He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, filling you completely, drawing a cry from your lips that he silenced with his mouth. There was nothing gentle about the way he took you—his hips driving forward with a force that sent you sliding in the sand, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider for him.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled against your ear, punctuating each word with a thrust. "All those times you bent over in front of me? Wore those little dresses? This is what you were asking for, wasn't it?"

"Yes," you gasped, because it was easier than explaining the complicated truth—that you'd wanted both of them, differently but equally, in ways you couldn't even articulate to yourself.

He fucked you like he had something to prove, like he could erase any thought of Jack from your mind through sheer physical dominance. And for a while, it worked—your world narrowed to the sensation of him inside you, the weight of him above you, the sound of his labored breathing mixing with the crash of waves.

Your orgasm built quickly, almost violently, spurred by the rough friction and the forbidden thrill of being taken like this—outdoors, where anyone might see, by a man whose brother wanted you just as badly. When it hit, you cried out his name, your nails raking down his back, leaving marks you hoped would still be there tomorrow.

Joe Jr. followed soon after, his rhythm faltering, his face buried in your neck as he groaned his release. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just lay tangled together on the sand, catching your breath.

Finally, he rolled off you, tucking himself away, straightening his clothes with efficient movements. You did the same, pulling your dress down, running fingers through your sand-streaked hair.

"We should get back," he said, his voice oddly formal now, as if trying to recapture some sense of propriety after what you'd just done. "Before they notice we're both gone."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. He offered his hand, pulled you to your feet, then brushed sand from your back with a touch that lingered just a moment too long.

The walk back to the house was silent, charged with unspoken questions. At the garden gate, he paused, turned to face you.

"This isn't over," he said, and you weren't sure if it was a promise or a warning.

Then he was gone, striding ahead of you toward the house, leaving you to follow in his wake, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, your mind already spinning with the implications of what had just happened.

And what might happen next.

You avoided both Kennedy brothers the next day, pleading a headache and staying in your room until late afternoon. It wasn't entirely a lie—your head did ache, though more from the tangle of thoughts than any physical ailment.

What had happened with Joe Jr. on the beach felt like crossing a line that couldn't be uncrossed. The game you'd been playing had suddenly become very real, with consequences you weren't sure you were prepared to face.

And then there was Jack. The thought of him made your stomach twist with a complicated mix of guilt and anticipation. Did he know? Had Joe Jr. said something? The Kennedy brothers shared many things, but you doubted this would be one of them.

By evening, hunger and boredom drove you from your sanctuary. The house was quieter than usual—Ambassador Kennedy and Rose had taken the younger children to some Christmas event in town, and dinner had been an informal affair that you'd apparently missed entirely.

You wandered the halls, eventually finding yourself at the foot of the grand staircase. The second floor housed the family's private rooms, including your own guest suite at the far end of the corridor. You climbed slowly, trailing your fingers along the polished banister, lost in thought.

At the top of the stairs, you froze. Jack Kennedy leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, a book dangling from his fingers. He looked up as you reached the landing, his expression unreadable.

"There she is," he said. "We thought you might have caught the train back to New York without saying goodbye."

"Just feeling a bit under the weather," you said, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him, of the narrow corridor stretching behind him toward your room.

He studied you, his gaze moving slowly over your face, down to your neck where you knew a faint mark from Joe Jr.'s mouth still lingered, despite your best efforts with makeup. "Better now, I hope?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice. There was something in his eyes—a knowing look that made your skin prickle with awareness.

"Good," he said, pushing off from the wall. "I was hoping to show you something. In the study."

The study was Ambassador Kennedy's domain, a wood-paneled room filled with leather-bound books and the lingering scent of cigars. Jack led you there with a hand hovering just above the small of your back, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat of his palm through your dress.

"Your father won't mind?" you asked as Jack closed the door behind you.

He smiled, a quick flash of teeth. "Dad's not here. And what he doesn't know won't hurt him." He crossed to a cabinet, opened it to reveal a collection of crystal decanters. "Drink?"

You nodded, watching as he poured amber liquid into two tumblers. His movements were precise, economical—so different from Joe Jr.'s broader gestures. Where his brother commanded space, Jack seemed to navigate it with a dancer's awareness of exactly where his body began and ended.

He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours deliberately. "To feeling better," he said, raising his drink in a toast.

The whiskey burned pleasantly going down, warming you from the inside out. Jack watched you over the rim of his glass, his eyes never leaving your face.

"So," he said finally, setting his drink aside. "You and Joe had quite the evening last night."

Your heart stuttered. "I don't know what you mean."

His laugh was soft, almost kind. "Come on now. We both know that's not true." He moved closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "He came back covered in sand. And you..." His finger traced the air just above the mark on your neck, not touching but making you acutely aware of its presence. "Well, let's just say the evidence is fairly compelling."

Heat flooded your face—embarrassment, yes, but also a strange, twisted excitement at being caught. At having both brothers' attention so completely focused on you.

