"still?" "always."

insane thoughts hours but i really can't stop thinking about being in the middle of a lewis + fernando sandwich... what do you think

it's insanely competitive - the moment they get you back to a hotel room, though you're not sure whose of theirs it is, you get the sense this might be more about a silent set of mind games between the two of them, and less about you.

the position keeps changing and it's hard to keep up with who's where, with whose hands are doing what to you. you don't really understand what the goal of this is, until lewis takes you apart on his tongue and fingers, sucking on your clit as you orgasm with his name moaned around fernando's cock.

it's like a switch has been flicked, then. fernando manhandling you so you're on his lap, your back to lewis (and fernando grins at his glare), sliding three, even four fingers into you and setting a relentless pace until you're biting down a scream into the thick muscle of his neck and squirting all over his hand.

you don't get to recover before lewis is pulling you back towards him, positioning you on your hands and knees before burying himself to the hilt in your oversensitive cunt, telling you to keep looking at fernando, baby as you gasp for breath with how fucking deep he is inside you. that's what this game is -- one upping each other with your body, showing off who is better.

(and, of course, if fernando makes you squirt, lewis needs to match it, beat it.)

fernando pulls you under him and hoists your legs to his shoulders after lewis makes you orgasm again, soaking the sheets one more, sobbing his name and digging your nails into his biceps. nando is equally merciless, slowly rolling his hips deep, your thighs pressed up to your chest, before setting a brutal pace.

when you cum again, you're limp on the bed, moaned names collapsing into incoherent moans and whines. when lewis slides his fingers into your cum-slicked pussy once again, you faintly register how deliciously, painfully long this night is going to be.

Mercedes really said 'you have to be hot if you want to work for us'.

rules for my page

only for viewers over the age of 18

requests are always open

minors dni

Watch What Happens | Day 29: Candles

carlisle cullen x f!reader x charlie swan

Rated E | 5k

Tags: soft filth, est. open relationship, threesome, voyeurism, implied mutual attraction, brief mention of alcohol, sub/dom elements, fingering, oral, unprotected PiV

There’s moments Carlisle can’t share with you, as soft and human as you are. Luckily for you, he finds out he likes to watch. And even more fortuitously - you both find out that Charlie likes to give.

He’s hard to resist.

It could be what he is - so much about him calls to you, makes you starry-eyed. Inhibitions and the filter on your mouth disappearing - leaving your mind as foggy as a chilly winter’s morning.

But you think maybe it’s just him. The silk of his voice, the cool slide of his fingers raising goosebumps in their wake. Trailing down between your breasts, his chest pressed against your back as you knees open between his.

The little shiver when his lips press against your neck. A sharp inhale, the brush of his tongue against the spot where your pulse thuds - a balm against your burning skin.

Your breath comes out a shudder, how he’s so close. His sweet cologne has you sinking against him, his fingers pausing at your mound, sliding over soft skin.

“Carlisle.” You breath his name, and he can feel the gasp in your throat, a hum coming from low in his throat as he indulges you.

Fingers dipping lower as your thighs nudge wider. Feeling where you’re slick and hot and oh - he wants to bury himself in you. Feel that warmth wrapped around him, so soft and so yielding.

Instead, the tip of his finger drags up. Slipping against your clit, first a slow, small circle, and then another. Until your head is tipped back against his solid shoulder, your hips bucking into his touch.

“Please.” You whine, and Carlisle makes a comforting sound, his other hand splayed across your belly, thumb stroking the valley between your breasts.

“You know I can’t.” He admonishes, but it’s soft edge tempers the rejection - your teeth clicking together as they clench.

Lips parting as you pant, close enough to the edge that you’re not above begging, “But you’re - you can handle it. I know you can.”

A mess for him, and he’s still so composed. Not a hair out of place, the only signs are the wrinkles in the clothes where you’ve clung to him, and the hunger that burns in his eyes.

“I don’t think I could hold back.” He admits, though he says it without shame.

Just the truth - why he keeps you at arms length in some ways. Giving you his fingers and his mouth, but no more - even in spite of your sweet pleas.

You’re protesting again, something about how he manages just fine as a doctor - that if he can handle that then certainly this has to be easy - and his kiss is sweet against your temple.

The softest tsk as he chides you.

“It’s easy not to want what you’ve never had.”

And then an intake of breath, the sound sharp against your ear as he inhales you, your scent. Fingers sliding down until they’re slipping into you, unable to resist giving you just a tiny bit more.

But no more than that.

“And you must remember… I’ve tasted you, darling.”

———

An idea forms, just a small bud of a thing. Slowly growing, blooming - unfurling at each meeting.

It hadn’t been hard. Carlisle had seen the way he looked at you both, the lingering glances. A curiosity, your eyes flicking Charlie’s way when you think no one is looking. When he looks to Carlisle, and then you when he makes a some sort of jest or snarky comment, waiting for a soft smile.

A loop, ebbing and flowing.

Carlisle brings the idea to you when you’re in the car, after picking you up for the evening. Broaching the topic just as you pass the Police Station, the neat flick of his eyes towards the parking lot, automatically checking to see if he’s still there.

He’s not, and the car keeps going.

“What do you think about Charlie?” Carlisle asks you, as if he’s asking about your weekend plans, what you’d like to have for dinner.

You frown, “As a person?”

“Yes.” He hums, “More than that, but yes.”

It takes a second to form words, the thoughts tumbling around. Not sure where he’s going with his question, but you try to answer honestly - there were few secrets between you. Many things laid bare, expectations discussed.

Even if you poked at them, sometimes, in the heat of the moment.

“He’s been a good friend.” You settle on something vague, though a heat rises to your cheeks as you glance out the window, “I like him.”

A thumb taps against the steering wheel, once, twice. His gaze always has a weight that settles over you, a gravity that always pulls to back to him.

So you glance, where he’s smiling.

“I like him, too.”

You blink, “Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” He watching, gauging your reaction. If you understand, or if he’ll have to leave more breadcrumbs.

But he doesn’t need to worry. It’s something you’ve discussed - just whispers in the dark, cozy with the afterglow. Sometimes, you think it’s just a dream, the memory of some unconscious thought.

