eden ☆

CUDDLING WITH ALFIE was by no means a rare occurrence. It was your weak spot, and you made the awful mistake of showing him that quite quickly. He knew no matter what he did as soon as he had you in his arms you melted straight back to that version of you that craved to serve, to please. You existed solely for him, as long as he put you back together at the end of the night, the week, the month. However long he had you cradled in his toxic webs, his muscled arms around you fixed it all every time.

It’s how he kept you around.

Even after a mess like today that will definitely end in you losing your job because this isn’t the first time you’ve got like this and it won’t be the last, even after destroying your kitchen, you’ll stay. You’ll call him when he’s gone, text him that you miss him and wait at his beck & call like every other time. He made it so much better after it’s hard to remember why you hated him in the first place: the dreaded cycle. He loved it and sickeningly you did too.

So there you stayed tucked into a ball in his lap, ear to his chest and letting the erratic beat of his heart soothe you down into that special place in your head where you don’t need to think. Your brain turns to mush quicker than it should but with the emotional turmoil you put yourself through, it’s anyone’s guess how you lasted as long as you did. In fact, you’re almost asleep curled up against him like a cat until a hand reaches around and starts ghosting between your ass cheeks.

“Better when you’re like this isn’t it angel”

His fingers catch on the sensitive skin between your legs and even though you don’t make a sound, he can practically feel the way your clit jumps. A few strokes over that sensitive nub is enough to make a sticky mess of your cunt, his fingers gathering it up just to shove it back inside your hungry hole with shallow thrusts, teasing, testing. Alfie wanted you to beg, but it was kind of a lost cause, honestly. The squelch of your grool as he pressed and pressed inside you was obscene, made just so much worse by how silent you were. Nothing to drown it out, nothing to make it worthwhile — your mouth remained disconnected from your brain though, much like the rest of you.

Before you know it, he’s shuffling his jeans down from underneath you, pulling his cock out and lathering it in the juices left on his hand. With an arm hooked under your knees, he thrusts up and impales you on him all in one go, basking in the tightness of your walls around him despite all the lazy fingering.

Everything’s lazy for a while, gentle, small movements and sweet nothings in your ear until your first whimper of the night chokes up your throat: that’s what makes him snap.

“You think you just get to kick up everything in your path ‘cos you don’t get what you want, hm?”

He slams you down on him hard enough that you’re almost sure you’re going to end up bleeding.

“Fuckin’… fuckin’ make fun of me? What I do?”

One hand is on your chest, squeezing and squeezing, definitely leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises circled around your tit.

“Did you forget that’s what funds your stupid life? Hm? You’d be dead without me”

He’s cruel and he means it with all his heart. And brutally honest enough that it snaps you out of your haze. The anger boils up too quickly for your body to handle, your head spinning and bile pushing at your throat to try to fight your way off of him. You scramble in his lap, slapping and scratching your way out of the quicksand that is his hold; you’re fighting a losing battle with him. In a weird fluke, you get far enough to land on the sofa next to him, unsheathing yourself and collapsing headfirst into the cushion, immediately missing the peace of being full.

“Leave me the fuck alone Alfie”

He drags you up by a clump of your hair, yanking your head back so he can see your face and hits you square on the cheekbone. The rings on his fingers collide with your face first, immediately splitting open the peak of your cheek and leaving a searing handprint on your skin. Tears immediately pool in your eyes and the sick grin you see on his face pushes them over.

“Don’t be such a bitch about it will you, you can deal with the consequences”

Alfie shoves your face into the cushion with the back of your head and pulls your hips up to face him now standing beside the sofa — he slides back into you with ease immediately returning to that vicious pace he’d started. You’ve given up fighting now, letting yourself collapse limply and be ruined, have your dignity stolen from you again. There’s no fight left in you, just a sour feeling in your belly and the stinging on your face. You know your blood is everywhere, down your legs, over your face and the couch fabric and it’s going to cost fortunes to get it dry cleaned. Alfie might pay for it, or even a whole new sofa, but you never know with him.