"Jack, I—"

"You don't need to explain," he cut you off, taking the glass from your suddenly nerveless fingers and setting it aside. "I'm not angry. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"What do you mean?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

He smiled again, but this time there was something predatory in it. "I mean that my brother has always had a habit of taking what he wants without thinking about the consequences. Without considering whether what he's taking might be better off in someone else's hands." His own hands came up to frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones with feather-light pressure. "My hands, for instance."

Your breath caught in your throat. This was what you'd been playing with, wasn't it? This rivalry, this tension. And now it was fully in the open, impossible to ignore or deny.

"Jack," you began, but he silenced you with a look.

"Let me ask you something," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Did he make you feel good? Really good? Or was he too busy proving a point to pay attention to what you needed?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Because while what had happened with Joe Jr. had been intense, overwhelming even, there had been a selfishness to it—a sense that your pleasure was secondary to his need to claim you.

Jack read your silence correctly. His smile widened, turned knowing. "That's what I thought." His hands slid from your face to your shoulders, down your arms to capture your wrists. "Let me show you the difference."

He backed you against the Ambassador's massive desk, his body caging yours without quite touching it. Unlike his brother's forceful approach, Jack's was measured, deliberate—a slow burn rather than a conflagration.

His mouth, when it finally met yours, was gentle at first, almost teasing. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring a fine wine rather than gulping it down. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking permission rather than demanding entry.

You opened for him with a soft sigh, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. Through the fine fabric of his shirt, you could feel his heart beating, steady and strong. He deepened the kiss gradually, one hand sliding into your hair, angling your head to give him better access.

Where Joe Jr. had been all urgent heat and barely restrained power, Jack was precision and patience. He kissed you until your lips felt swollen, until your body was melting against his, until you were making small, needy sounds in the back of your throat.

Only then did his hands begin to wander, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hip. He found the zipper of your dress, drew it down with agonizing slowness, his mouth never leaving yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, echoing his brother's words from the night before, but with a different inflection—less a challenge than a genuine offer.

Your answer was the same. "Don't stop."

He smiled against your mouth, then stepped back just enough to help you out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet.

"Beautiful," he said simply, and somehow that single word affected you more deeply than all of Joe Jr.'s heated declarations.

Jack's hands skimmed over the silk of your slip, learning the contours of your body with careful attention. When they finally slipped beneath the hem, sliding up your thighs, you were already trembling with anticipation.

"Sit on the desk," he instructed, his voice low but firm.

You obeyed, perching on the edge of the massive oak surface. Jack stepped between your knees, spreading them wider with gentle pressure. Then, to your surprise, he sank to his knees before you.

"Jack, what—"

"Shh," he silenced you, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "Let me show you what my brother should have done last night."

Your slip rucked up around your hips as he pushed it higher, exposing you completely to his gaze. Unlike the darkness of the beach, here in the warm lamplight of the study, you felt suddenly, acutely vulnerable.

Jack seemed to sense your discomfort. He looked up at you, his eyes serious now. "You are exquisite," he said. "Every inch of you. Let me worship you properly."

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you, his tongue tracing a path that made your head fall back, a gasp escaping your lips. Where Joe Jr. had been efficient but hurried in his attentions, Jack was thorough to the point of torture, alternating between broad strokes and focused circles, bringing you to the edge only to back away, building your pleasure in careful, deliberate increments.

Your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, urging him closer. He hummed against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for his mouth, his tongue delving inside you before returning to the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars.

"Jack, please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for, only knowing that you needed more, needed release from the exquisite tension he was building.

He looked up at you, his mouth glistening. "Not yet," he said, and the command in his voice was all the more powerful for its softness. "Think about it. Think about how different this is. How much better."

And it was different—not necessarily better or worse, but a completely different experience. Where Joe Jr. had taken you with raw passion, Jack was dismantling you piece by piece, with surgical precision and devastating attention to detail.

When your orgasm finally hit, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced—a wave that seemed to go on and on, Jack's mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony to draw out every last tremor of pleasure until you were gasping his name, your body boneless and liquid.

He rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression one of pure masculine satisfaction. "Now," he said, unbuckling his belt with unhurried movements, "I'm going to fuck you on my father's desk, and you're going to remember every second of it."

The crude language, so at odds with his usual polish, sent another jolt of arousal through you. You watched, still dazed from your orgasm, as he freed himself from his trousers, stroking his length with the same deliberate pace he'd applied to pleasuring you.

He was different from Joe Jr. here too—not quite as thick, but longer, curved slightly in a way that promised to hit places his brother hadn't reached. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, hard and ready.

"Turn around," he instructed, helping you off the desk. "Bend over."

You complied, bracing your hands on the polished wood surface. Jack moved behind you, his hands sliding up your sides, pushing your slip higher until it bunched around your waist. You felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against you, teasing your entrance.

"Ask me for it," he said, his voice tight with restraint. "Tell me what you want."

"You," you breathed, pushing back against him. "I want you, Jack. Please."

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch and burn of him. By the time he was fully seated, you were both panting, your forehead pressed against the cool wood of the desk.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "So tight. So perfect."