How he imagines, sometimes, you with someone else. Wanting to see just how much you could take in the hands of someone who didn’t have to be careful like he did.

How well you might listen to them, under his instruction. How you might look, pinned between them, each of his movements so measured and careful as he finds his own end.

How you’ve thought about that, too.

“Do…” You hesitate, before surging forward, “What makes you think he’d say yes?”

There’s the slightest curve of his lips, the hint of a dimple.

“He’ll say yes.” His voice is certain - the same tone he uses in the office. A hand reaching, cool to the touch as his fingers fit between yours.

“I wouldn’t bring it up if I wasn’t certain, love.”

———

It’s on a chilly December night when Carlisle asks him.

The subject broached after an evening of pizza and beer, a game on Charlie’s television half-watched in quiet companionship. Bellies filled with drink and food - sitting cozy on the couch, before Carlisle finds the perfect segue. His pitch clean and effortless, much like everything he does.

Charlie’s brow pinched and furrowed as he listens to the solicitation - not sure if he’s heard correctly.

A quick darting of eyes after, as he glances your way. Over the years in Forks he’s gotten used to not asking questions too many - taking opportunities at face value.

If anything he looks like he’s not sure why you’re asking him, and it makes you smile at his obliviousness. Fingers passing over and smoothing the edge of his mustache as he processes.

For a long moment, you wonder what he’s thinking about - if the two of you have gotten this all wrong. Not too worried about discretion, both of their jobs made keeping knowledge quiet second nature. But you didn’t want to mess up the friendship that had formed, over the past few years.

But Carlisle is right - as he always is.

“I don’t like… “ His hand waves in the air, discomfort evident, “Complications. So as long as it not-”

“No complications, I assure you.” Carlisle smiles warmly, “Just the occasional favor, if you’d prefer to think about it that way.”

“Hell of a favor.” Charlie huffs, his mustache twitching with a bemused smile - but he’s intrigued, leaning back against the worn couch.

A beat, before he nods slowly - a sense of finality to his answer.

“Fine with me.”

———

He’s warm beneath you.

You’ve forgotten what it’s like - too used to the feeling of carved marble in human form. Sculpted by the gods and shaped in their image.

But Charlie, he gives. Your hand flat against his chest, sliding up to his shoulders. Fingers digging into the thick muscle as his own grip at your waist.

Hot-blooded, with the way those hands squeeze, tug. Rocking your hips against his as you straddle him, his back bumping against the headboard.

The room dark with the wintry, evening light. Ending up at your place together - an almost tangible tension in the room after the conversation. A mutual agreement that there was no sense in waiting until another night, not with all possibilities so beautifully ripe and swirling in your mind.

Candles illuminate the cozy space - one on your dresser, another on your bedside table. Carlisle thought it would soften him, make him blend in.

He was right - about more than just that, tonight.

If you turned your head you could see him from his seat in the cozy, overstuffed armchair you liked to read in. Looking like he’s been bathed in gold, achingly beautiful. As close to human as you’ve seen him.

You can feel the weight of his gaze, where he watches - still as stone. But another shift of your hips brings you back, rocking you where Charlie is thick in his jeans. A low breath of a moan as you push the flannel from his shoulders, your lips dragging around a stubble-lined cheek as he tugs his arms from the sleeves.

The shirt and bra you’re wearing goes next, disappearing over the edge of the bed to join your pants - discarded before he had pulled you onto his lap moments before. Fingers roaming over newly-bared flesh, his touch greedy as he palms your breast, eyes dropping to see how they look in his hands.

“Christ, you’re beautiful.” He’s murmuring, as your fingers slip around the buckle of his belt, “You sure you want this?”

Charlie’s gaze flickers over your shoulder, just to the side. A careful confirmation, and you use this distraction to palm him, your hand curling and cupping.

“God, yes.” You breath, as he groans, a small thrust of his hips into your touch. Fingers pressing and teasing and stroking him over his jeans, as he finishes loosening his belt, popping open the buckle.

“Be good for Chief Swan, sweetheart.” A soft voice chides, capturing your attention. Your head turns, meeting his gaze as the edge of his lips tilt in a knowing smile, “Can you do that for us?”

It has you nodding, turning back to Charlie, so he can see too. Easing back off him, kneeling on the bed as you wait for him to work the zipper - lift his hips. Helping him tug the fabric down his thighs, before settling between them.

His t-shirt pushed up to his abdomen, the thick curve of his cock resting just below against a dusting of coarse hair. Legs spread across the top of your thick, soft comforter, one still bent at the knee, foot flat against the bed.

His leg straightens, muscles flexing, when you take him in your mouth. Nose brushing against his abdomen as your head dips, lips parting to wrap around the flushed tip, enveloping him.

You can be good. Make him moan with your mouth, your hands. More - if he still wants that, if he hasn’t changed his mind.

But you don’t think he has, not when his fingers are brushing over your shoulders - wide hands coming to cup your jaw as your head bobs.

Seeing the way he sinks into your pillow, the small, unconscious thrust of his hips as you meet his eyes, something you’re sure Carlisle catches.

Eyes closing as your tongue swirls, over velvet-soft skin, taking him as deep as you can into your throat. Pleased when you hear the broken moan in response, his breath harsh.

You like this. It’s different, how responsive he his. Soaking in the rising of his chest with each breath, the throb of his cock against your tongue. Words you don’t quite catch as your thighs press together, trying to relieve an ache of your own.

It’s not as subtle as you thought, not from where your lover sits, near the end of the bed. Fingers curled underneath his chin, his elbow resting on the padded arm as he watches beneath sharp, half-lidded eyes.

“Touch yourself, kitten.” Carlisle tells you, “I can see how wet you are. I want you messy when he fucks you.”

His words make you clench, the hand on Charlie’s thigh gripping on a little tighter as you moan. Your lazy pace slowing as your eyes glance up unconsciously, where he’s watching you, too.

“You let him call the shots like that?” Charlie asks - a thumb swiping over your cheek, as he rests heavy on your tongue.

His question is amusing to you, you’d smile if your mouth wasn’t so full - an answer coming as your fingers slide between your thighs, feeling just how soft and soaked you really are.

Fluttering shut as you suck on him, as your fingertips circle, pressing at your clit. Basking in relief as your own throbbing is answered and eased.