“Wouldn’t have to be like this if you were good sweetheart”

And of course he’s right. His fingers are fiddling with your clit again, strumming you like his own personal guitar and the way your belly jumps is a shock to you. How he manages to break you down to the smallest version of yourself and still have you melting in his hands is a mystery, you just obey whatever your body tells you when he’s around. The liquid gold in your stomach is bubbling so hot and so fast it doesn’t actually matter how angry or sad you are, he’s going to make you cum whether you like it or not. You scream as you tumble over the edge, soaking his hand with a small stream pouring down your leg.

“Look at you, you dirty girl…getting off on messing everything up are ya?”

His hand never stills.

“Fuckin’ gushing all over me, look at the state of you”

Alfie’s slamming into you, hips slapping your ass cheeks enough to bruise and balls colliding with your sensitive clit. You’re all screams now, unable to contain a single thing with the pain of lying on your cut face and your overstimulated cunt being abused. As his orgasm hits him, he pulls out and fucks the crease of your ass a few times letting himself spill out all over your back, leaving you a collapsed mess of bodily fluids.

“So beautiful when you’re like this angel, all quiet”

He disappears for a bit somewhere in the flat but you stay completely still, too afraid to move. He comes back with his phone and takes a singular photo of you in a heap; you don’t see the flash, but you feel it. You stay there just breathing and gathering your bearings for ages waiting for him to leave or maybe start ranting again. That’s what he normally does. But then he climbs back on the sofa after kicking his shoes off by the table, lies behind you and tries to pull you in.

“Leave me…please”

Your voice is barely there, lacks the conviction you need to really mean it but you still try to get away. With your legs now seemingly made of jelly all you can do is flop onto the carpet and lie there to die.

“Don’t be silly come ‘ere”

Alfie pulls you back up with his arms under your armpits, dragging you to lie chest to back with him and wrapping you in his arms. His hold is tight, a preemptive in case you tried to run again when he’s caught off guard but you both know deep down you’re barely alive enough to know your own name. He gently traced the lines of your face with an index finger until he reached the cut on your cheek, dusting over it before reaching his head around to give it a single light kiss.

“You know I don’t mean it, don’t you?”

You nod smally, though you don’t really know a thing about him. Just agreeing because he’s the only voice of reason left.

You wake up in the morning still on the sofa, but no Alfie. The flat’s clean and your cheek is plastered up, a brand new laptop on the table, too. A single text on your phone screen from him tells you this is all temporary.

──★ baker!oscar who’s bakery is right next door to your coffee shop. the smell of the store’s baked goods, fresh from the oven, has always tempted you to go in, but you usually settle for grabbing one of the pastries from the café’s display case that you order in bulk from a commercial supplier instead, since you can just take them for free. today, though, the café’s closed for some electrical work, and you’re getting hungry after having to let the sparky into the store at 9am, a whole two hours ago. a bell rings as you push the heavy door to the bakery open.

──★ baker!oscar who has a streak of flour on his cheek when you first see him. he’s rearranging the little cakes in the display cabinet when you come in, trying to figure out a configuration that looks good to the customer. he’s wearing an orange apron, and the sleeves of his undershirt are rolled up to his elbows. you can’t help but stare at his forearms for a second longer than probably appropriate, watching his muscles flex. 

──★ baker!oscar who greets you with a, “hi there, welcome to osc’s,” but doesn’t look up yet, focussed on finding the perfect angle for this chocolate cake. when he finally looks at you, his whole face lights up in recognition, “hey, you’re from the café next door!” 

──★ baker!oscar who explains that he’s seen you working more than a few times as he’s walked past the storefront. he’s come in for coffee twice as well, but you’d gone to take care of something in the back both times. you rack your brain to try and place him at all, but come up with nothing, apologising to him for it. he waves you off, a smile on his face. “i’m oscar, by the way. osc’s,” he says, pointing down to the sign and then back to himself. your mouth forms an ‘oh’ of recognition. “cute name. who came up with it?” “uhh… my mum?” “i meant the bakery, but good on your mum, too.” he blushes as he realises his mistake, and you think to yourself, he’s adorable.

──★ baker!oscar who you feel like you’ve known forever; it’s so easy to talk to him. banter comes naturally, and you’re joking around like this guy wasn’t a total stranger five minutes ago. his deadpan humor is right up your alley, and he seems to be finding your jokes funny as well. somewhere in the back of your mind, you realise you haven’t smiled this hard in ages; it’s been so busy with the café lately, you haven’t had a moment to yourself in a good few weeks. you finally order a pain au chocolat, and he nods, approving of your choice.