He began to move, setting a rhythm that was neither as frantic as Joe Jr.'s nor as slow as you might have expected. Each thrust was calculated for maximum impact, angled to hit the spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, echoing his brother's words from the night before, but with a different inflection—curious rather than accusatory. "All those times you looked at me across the dinner table? When you borrowed my books and returned them with your scent on the pages?"

"Yes," you gasped, because it was true—you had wanted this, wanted him, from the moment you'd first seen him lounging by the pool, his lean body golden in the sunlight, his eyes following you with quiet intensity.

He reached around, his fingers finding the sensitive bud at the apex of your thighs, circling it in time with his thrusts. "And my brother?" he asked, his voice strained now. "Did you want him too?"

The question should have shocked you, but in the haze of pleasure, it only heightened your arousal—this acknowledgment of the triangle you'd been navigating. "Yes," you admitted, and felt him thrust harder in response.

"Both of us," he said, not a question now but a statement of fact. "You greedy thing."

His pace increased, his control slipping as his own pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, spurred by his fingers and the relentless drag of his cock inside you.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough now, his rhythm faltering. "Come for me while I'm inside you. Let me feel it."

Your body obeyed, clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you for the second time. Jack groaned, his fingers digging into your hip as he followed you over the edge, his release hot inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just stayed joined together, catching your breath. Then Jack pulled away carefully, helping you stand, turning you to face him. Jack took his time—straightening your slip, retrieving your dress from the floor, helping you back into it with gentle hands. He zipped you up, pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, then turned you to face him again.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he said, but there was no judgment in his tone—only a kind of rueful admiration. "With both of us."

You met his gaze steadily. "I know."

He studied you for a moment, then nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "Well, then," he said, stepping back, "may the best man win."

Later that night, you stood before the mirror in your room, examining the evidence of the past two days—the faint mark on your neck from Joe Jr.'s mouth, the slight bruise on your hip from Jack's fingers. Your body felt pleasantly sore, used in the best possible way.

From downstairs came the sound of raised voices—Joe Jr. and Jack, their words indistinct but their tones unmistakable. Arguing, as they so often did, but with a new edge that you recognized all too well.

You smoothed your hands down the front of your dress, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. You could end this if you wanted to. Choose one brother over the other. Draw a line under the whole affair and return to New York with a scandalous memory to keep you warm through the winter.

But as you listened to their voices rise and fall, each trying to assert dominance over the other, you knew you wouldn't. Not yet, anyway.

Somethin about Mick pleasuring himself makes me go a bit feral. I mean imagine he’s punishing you for being a brat and sits opposite you stroking himself. Ye please 🙏🏻

wicked. you guys are wicked. dedicating this to @daydreamingleclerc cause this is right up her alley.

Your boyfriend was mean, beyond mean. This was cruel.

To be fair, you were the one that put yourself in this situation but Mick didn't have to take you seriously the time, he usually didn't. You had teased him all through dinner; low cut top, you were out with friends so he couldn't be touchy, a hand on his lap the entire night, sitting on his lap for photos and wiggling around to get comfortable but he knew you were just rilling him up.

"Mick," you groaned, pouting as you watched him.

"What?" He mumbles, not even bothering to look up at you. His hand wrapped around his cock, moving up and down slowly; the same way you'd do it.

He made you sit on the bed, watching him make himself feel good instead of letting you touch him. This was more torture for you than him, at least he was still getting some sort of pleasure.

"Oh poor thing," he coos, glancing over at you. You were sitting on your knees, eyes fixed on his hand moving up and down. "Can I touch you, please?" You asked sweetly, hoping he'd cave and say yes.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Yes." You answer a bit too eagerly for your liking.

Mick smiles- the way your eyes followed his every move, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

"Fine. C'mere." He gives in, only because his hand is tired he tells himself. Not because he knows your hand feels way better than his. You're on your knees, looking up at him. His other hand grips your chin, "what do you say?"

"Thank you," you smiled sweetly at him.

"Good girl."

lowkey I wanna sit on young mikas face. just smother that pretty face with my pussy

anon ur so right. why do you, as a man, have an INSANE JAWLINE if not to give me a nice seat!!

he loves it. he loves eating you out anyway, but having you sit on his face is on a whole other level for mika

wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull you down onto his mouth, moaning against your pussy when you tangle your hands in his hair

the noises are obscene

your stifled whines, a gentle, constant repetition of "mika, mika mika--" as you roll your hips against his face

the wet, desperate noises from mika pressing his tongue against you, dragging it through your cunt like he can't get enough of the taste of you

the one downside of the position is that he can't finger you like he normally would going down on you - can't fuck you with three fingers while he suckles your clit until you squeal and squirt over his hand

but that's okay (-: he's more than happy pulling you to an orgasm or two with his mouth alone, grabbing handfuls of your ass to knead and spank

sucking on your clit and lavishing the little bundle of nerves with tight circles of his tongue, bringing you closer and closer to the edge

the tipping point is when he pulls away, just enough for his "look at me" to be audible

and he doesn't break eye contact with you once you look down, his baby blue eyes turned dark with lust-blown pupils, the absolute need in his gaze pushing you over the edge as you cum