Shifting your weight for balance, leaning more onto his sturdy thighs. It’s hard to do this much at once, your brain fuzzy with desire, your own pleasure now at war with the need to make him come with your mouth.

Charlie’s voice breaks through your thoughts, the words rasped out, “You like being told what to do, baby?”

You nod automatically, in between the slow bobs of your head, the sharp exhale of breath through your nose as you concentrate.

There’s a rumbling groan in his throat, as he pieces more things together. What you like, what he likes, what all three of you do.

“Fuck. Can you make yourself come for me?” His voice lowers, gaining a hint of an edge, “I won’t fuck you until you do.”

There’s a low hum of amusement and approval from the corner, a curving smile as you melt with Charlie’s words. Leaning into his permission, as your attention shifts. The teasing touches becoming more focused, knowing that you don’t have to keep yourself on the edge anymore.

Almost making you forget keep moving, an apologetic look thrown Charlie’s way as you take him deep again. Not that he seems to mind, his gaze fixed fully on the movement of your wrist, eyes watchful and greedy.

“I know it’s hard, darling.” Carlisle’s soft voice chimes in, a balm and an accelerant to the building ache, “Just hold him in your mouth, okay? Keep him nice and warm.”

There’s a hiss of breath at his words, Charlie’s hips rocking into your mouth. They make you tremble too, a tightening in your belly as your fingers slide over soaked skin.

Closer, closer closer - getting lost as he fills your mouth. As you bring yourself to edge, and then plummeting over.

A muffled whimper buzzes in your throat before you’re releasing him, your face pressed against the curve of his hip as you ride out the pleasure with your fingers. Moaning senselessly as your thighs flex, as the pulsing relief grows and spreads throughout your body. Leaving you to catch your breath, panting through kiss and cock-swollen lips.

Limbs pliant as Charlie moves you with a gentle, “Turn around for me, baby.”

Propping yourself up on your knees, letting your back curve down so your head can rest on the bed - until the thudding in your chest wanes, a sigh of contentment leaving your lips.

Only then does he move, pushing himself up as well. Hands tugging the shirt from his shoulders, before palming the curve of your ass - the slightest tug as his movement bares you.

“God, just look at you.”

The words are no more than a rasp, fingers tracing slick skin, down to where your thighs are damp with your release. Tracing up to puffy lips, your thighs tensing when his thumb nudges your clit, where it’s still tender.

Fingers moving to press at your opening, until the tip of one sinks into the first knuckle, and then deeper. Pumping slowly, working you open before the second notches at your entrance.

“So fucking tight.” He growls out, “Need to get you ready for me.”

You had been expecting him to take you, to fill you. His tenderness is something that makes you warm, as you peek over your shoulder at him. Where he’s backlit by the candlelight, his features becoming softened and movements fluid.

A gentleman, though in a much more different and gruff kind of way than Carlisle. Not for the first time, but certainly the most realistic, you imagine both sets of hands on you - the contrast making you shiver.

Your fingers curl in the blanket, holding on as Charlie nudges at a spot that sends up sparks in your belly. A soft moan as he pauses for a second, before doing it again. Feeling how you clench, imaging himself how you’ll feel wrapped around other parts of him.

Scissoring you open, the briefest pause before there’s the sound of his body shifting, then a soft and warm exhale of breath against your thigh. Followed by the wet brush of his tongue as he tastes you around his fingers, making your sleepy eyes snap open.

“Fuck.” You groan the word through clenched teeth, an arch to your back as his tongue sweeps against your clit.

Fingers withdrawing to grasp your thighs, holding you steady and open against his mouth. Dipping inside to taste your release, the sound of skin against skin as a hand leaves your hip to wrap around his cock.

“Taste so good, honey.” He murmurs the words against your skin, pulling back to press a kiss against the sensitive skin of your thigh, “So fucking sweet.”

Your eyes lift, to where Carlisle sits - seeing how he’s watching, the hand propped under his chin now moving. Ghosting over the front of his trousers, gently palming where his cock strains against the woolen fabric.

It does something to you, his look hungry when your slow sweep meets his. Knowing what he wants to see, wanting to give that to him.

“I want you.” You beg, your eyes on him, a two-edged meaning to your words. His eyes drop to your lips as Charlie groans behind you, a hand pressing down against your back for leverage as he pushes himself up until he’s kneeling.

The kiss of his cock as it presses against you, the head just nudging against your slit. Holding himself there, one last confirmation, “Is this what you want?”

You shift against him, trying to press him into you - voice clipped with the effort, “Yes.”

“Oh darling, I know you can do better than that. Ask him nicely.” Carlisle’s soft tone cuts in - it’s almost annoying how easily he finds the words to fluster you.

The hand on your back curls, biting into your skin as there’s a sharp exhale of breath. Your eyes hold for a second longer before your head tilts, your ear pressed into the mattress.

If he wants to watch you beg, you will.

“Please fuck me, Charlie.” You whine, fingers curling into the blanket, rocking back towards him. Feeling the head of his cock just starting to press into you, as he makes no effort to hold himself back or move away.

Too far gone himself, to actually deny you of anything. It fuels the heat in your belly, making you want him even more, for him to take you, “Oh, I want your cock so bad.”

You’re the one watching as his jaw clenches, the way his eyes darken. The hand on his cock leaving to curl around your hip, tugging you back onto him. Splitting you open as your plead turns into a long, high moan - filling you with a single, sharp thrust.

“Christ, sweetheart.” He grits out, feeling the way you clench around him. Ages since he’s had someone like this - so soft and sweet and begging.

Hands still gripping on as he pulls back, no more than half-way, a grunt as he buries himself again.

“Is she warm, Charlie?”

When you finally move your head, you see how Carlisle has shifted. Thighs spread open, his elbow pressing into his knee as he leans closer. Almost on the edge of his seat, no more than a few feet from you now.

There’s a huff of breath, the slow slide of Charlie’s cock as he thrusts. Once, and then again, grinding himself deep until you’re moaning.

“Yes, your girl is gripping my cock. So fucking tight and warm.” His voice is close to a growl, coaxing your hips into a rhythm.