──★ baker!oscar who gives you his staff discount as you pay. either you don’t notice, too engaged in your conversation, or you don’t bring it up, letting him have his small victory. he almost doesn’t let you pay at all, but he doesn’t want to scare you off by being too upfront too soon. 

──★ baker!oscar who grabs you a pain au chocolat like you requested, putting it in a brown paper bag with the bakery’s logo on it, and who then throws in a complimentary cinnamon roll as well. he just stares at you and gestures down to the bag when you protest, “it’s in there now. that’s cross contamination; i can’t put it back.” you point out that all the viennoiseries in the cabinet are already touching each other and he just replies, “that’s different.”

──★ baker!oscar who has quite a smug look on his face when you concede, realising he’s not going to let this go. “fine, but next time you come by for coffee, it’s on me, okay?” he nods, already excited for next time. he invites you to hang around for a bit, seeing as it’s been a pretty quiet day so far, starting up on a story from when he’d first opened the bakery, involving a line going all the way out the door, and one oscar working the shop.

──★ baker!oscar who’s just gotten to the part where he’s juggling a pos system that doesn’t want to work, a tray of croissants coming out of the oven, and a customer wanting to order for a birthday party the next day, when your phone pings with a text from the sparky. she’s all done; just needing you to come check over everything before she leaves. you promise oscar that you'll come back soon, and reiterate your prior statement that his next coffee’s on the house. the bell dings again as you leave with your pastries, and oscar can’t help but feel a little sad. his mood perks up, though, as he watches you finally notice the writing on the paper bag in your hand, through the window.

──★ baker!oscar who’s somehow written ‘call me sometime xxx-xxx-xxxx’ on the bag without you noticing. you turn back to look at him through the storefront, an incredulous smile on your face.

──★ baker!oscar who seems to have busied himself with unloading a huge tray of what looks like sourdough loaves from the industrial oven in the back. you watch as steam billows out into the shop as the oven door is opened, and you catch the faintest whiff of fresh bread on the air as it wafts through the doorframe. it smells divine. 

──★ baker!oscar who’s smiling to himself as he unloads the oven, over the moon that he’s finally had a conversation with the pretty girl from next door. on the minute walk back to your café, you start typing out an email to the commercial bakery, cancelling all future orders. you think you’ve found a new supplier to order from, from now on— someone much more local. 

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george waves clumsily at the hundreds of faces, and they holler back in response. there’s a camera somewhere and it clicks rapidly as he smiles. you reach for your phone to film your best friend, a strange feeling in your heart telling you that you’re going to want to remember this night. george is given the microphone and you can hear the plea “speech, speech, speech,” being thrown at him. swaying slightly, george indulges them.

“thank you everyone for coming out and being here with us this evening,” he’s interrupted by another round of cheers erupting out, “i’m so immensely thankful to the team back home for getting the car to where it is. yeah— really, really happy, just amazing.” 

he takes a beat to really look around the club, a small smile appearing on his face as he registers everyone who’s here for him. “thanks so much guys, hoping for many more wins in the coming races.” 

he flashes the camera one more grin and places the microphone back down, hopping down from the platform to be met with a swarm of fans again. 

“george! george, have some champagne, won’t you?” a bottle gets thrust into his hands.

“absolutely not, mate.” he passes it off to someone else, disgust written plainly on his face. you know he hates champagne.  

squinting at him from where you’re sat, you can see his white dress shirt has already been soaked in sweat and alcohol, the sheer amount of people in the room not helping any. he disapppears from view as the crowd engulfs him, only to reappear a couple of meters to the right, riding atop the shoulders of a friend. 

probably under the influence of some alcohol he does like, george starts leaning backwards, trusting someone will catch him. they do.

facing up towards the ceiling, he gets passed from person to person over the waves of people in the club, arms spread out as he closes his eyes to relish the moment. he gets set down on his feet as the crowd realises they’re about to hit a wall, and then he’s gone again.

after a few seconds go by and you still don’t see him, you stop the recording and tuck your phone back in your bag, deciding you’ll show him the video tomorrow to poke fun at his uncharacteristic carefreeness tonight.

you hear your name get called and spot a group of girls waving at you. you’re not sure you recognise them, but gesture for security to let them to come over into the deluxe section anyway.

“oh my god, hi, i love you so much! could we get a photo please?” 

taken aback by the request that you don’t get very often, you recover with a smile and a, “yeah, of course!”

they group up around you and the girl with the phone takes a few selfies, then a 0.5. they thank you excitedly, and tell you all about how coming to this grand prix was their graduation gift to themselves. 

“we’ve got two more days here,” one tells you.

“hey, do you have any recommendations for us?” another chimes in, “like, places to go or eat?”

a phone gets handed to you. you think for a second, then pull up the maps app and zoom in on some spots you reckon they’d like. they thank you again, talking over each other as they inch back towards the dancefloor.

“oh! i almost forgot—“ the brunette stops in her tracks, rifling around in her bag for something. the others pause as well, waiting for their friend.

“we made these for all the wags we see this weekend,” she passes you a bracelet, cyan blue and black beads alternating. four white beads in the middle spell out ‘GR63’, “um, we just gave one to lily muni he, and we met kika and alex on saturday!” 

you don’t notice her slip-up, busy admiring their handiwork under the dim club lighting before slipping it on your wrist, “it’s beautiful, guys. thank you so much.”

“do you know where george is? do you think we could get a photo with him too?” they chatter amongst themselves as they leave, already looking out for their next target.

speaking of, you haven’t seen george since he was crowd surfing. you scan the room, hoping to spot him.

you finally see him stood by the bar, taking a break from the excitement of the night. someone’s talking to him, but he’s been staring at you for the last five minutes. his face lights up as your gaze finally lands on him, and he excuses himself politely from the conversation he hadn’t been paying any attention to. he pushes past the guests and slowly makes his way to you. 

“hello darling,” he plonks himself down next to you, “enjoying yourself?” 

he brings his arm up behind you, resting on the back of the booth, while his knee knocks against yours. you don’t flinch away like you had done when you were strangers, once upon a time; you stay where you are, comfortable in his presence. 

“mm, what’re you having?” 

he gestures down to the glass in your hand, a pink straw lolling about the rim. 

“i don’t know. it’s a mix of everything, i think.” 

you’d trusted alex to get you a drink, but from the taste of it, it seemed like he’d asked the bartender to pour every alcohol available into the little glass. you offer it to him and he takes a sip through the straw, grimacing when the flavour hits his tongue. 

“eugh, that’s horrid. i hate that.”

you laugh and take it back from him, watching the liquid form a vortex as you swirl the glass around. you find the straw with your tongue and take another sip. it’s not as bad as george is making it out to be; he’s just picky when it comes to alcohol. 

two of your friends catch your eye then, dancing with each other atop one of the little tables, lots of people around cheering them on. 

“i think they’re gonna get engaged soon,” you say, pointing at them. she’s swaying quite a bit; he catches her when she stumbles over herself. the two of them laugh drunknely, then kiss. you hear a unanimous, ‘aww’ from their spectators.  

“what’s that, darling?” 

george leans down to hear you better, tilting his ear towards you. you repeat what you’d said, and he nods in agreement. 

“don’t tell anyone, but i know for a fact she’s got a ring for him already.”

your mouth drops open in shock and your eyes twinkle with excitement. 

“you’re joking.”

george shakes his head, enjoying the way you lean in towards him, seeking more information that you know he’ll give you. as your body shifts, your dress strap falls off your shoulder. 

george leans in, reflexes clearly not dulled by drink, and murmurs a soft, “i’ve got it.”

his skin brushes against yours as he fixes it for you, and you almost shiver at the intimacy of it all. he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, just above where the strap now sits.

yeah, he’s definitely drunk. he only ever gets this touchy when he’s had a little bit more than he can handle, when his inhibitions are loosened and reservations mitigated by alcohol. you do wish he did it more when he was sober, but those wants are kept secret; for your knowledge only.

you glance down at him, watching his chest move as he breathes, wet shirt sticking to his abs. there’s a feral, alcohol-fuelled part of your brain that’s gnawing at the bars of her enclosure to lick him; to taste the sweat that’s soaked his clothing, to run your tongue over the muscles that he flaunts on social media so often. you tell her off and push her even further to the back of your mind, unwilling to indulge in any thoughts that would certainly ruin your friendship with george. you’ve held them back for years now; one more night holds no significance.