Watching the way your ass bounces against his hips, the peek of his wet cock when you rock forward. Disappearing into your cunt as you arch into him, using your grip on the bed for leverage.

You don’t know how to interpret the look Carlisle gives you. Almost wistful, his lips parted with the memory of a breath he no longer has, soaking in the bliss on your face.

“And how does he feel, love?” He asks you,

“God,” You gasp, “You feel so fucking good, Charlie.”

There’s a flush on his cheeks behind you, a groan in his chest as his hips slap against your thighs. The wet squelch each time you take him, slick from desire and your release and his hot, warm mouth.

His strokes nudging where his fingers had been, your mind going fuzzier with each stroke. Eyes focusing on where the fabric pulls tight against Carlisle’s crotch, a question you are just barely able to voice.

“You want me to take care of you?”

Carlisle has said he preferred to just watch. Something that had been discussed, something that Charlie agreed to, but had almost seemed almost surprised about. Like he had assumed otherwise, when he had agreed.

His eyes flicker above you, a glance at the other man. Lips curling with a knowing look that you’re not sure you understand, a flash of white teeth that only you can see.

“Next time.” He promises, “Okay, kitten?”

The nod comes quickly and eagerly, but he’s not done with you yet. His hand lifting, his first finger curling under your chin. Shifting you, the angle making you groan, as his thumb presses against your lower lip.

You open for him, lips wrapping around and sucking - his thumb cool when it presses down against your tongue. Giving you something else to keep your mouth busy, letting his own mind wander to stolen moments together.

Feeling each muffled moan as it buzzes in your throat, the warm suction of your mouth as you feel the pressure building again. Letting your teeth scrape over the pad of his thumb when a thrust pushes it deeper into your mouth, knowing you can’t hurt him.

Already close from Charlie’s fingers and his mouth - a throbbing bloom of pleasure that feels close to bursting. The sounds becoming more rhythmic, drunk on the feeling of being so full - content to let it build until it becomes overwhelming.

When your eyes start to go hazy is when he pulls back, smearing the string of spit over your lower lip, leaving it glossy. Surprising you as his mouth presses to yours, a low, pleased hum in his throat when your lips brush.

“What do you need?” Carlisle coos, stealing one more kiss before leaning back. Knowing that it won’t take much for you to shatter - content to watch from his seat so that he doesn’t miss anything.

The answer is easy, the answer is on the tip of your tongue when Charlie beats you to it.

“I know just what she needs.”

He had slowed to a grind when Carlisle teased you, but now he man-handles you. An arm curling around your waist, pinning you in place against him. His thrusts sharp and shallow, shifting until he hears you gasp, feeling you clench down hard around him.

“Christ, that’s it. Good girl.” Charlie croons, fingers reaching to pet the bud of your clit, touching you like he had watched you do before.

“I want you to come for me. Want you to cream on my cock, sweetheart. I know you can do it.”

His voice is soft and low, an edge like before - circling and pressing, his cock pounding into you - you’re so close that you can hardly breathe.

“Oh god,” You murmur, toes curling, muscles stringing tight in anticipation, “Oh my god, please-“

“That’s it, come on.” Charlie urges, the words sounding fuzzy in your ears - drowned out by the thud of your heartbeat.

A cool hand nudging at your chin, tilting your face from where it dips between your shoulders.

“Show me.” Carlisle murmurs, just for you.

And so, you do.

Letting him watch the way your brows pinch, the stiff arch of your back as you come. Eyes focused on his, the light of the candles dancing off dark pupils, until stars are exploding behind yours as they flutter shut.

Your release torn from you, leaving you gasping and moaning, half-formed words as his cock makes you gush. Soaking him like he wanted, each thrust slicker and louder in your small bedroom.

Another low whisper, just for you, “Good girl.”

It’s only his centuries of self-control that prevents you from seeing just how far gone Carlisle is. Watching you take and take - the bliss crossing your features as you came undone.

So much more carnal than the gentle lovemaking that he’s limited himself too - worried about getting too lost in the moment, unable to forgive himself if he ever injured you.

Never wanting to test the limits of his abilities as much as he did right now. If it were possible to feel pain, he thinks he’d be throbbing right now with need.

But the evening is not over - even as your wanton cries turn into contented moans. The sharp pulses turning into waves that leave you relaxed and euphoric.

Letting Charlie set his own pace, hands grasping at your hips, tugging you to meet each thrust. Not far behind, not after the way your pussy clenched around him, as he heard the way you sighed his name.

The grind of his hips turning shorter, faster. His voice matching his need, low and rasping, “I’m close, sweetheart. Where do you want me?”

“You can come in her, Charlie.” Carlisle answers for you, his eyes glittering in the dim of the room, “I assure you, it’s safe.”

Charlie’s groan is strangled, a stutter to his hips, “Fuck. You hear that baby? Is that what you want?”

You clench down around him, murmuring a dreamy, “mhmm” as he groans.

Only lasting a few more sharp thrusts before he’s there - chest pressing against your back as he bends over you. Shoving himself deep as his cock throbs, spilling into your heat.

You take him, every last drop, until he’s easing himself out - until his release threatens to drip from you. Waiting until he’s collapsing back on your pillows before you join him. Suddenly shy, in spite of everything.

The bed dips with added weight a moment later, as Carlisle finally moves from the armchair. Fitting himself on your other side, pushing you closer to Charlie. Hips bumping against yours as his hand slides up your thigh, to where your legs are still parted as you catch your breath.

Fingertips trail over the sensitive skin - down to where you’re puffy and slick. Watching you with golden eyes as the tips of two of them press into you - as you’re unable to stifle a gasp of surprise, and then a moan.

Nudging deep, where you’re wet and filled. The sound lewd as his fingers pump, and then curl.

Your head tilts fractionally, as your eyes slide to where Charlie is stretched out beside you. The arm he had thrown across his face has lowered, moving behind his head. His own gaze focused on the careful movements between your thighs.

“So warm.” Carlisle hums, his lips curving as he finds a spot that makes you to jolt, clench around him. The flash of pretty teeth as he smiles.

A hand drifts to rest on your hip, moving slowly. A very warm, very human hand - sliding over skin as it moves up to your waist.