“is that new?” 

you follow his gaze from your shoulder down to the cyan beads on your wrist, and nod happily, holding your hand out for george to inspect it. his lips finally leave your skin as he takes it in his. 

“there were some girls earlier. they wanted a photo and gave me this. they said they were trying to give them to all the girls— lily, francisca, alexandra— y’know. ooh, also-”

george smiles to himself as he takes a closer look, realising you’re wearing his colours and his number, but chooses not to comment on it for now, nodding for you to go on instead, inferring from your tone of voice that there’s more you’re excited to tell him about.

he’s correct.

you only notice he’s stopped nodding along and humming in agreement after you’ve been going on for five minutes or so. he’s just kind of staring at you. it’s nothing malicious; he’s just... watching, an absentminded smile on his face. you cut yourself off mid-sentence, jaw snapping shut, suddenly self-conscious. you become afraid that he’s lost interest, that he’s smiling cause he finds you amusing, like one would a little pet or some silly plaything.

“hmm?” 

to his credit, george doesn’t miss a beat when your words stop, prompting you to carry on right away.

“sorry, i didn’t realise i was rambling. i’ve probably had too much to drink,” you laugh nervously, trying to save yourself.

“keep going, darling. i was listening.”

“are you sure?” 

he frowns at you. 

“why would i stop?” he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, calloused thumb rubbing over your knuckles as he reassures you, “you were about to tell me which spots you recommended them. might be best to steer clear of those places while they’re in town though, hm? in case they want to tell all their friends where to find us. you said two more days, right?”

your eyes soften as you realise he really was listening to everything you said. even the little details. you feel your shoulders relax for having avoided what would have been a total humiliation, and you reach out for your drink, taking a sip to collect yourself. 

“don’t worry, i’m not that stupid. none of our spots, just the nice ones everyone goes to anyway.”

he smiles, happy to have eased your palpable discomfort and also proud of your foresight. 

“that’s my girl.”

you almost choke. your hand is still in his, and now he has a funny look in his eye. no, it must be the alcohol playing tricks on you. there’s no way. you shake it off and chalk it up to the spirit of victory in the air instead. 

george must pick up on the new turmoil arising in your head and squeezes your hand twice, gently— i’m here. 

“hey, do you wanna get some air?”

your handbag gets picked up before you can even finish your question, shrugged onto his shoulder as he gestures for you to go ahead.

you down the last dregs of your drink before placing it back down on the table. he guides you down the few stairs there are, one hand supporting yours, the other on the small of your back, and thanks the bouncer as he unclips the rope barrier for you to walk through.

george notices him before you do; his height allows him to see the crowd parting for a drunk guy pushing through, headed right your way. george's arm sneaks behind your waist and pulls you into his side just as the guy pushes past you, the stench of soured alcohol wafting along in his wake. you stumble a bit at the force, but you’re saved from face-planting by george, holding you steady.

“you alright, love?” he checks you over, making sure you’re okay, before shooting a dirty look at the guy’s retreating form. 

you nod, turning your head back to see if you can spot who it was. they’re long gone now, probably already on the other side of the club. brushing it off, you link your arm in george’s and make the slow journey to the exit. 

george gets stopped twice for photos, and you wait off to the side both times, patiently. one of the fans says something to him, and they both look down at the handbag, still in his hand, then over at you. george laughs. you notice a thin blush across his cheeks afterwards, but it’s probably just the club lights or the alcohol. the fan wishes you both a good night and another congratulations to george, and then you’re back in the party. 

the two of you push your way to the coat check, and you shrug on your overcoat, wanting to dress warm for the cool night air. 

you fiddle with the buttons, but the alcohol has made your hands clumsy and very uncompliant. seeing this, george gets down on one knee in front of you and starts buttoning you up, one at a time, working his way up. his slender fingers reach your collar quickly, and he stands back up when he’s done.