Charlie’s bare chest pressing against your shoulder as he curls onto his side. His thumb brushing the underside of your breast, a soft back-and-forth. Flatting his palm when you arch into his touch, and you can feel the exhale of his breath against your ear.

Their touches, the attention, feels overwhelming. Your breath coming in short pants, a sharp “ah” with half-lidded eyes as a thumb slides across your clit.

As Carlisle dips down to steal a kiss, a swipe of his tongue against yours. A noise almost like a growl - the flickering light dancing across the arch of his sculpted cheekbones, almost making him glow.

The press of a hip against yours, as Charlie shifts against you. Trapping the taut peak of your nipple between his knuckles, the breath you’re holding dragged out in a moan.

“You got one more, honey?” He murmurs, his eyes dragging from where Carlisle leans over you, his gaze heavy and curious and wanting.

Your lips brush his next as you nod, and you wonder if he can taste Carlisle on your tongue. If he’s thinking about him, wondering - though the thought is quickly slipping from your mind.

Sliding through your fingers like smoke as his thumb presses just a little harder, as Charlie’s fingers pinch and tug and it’s all too much.

Your back bowing against the bed they bring you over the edge - fingers slowing, pressing deep. Keeping you full so the spend doesn’t leak from you, not yet.

Enjoying the tight clench of your cunt as you pulse around his fingers, listening to each gasping breath, the sound of your moans. Committing your pretty, human, reactions to memory - the thudding of your pulse, the way you gaze at him so reverently.

Until gently, his fingers slide from you. Slick and shining with you - with Charlie. The flash of his pink tongue appearing between parted lips as he sucks the tip of one clean, before taking both into his mouth.

Slowly sliding them out - licked clean - before his head is dipping to kissing you again. His tongue already seeking yours before your lips fully meet.

“Shit.” Charlie hisses next to you, carefully watching every moment.

Carlisle’s laugh as soft as his voice, when he pulls back. His thumb running over your lip, as his eyes find Charlie’s.

“Thank you.” He tells him, and you think only Carlisle could sound so composed after such an evening.

Charlie’s ears and cheeks flushed pink - a huff of an incredulous, pleased breath.

“Uh, sure.” He manages, a hand brushing through his hair, yet not making any attempt to move. Still uncertain that this wasn’t a dream, a fantasy.

“Anytime.”

(No pressure tags: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto, @jedicouncilmember)

George's big and veiny hands twirling with the little strings of your bikini as you are completely alone on the yacht

here me out on this. George's hands covering your pussy because paparazzi are near <eye emoji bc I cant find it atm>

Always Walk Me Home

Max Verstappen x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You and Max are keeping things casual. Sooo casual. You can be casual. Right?

a/n: Heeeeere we go, his number is in my bio for a reason, it’s my other favorite boy! This one is heavily inspired by some of the prompts on this list. anyways enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol/mild intoxication, mild sexual references, google translated Dutch

Things with Max are… brand new. Everything is still fresh. Everything he does gives you butterflies, makes your heart skip a beat. It’s the honeymoon phase, as everyone calls it.

It’s so brand new that nobody knows. Nothing is… official, yet. You’ve just been on a few dates, had a few movie nights. You’ve stayed at his place a couple times, waking up with his arm around your waist and Jimmy and Sassy curled up next to you. It’s casual. You’re keeping things casual. Max seems content to feel things out, to keep seeing you without labeling it. You’re trying so hard to be casual about it that it’s almost embarrassing.

You feel like everyone sees straight through you. On top of spending time alone together, you and Max are friends, so you see each other at group outings and clubs and dinners with your other friends. Max acts the same there as he always has- kind, courteous, and friendly. You won’t lie, sometimes you wish he’d hold your hand or pull your chair out for you or something, anything to show you that you’re not the only one feeling less than casual. But you’re scared of scaring him away, so you keep your mouth shut.

…..

You’re out to dinner with friends, somehow ending up sitting next to him. It’s nice, really nice. You can smell his cologne, can feel the warmth radiating off of him at the packed table. You have to fight the urge to nudge his foot with yours, to press your knee against his. That wouldn’t be very casual of you. You can do this, you can be normal.

He’s saying something to the person next to him, laughing and leaning towards them. You want to be the reason he’s laughing, want to be in on the jokes. You keep your mouth shut and look at the menu instead.

“What are you going to get?” Max asks.

He’s suddenly in your space. He’s leaning close, his shoulder brushing against yours. Be normal. You shrug, sliding your finger down the menu.

“Probably the shrimp scampi,” you say, pointing at the item.

Max nods. “You love seafood.”

You blink, breath caught in your chest. He’s right, but you didn’t know he knew that. Let alone for him to say it as fact. It’s not like he’s whispering either- someone else could hear. It’s silly, because it’s such a small thing, but you’re overanalyzing everything about it.

“I do,” you agree, turning and smiling at him.

“I remember things,” he says, a soft smile on his face, and now your face is growing hot.

Someone draws his attention away, and you look back to the menu. You nearly yelp in shock when something brushes your knee, but- it’s Max, you realize with a start, his hand searching for something. You hold your breath. His fingers find yours, and he interlaces your hands, palm to palm. He keeps them resting on your leg.

You try to take even breaths. He’s holding your hand in public, with your friends right next to you. Sure, it’s under the table, but this is the most you’ve gotten from him in a setting like this. He’s held your hand on dates, done much more in the privacy of his home, but here it feels overwhelming. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, and you resist the urge to hold on so tightly to him that he can’t let go.

Eventually the food comes, and you both let go so you can eat. But it was nice while it lasted.

…..

Max’s apartment is spacious and cozy, despite the fact that he’s gone from it so often. There’s a warmth here, an aura that just screams Max. His cats roam freely, though while you’re there they have a tendency to follow you around.

“They are traitors,” Max accuses as Jimmy and Sassy weave around your ankles in the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m just better than you,” you say.

“Oh, you are,” he says, sending up a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. “But I feed them. So they are traitors.”

You laugh, leaning down to pet the cats. They nudge their heads against your hands and legs, paw at your socks, and when you walk into the living room, they follow after. Max just watches with disappointment.

By the time he joins you in the living room, drinks in hand, both of them are curled up in your lap. He lets out a huff and sets the drinks on the table. Then he’s nudging at the cats, and you cry out when he pushes them both off your lap.

“Max!” You say, appalled.

He laughs, lays down on the couch, and promptly placed his head exactly where the two cats had been. He stares up at you with a wide grin, eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer.

He reaches for one of your hands. He squeezes your fingers softly before bringing your hand up to his hair. You laugh and take the hint, start running your fingers through the blonde strands. He lets his eyes fall shut. Then you watch as he brings his hand up, purses his lips, and points at them.

You take that hint too, lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. When you try to pull away, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and keeps you there. He deepens the kiss, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of your neck to hold you there. It’s not the best angle, but it’s nice, always nice to kiss him.

He finally lets you go and collapses back into your lap, a satisfied smile on his reddened lips.

…..

“I can’t open it!” You squeak. “What the fuck, how do they make it look so easy?”

You’re holding a bottle of champagne in your friend’s apartment, trying to get the cork out. It doesn’t help that you’re scared- one too many horror stories about someone getting a cork to the eye, or breaking a window. You huff and try again, gently. No use.

“Lando slams it on the ground,” your friend suggests, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, and he also shattered one of Max’s trophies,” you say. “So maybe not the best example.”

You hear familiar laughter, then, and you drop one hand to your side, still holding the bottle in front of you with the other. Max makes his way through the kitchen, a smile on his lips that paints his whole face. You hold it out to him, pouting.

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

He wraps his hand around yours, around the bottle. You can’t lie, your mind goes somewhere else for a second, but you tamp those thoughts down and try to focus.

“See, you put this hand on the cork,” he instructs, “and this hand on the bottom.”

His hands are warm over yours. Your face feels hot. Does he feel the sparks when his skin touches yours, too? Or is this normal for him? Is it just a friend helping another friend? You wish you knew, wish he’d say something to quell your worries and calm your racing heart.

“-and then you twist, like this,” he demonstrates.

The bottle hisses, and you jump, but there’s no dramatic pop, no shooting of the cork. You just pull it out, and you stare at the bottle with wide eyes. Oh. That was-

“Easy, right?” He says. “You are already a pro.”

You laugh, shake your head, and hold out the bottle to your friends, standing there with their empty glasses. You want to study their faces, ask them if they noticed anything. You want to ask if they saw the sparks, too. Someone takes the bottle, and your hands fall to your side, the cork still between your fingers.

Your knuckles brush against something- when you look, it’s Max’s hand. He’s still standing there, watching as everyone passes the bottle around. You swallow tightly, bump your hand into his. Deliberately. You want to look up at his face, want to gauge his reaction, but you resist the urge.

Max reaches his pinky out and hooks it with yours. For just a moment, standing in the kitchen, surrounded by your friends, you’re linked. The sparks run from his finger, up your wrist and arm and straight to your heart. Your chest fizzes like the champagne, bubbly and overflowing.

…..

You weren’t even planning on seeing Max tonight. It’s a girls night, one that’s been suggested over and over, each of you being too busy to make it happen until tonight. You’re at your favorite bar, bass thudding in your chest, your friends all around you.

And then, there’s a tingling feeling in your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone is watching you. You turn over your shoulder and lock eyes with Max.

He’s leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. He has a black t-shirt on that’s always been one of your favorites- it hugs his upper arms and his chest so perfectly. He’s watching you, a soft smirk on his lips, a drink in his hand. Everyone is moving around you, but you’re stuck on him.

You smile, wave, and force yourself to turn back to your friends. You like him, you want to spend time with him, but you’ve been neglecting your friendships because of it. Your friends have been teasing you all night about how you’ve been too busy, how you keep checking your phone, how there must be a guy. You’ve denied it at every turn. You can’t leave them now. Ditching your friends for the guy who isn’t even your boyfriend would be the opposite of casual. You force yourself not to look at him, but you swear you can still feel him staring.

Ten minutes later, a bartender appears with a tray of shots and lime wedges. “For you,” she says, pointing at you, and your friends squeal in excitement. She points behind you, then. “From him.”

You turn over your shoulder again. Max is watching, and waving this time. You laugh and wave back, and your friends all do the same. He’s far away, too far to make it in time as you each grab a shot and throw them back in unison. You put the lime between your lips and turn to look at him again, raising your brows. He laughs, eyes lit up so bright you can see the blue even across the room, you swear. Then he juts his chin in the direction of the hallway when nobody else is looking. A message just for you.

You find him out there ten minutes later, trying not to make it obvious and taking the time to come up with an excuse- you fake a phone call. The hall is empty when you walk out, and you wonder if he’s given up on you- you know you saw him walk out. Then he pops his head out from around a corner and waves you over frantically.

He’s leaning against the wall, the same way he was in the club. You stand against the wall on the other side of the hallway and stare at him.

“I’m not leaving right now,” you say. “I promised I’d stay out late.”

“I know,” he says. “Just wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? Seeing me across the bar wasn’t enough?”

The tequila running in your veins has you feeling braver than usual. It doesn’t seem to scare Max. He just grins wider, brow quirked.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. “You’re pretty from far away, but even prettier up close.”

Your face feels hot. He pushes off from the wall, leans towards you. He could box you in if he wanted, could pin you right there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes your hand in his and pulls you away from the wall, too. The kiss he sweeps you into is sweet. He wraps his arm around you, and you sling yours around the back of his neck. One of his hands cradles the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. Out of all of it, you’re much more focused on the feeling of his thumb on your cheek than the feeling of his lips on yours. It’s strangely intimate, strangely soft, the way he holds you as he kisses you in the hallway of a bar. The way his nose nudges against your cheek, the way he pulls you closer and closer like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away, leaves you gasping for air.

“You taste like lime,” he says.

You nod, dumbfounded.

“You should go back to your friends,” he suggests, kissing your temple. “If I keep kissing you I won’t want to let you go.”

You breathe out a laugh and slap his shoulder. “If you keep staring at me in the club I won’t be able to focus on anything else.”

He laughs. “I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it fun. Besides, you’re fun to watch.”

…..

Three days later, Max is holding your purse. He’d taken it from you when you were all standing in the lobby of the restaurant and your friend dragged you into the bathroom. He’d promised to keep it safe. Now you’re back, your friends are gathering their things and saying goodbyes, getting ready to go home. You’re watching him.