“there we go,” he murmurs.

you’re finding it harder and harder to block out your fancies with every move he makes tonight. 

he opts not to also get his suit jacket wet like his shirt is already, slinging it over his shoulder instead. george holds the door open for you, like he always does, and somehow manages to get back in front of you to summon the elevator. it’s especially in moments like these that you wish he were yours, that he would have a reason to be so gentlemanly to you other than just being a gentleman.

it feels like it takes longer to reach the ground floor than it had to go up. there’s no music, just the whirring of gears as they work to deliver you safely. george seems to be deep in thought, studying the patterns on the floor, tongue in between his teeth. you fiddle with your new bracelet, running your fingers over each bead, tracing the grooves of his initials. 

the streets are empty when you leave the building; everyone’s either asleep or celebrating in a club or superyacht. you’re happy to be outside, away from the noise and lights of the amber lounge. you consider running down to the water; taking off your shoes and wading in, but the rational part of your brain reminds you that it’s the middle of the night and the sea wouldn’t spare your feet from freezing just because you’re more than a little bit drunk.

leaning against the balustrade instead, you breathe in the night air, staring out at the reflection of the stars on the sea.

“it’s so beautiful tonight,” you say.

george hums in agreement from behind you. 

“it is.”

you turn back to him, and he’s already looking at you. you can tell he’s had something on his mind all night, so you give him the time to speak it aloud. he shifts on his feet, then exhales sharply. you can see his breath in the cold air. 

“…you haven’t congratulated me yet,” he finally points out. 

you laugh lightly at him, puzzled. he’s never been one to ask for your praises before, but you suppose this win was pretty monumental.

“congratulations, george.” 

he shakes his head, staring up at the stars above you.

“that’s not what i meant.”

you tilt your head at him, waiting for him to elaborate. when he doesn’t respond, your foot reaches out to nudge at his calf. 

“what did you mean then?”

his attention falls back on you and he stares, kind of unnervingly. he only moves when a gust of wind blows by, shivering as his drenched shirt gets even colder. 

he sets his jacket down on the balustrade first, then your bag on top, taking care not to let the leather touch the cobblestone. he’s been yelled at more than once for scuffing up the bottom of your bags before. your eyes drift to his hands as he does so, watching his fingers flex. 

you let a beat pass, only the lapping of the waves below filling the silence.

“george?”

“kiss me.”

you blink at him, not entirely sure you’ve heard him right. he doesn’t mean it, surely. there’s no way he wants you in the same way you do him. he sways a little on his feet. 

“george, you’re drunk.”

he scoffs, “come on, darling; it’s just a kiss.”

he pulls you in by the waist, like he had before in the club, and his head dips down, closer and closer to you.

he pauses when his lips are barely about to touch yours. you stare doe-eyed up at him, afraid to move even an inch for fear of breaking the delicate moment. his eyes flit up, searching yours. whatever complaints were floating around in your head die on your tongue as his presence surrounds you. 

he’s so close to you; you could study every pore, each mole dotting his skin. a breathy little sigh leaves your chest involuntarily as you realise your years-long béguin may be contented much sooner than you’d ever thought. his tongue darts out to his lips instinctively, like he would taste your air if he could only catch it.

you nod at him, the slightest, most imperceptible movement of your head, and he takes it as the permission it is. his lips press against yours, soft and plush, and you think you could die in this moment and be happy with how you went out. 

you start to pull away, so completely satisfied to have finally kissed him, but george has just gotten a taste of you, and now he never wants to stop. the hand on the base of your neck keeps you close as his tongue slips into your mouth, licking at your lips, your tongue, your teeth. you can’t help a small moan as he pulls you flush against his chest, the kiss getting messier as his usual composure unravels, just for you. your breaths mix together, hot on each other’s skin.  

he’s desperate for you; hands moving against your body, grasping at your dress, your hair, your face— everywhere all at once. you’re breathless. you feel like all the air’s been sucked out of your body by just his kisses, and that he’s your only lifeline. your hands push against his chest lightly, and he lets you move your head to the side to catch your breath. 

he doesn’t stop when you do. instead, his lips drag along your jaw, and he inhales, deep and ragged, when his nose meets your pulse point. his exhale is shaky, like he can’t get enough of your scent. 