The little black bag looks even smaller in his hands. His fingers are wrapped around the clutch, thumb rubbing back and forth across one of the stitches the same way it had on your skin the night before. He’s talking to someone else, but when there’s a break in the conversation, you nudge him.

“I can take that back,” you say, holding your hand out.

He tilts his head, blinks softly. “That’s okay. I’ll carry it.”

You’re sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “Okay, but I’m leaving, so I need my purse.”

He nods. “I thought maybe I could walk you home. If you wanted.”

You nod in response, feeling a bit dumbfounded. The two of you exit the restaurant, waving goodbye to your friends. He takes your hand the second you’re outside, your purse still in his other one. Your fingers knit together like second nature, now. You could predict the pattern of the brush of his thumb against your skin like clockwork.

Your apartment isn’t far, but you find yourself walking slow on purpose, prolonging the moment. You pass people on the street and you know that to them, the two of you look like a real, actual couple. It’s nice to pretend. You lean into his shoulder, and he stumbles and laughs and keeps both of you upright. The two of you talk the whole way there, about everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.

When you reach the apartment building, he finally holds your purse out to you. You open the clutch, digging through it to find your keys and the front door access card. He watches in amusement as your fingers fumble through the bag.

“D’you wanna come up?” You ask. “I have some of that wine you like.”

You pull the card triumphantly from your bag. You look up at him, and he’s smiling softly, something sparkling in his eyes that makes your breath hitch. Makes the champagne bubble in your chest all over again.

“That’s okay,” he says, softly. “I’ve got to get back to the cats. But can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You blink, card still pinched between your fingers. “Yeah, sure.”

He tilts his head at you. “Maybe brunch. You are going to need sleep. How about you text me when you wake up and we’ll go from there?”

You nod. He nods back. Then he reaches up, cups the side of your face in his hand. He’s so gentle about it, more so than he normally is. When he presses his lips to yours, he tastes like gin and he kisses like… like he cares for you. Like this isn’t leading somewhere else, like he’s not going to pull you into his lap and start trailing kisses down your neck. He kisses you just to kiss you, just to say goodnight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says when he pulls away. “Goodnight, liefje.”

You smile up at him. “Goodnight, Max.”

He smiles back. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead softly. You swear you’re melting into the sidewalk. You must be a puddle under his feet. You want to press yourself into his chest, tell him to wrap his arms around you, ask him to never let you go.

But you’re trying so hard to be so good at being casual, so you kiss his cheek, turn around, and walk inside. You take the elevator up, leaning against the wall and covering your giddy smile with your hand. When you get into your apartment, kick off your heels, and drop your bag on the counter, your phone buzzes. It’s a call. You look at the screen and see Max’s face.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Did you get in alright?” He asks.

Your heart squeezes fiercely in your chest. He sounds so soft, asking it. You walk over to the window, peel back the curtains, hoping you’re right about what you think you’ll see. There he is, still standing in front of the entrance, phone to his ear. He’s staring up at your window. When he sees you, he waves.

“Yeah,” you say. “You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

But I’m so glad you did.

“Yes I did,” he says, voice soft and scratchy from the night out. “Had to make sure you were safe.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” he says. You watch as he waves again, smiling up at you. “Goodnight.”

…..

He picks you up for brunch the next day. By the time you’re in his car, it’s nearly 10:30. He drives with his hand on your knee, like always, fingers dancing across your exposed skin below the hem of your sundress. You like watching him drive, like being here with him. He pulls up to the restaurant and runs around to open your door for you, leaving you laughing. He hands the keys to the valet. Then he slips his arm around your waist and leads you inside.

You’ve been on dates with him, but none this fancy, none where you feel a little out of your element. Max seems comfortable, though- it’s moments like these where you’re reminded he’s not just your-friend-Max. He’s three-time-F1-world-champion-Max-Verstappen. Of course he can get a reservation here with such short notice. They’re honored to have him here.

A waiter leads you to a booth in the back. The restaurant is bright and airy, fresh flowers on every table. Max asks for a pitcher of water and orange juice before the waiter leaves. He pulls your chair out for you, pushes it in when you sit down. Your palms are sweating, heart beating rapidly. It’s just- this is the closest you’ve come to feeling like you’re actually dating him. Suddenly, it’s terrifying.

You ask him what’s good on the menu. He points out his favorites- the French toast, the eggs Benedict, the omelettes. He tells you he’s going to order a fruit sampler for the two of you to share, and you smile softly.

“They always have the best strawberries,” he tells you, eyes lit up. “You love strawberries.”

“I do,” you tell him, warmth filling your cheeks. “You do too.”

You’d bonded over that, when you first became friends. A strawberry wine that nobody else wanted to drink. Too sweet. You’d split the bottle with Max and went to bed with a sugar rush, your lips still tasting like strawberry. Ever since, for every special occasion, the two of you have gifted each other that same strawberry wine. It’s a running joke, among your friends- you’ll open the bottle, ask if anyone wants a glass. They’ll ignore you, but Max will come running.

He opens his mouth to say something, but over his shoulder, you spot something that makes your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He looks at you in concern. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just-“ you sigh. “Your coworker is here.”

Charles Leclerc has just walked in the door, a girl on his arm. The waiter is pointing in your general direction, towards an open table a little ways away. There goes your whole morning. He’s going to want to leave now.

Max turns to look, brows raised. “Oh. At least it’s one I like.”

You can’t help the laugh. “Should we go?”

Max turns back to you, perplexed. “What, get up to say hi? I don’t like him that much. He’ll come over here when he sees us.”

Us. You wish he meant it how you want him to.

“No, like-“ you sigh, gaze flickering down to the table. “You don’t want people to know, so-“

“What?” He asks, wide eyed. “What do you mean, I don’t want-“

“You didn’t want to tell anyone,” you say, quietly. You can’t look at him. “We haven’t even really talked about this, and… I figured you…”

You trail off, because you can feel him staring at you. He reaches over and tucks his finger under your chin. He tilts your face upwards towards his. His gaze is soft, a small smile on his face.

“Schat, you have to be joking,” he says, and you stare back at him. “Of course I want to tell people. I have wanted to tell the whole world since I kissed you the first time.”

You blink. “But you- you didn’t want to put a label on it. You never…”

“We never talked about it,” he says. “I was giving you time. I’m a lot. Dating me is a lot. You are… I was following your lead.”

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, a giddy feeling in your chest. “Oh my god, I’m so dumb.”

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment. His eyes are bright and sparkling, his smile spreading across his whole face. You’re so done being casual.

Charles appears at the end of your table seconds later, smiling at the two of you. “Max, hi, good to see you. And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds, turning to you.

“Charles, this is my girlfriend,” Max says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

When you greet Charles, you can’t wipe the giddy grin from your face. It stays there the whole rest of the day- through breakfast, through a walk through a park, through a late lunch at Max’s with the cats winding around your ankles. Every time it starts to fade you think of Max, bright blue eyes, his finger under your chin. You fall asleep still smiling. You’re pretty sure it’ll be there when you wake up.

…..

The next time you go out with your friends, Max carries your bag the whole night. He also keeps his hand on the small of your back nearly constantly. He orders and pays for all of your drinks, includes you in all the conversations, and brushes his lips against your temple every time there’s a lull in the talking.

Nobody questions it. None of your friends even bat an eye. You find out why when you end up in the bathroom with the girls, a tradition as old as time itself.

It turns out they all already knew.

“Max told us all the day after he kissed you the first time,” someone tells you. “And then he told us we all had to act like nothing was different, because he didn’t want to scare you off.”

You collapse into a fit of laughter, bracing yourself against the sink. All this time, you were worried about it, and he’d told everyone right away. You’d thought you were the one struggling to be casual. God, you’d have saved yourself so much trouble if you’d only asked. If you’d only told him straightforward what you wanted. If you’d only been up front.

You’re giddy with it, then. You can feel it coursing through your veins and buzzing in your fingertips. You won’t call it love yet, at least not out loud. It’s too soon, right? It can’t be love. But it’s something, and now you want him next to you. You want his lips on yours again. You’re missing him even though he’s just through the door, waiting for you, your bag in his hand.

When you return to his side, you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. You watch his smile grow and his cheeks turn red. You place your hand on his shoulder and put your lips against his ear.

“You should take me home,” you tell him.

His cheeks get even redder, and he turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “You’ll walk me home, right?”

“Always,” he agrees.

He takes your hand, squeezes lightly. You feel like you’re glowing brighter than the neon lights above your head.

…..

You slip up over your morning cup of coffee three days later. The cats are in your lap. There’s the perfect amount of cream and sugar in the mug, he’s made it exactly right. The sun is shining through the windows, bouncing off his hair and painting his skin in golden light. You weren’t going to say it out loud, you really weren’t, but it slips past your lips anyways.

“I love you,” you say.

Max laughs, takes the mug from your hands, and kisses you.

Then he says it right back.

read the prequel/ sequel, Someone Sane

okay, now I’ve got my three favorite boys in the masterlist! thanks for reading! come say hi, or check out more of my writing here. drop an ask or a dm to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

This for all my toto girliesss , enjoy this man.

Imma right write something about this man tonight hahahahahah 🫠🫠🫠

The last picture has me in a choke hold , like choke me fr

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Man-Flu ~ Fernando Alonso

♡ Fernando Alonso x Reader

Description: Fernando has a cold but you're there to comfort him.

~fluff~

"Cariño, I think I may be dying."

"Fernando." You say softly, running a hand through his hair. "Darling, you have a cold."

Nobody could ever say your boyfriend wasn't dramatic.

The team doctor had even been around earlier in the day to check on him. All there was to it was plenty of fluids and rest.

He sniffles, "It feels worse than a cold."

You try not to smile but he's too darn cute.

"It is not funny." He says with a pout, his Spanish accent heavily lacing his words.

"You're adorable when you have the man flu." You argue as you pull the covers closer around him. "You'll be fine I promise."

"I hate being sick."

You did feel for him. Usually he was the one in control, the one whose body dictated his profession, his life.

"I know. But how about you just let me take care of you?" You suggest. "Get some rest."

He makes an affirmative noise before an attack of sneezing starts.

You make sure he's comfortable in your bed before you get downstairs to make him some chicken soup and refill his water bottle.

You're rewarded by one of Fernando's smiles when you reenter you bedroom a while later with a tray.

"Still can't sleep?" You ask.

His chest rattles with a cough, "No. Not without you beside me."

Even sick in bed, the man is still a flirt.

You climb onto the bed beside him and cajole him into drinking some soup and more water.

You go to clear the things up and leave him to get some rest.

"Don't go. Stay here with me."

You only have to take one look at him to know you can't say no to the wounded puppy look he's giving you.

So you put the tray away and lie down next to him. It doesn't take long for him to wrap himself around you like a giant koala bear.

You lie on your back and his curls up on his side and slings an arm across your torso and hitches his hip over your legs and his face resting near your neck.

It doesn't take long for his breathing to even out and you can practically feel him drifting off to sleep.

You smile at the feeling, it took a long time before Fernando had been comfortable with the notion of being vulnerable with you. He had built his entire racing persona on being tough and harsh and unreasonable.

To eveyone else he was Fernando Alonso. But with you he was just Fernando.

You must have drifted off to sleep because its dark outside when you open your eyes.

You accidently rouse Fernando from his sleep as you stretch.

He mumbles something in Spanish you don't understand and places a kiss on your neck.

You place a hand on his forehead to make sure he hasn't got a temperature and is hallucinating. But you breathe a sigh of relief when you feel his skin and its not burning up like that morning.

"What was that?" You ask

Your sigh turns to something between a moan and a laugh as he trails his kisses up your neck to behind your ear.

"I said, how did I get so lucky to have you Corazón?"

You turned your head so you can look in his eyes.

"I'm the lucky one." You argue with a pout you know is his weakness.

He shakes his head and gently takes the hand you had checked his temperature with and places a kiss on the back of it. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Fernando smiles as if he's just been told he's won another world championship.

"Now, time for you to eat something and get a good night's sleep, you will feel better tomorrow." You tell him.

He shrugs, seemingly having forgotten his self pity party, "I already feel better with you here."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not going anywhere." You tell him and seal your promise with a kiss