“george…”

he glances up to you and he looks so unlike himself; hair messy, eyes dark, and lips swollen, glistening with spit. your heart skips a beat as you realise you’ve caused this in him. you can feel his hands trembling on either side of your face from the cold or the adrenaline, or both. 

his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, already leaning back in for more of you. you get squeezed even closer into him and you can’t help but giggle, a flood of happy emotions taking over you. 

george’s teeth clack against yours as he tries to keep the kiss going, but when he realises your elation won’t let up, he’s pulling away laughing too. you fold over in his arms as your body shakes, immensely pleased at the turn this night’s taken. you would look insane to any onlookers who might look down from the lounge’s balcony; the two of you, dressed up for the afterparty, cackling to each other at nothing on an empty beach. 

george recovers first, wiping a stray tear away as he sucks in fresh air. he kisses your forehead as you follow suit, gasping like a fish while holding your stomach, which is starting to hurt. he peppers kisses all over your face, only stopping when you tap at his arm hurriedly; the cold wet of his shirt pushed against you is making the front of your coat also cold and wet. he holds you like that for a while, and you know he’s committing this moment to memory, just like you are. 

he picks up your bag and slips his jacket over his shoulders without letting go of you, tucked into his side and makes his way back up the beach with you. his fingers find the bracelet on your wrist and it’s his turn to fidget with the beads. he can’t help but admire how lovely the colour is against your skin. he’d like to see you wear it more, he thinks.

“come on, darling. let’s go home.” 

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──★ godddd max is such a possessive little freak ──★ bro he will GROWL at anyone who comes near u without his permission ──★ not in a toxic way tho !! you like it. it makes u giggle.

──★ this guy is obsessed with u omfg… he actually worships the ground you walk on???

──★ oh this millionare looooves spoiling you ──★ will buy you anything you want just to make you happy ──★ gets a sick satisfaction at not even looking at the total as he swipes his card ──★ you think he likes how the store attendants gawk as he does it

──★ he is always touching you !! ──★ arm around shoulders, hand on waist, fingers in yours, lips on your temple, etc

──★ gets u into sim racing but ur only allowed to play as him

──★ he looooves it when he gives u his stuff to wear and then it smells like u the next day

──★ yeah he knows orange isn’t exactly the most flattering colour all the time so… ──★ number 33 on EVERYTHING ──★ genuinely at least half of ur wardrobe is red bull merch or has his number or his name on it

──★ you’ll get given gifts by the fans with his number on it and he loses his mind cause its like they know you’re his as well ──★ (you’re his wag… uh of course you’re gonna get gifts related to him?? he doesn't rly think too much abt it. too busy drooling over u)

──★ bro he loves it when u leave marks of any kind on him ──★ anything from lipstick stains to hickeys to massive scratches down his back that the whole team stares at as he’s putting his race suit on…

──★ gets you a necklace with his number on it and cannot get enough of seeing it ──★ will move your hair out of the way just to see the little ’33’ resting in between ur collarbones…

──★ always has an eye on you wherever you’re nearby

──★ bro if someone is stupid enough to flirt with you while he’s around… ──★ actually just start planning the funeral now ──★ u guys think you’ve seen mad max?? you have not seen mad max. ──★ bro will leave his conversation midway and storm over with fire in his eyes ──★ hand on the guy’s shoulder, spins him around ──★ “hi.” ──★ most of them get the hint by this point and scamper off, tail tucked between their legs ──★ occasionally there’ll be a really dumb one (probably drank too much in hospitality) ──★ max will pull him in close and mutter something into his ear ──★ he’s never told you what he says, but they never look you or him in the eye for the rest of the weekend

NSFW (MDNI)

──★ will take his goddamn time with you as he pleases ──★ it’s not like you’re going anywhere?? he has all the time in the world to fuck you properly ──★ u have missed soooo many appointments bc max wanted a “quickie”  ──★ (spoiler alert: it was not a quickie) ──★ (spoiler alert: it has never been just a cut and dry quickie)

──★ fucks u in missionary just to see his number in between ur tits #selfobsessed 

──★ has definitely gotten a massive hard on from seeing you in his clothing on more than one occasion

──★ if he’s away at a race and the timezones don’t work out for the two of u to call, he will literally pull up ur instagram and have a wank to the pictures of u in his jacket or his helmet

──★ ok so logically he knows none of the other drivers would ever do anything but whenever someone like lingers for a bit too long for max’s liking (like five seconds btw) or kisses your cheeks (regular ass greeting btw) he will genuinely ruin u in bed ──★ like when u see that driver the next day u will not be able to walk straight !!

──★ praising you !!!!  ──★ “such a good girl, schjat…” 

──★ being praised !!!!  ──★ “fuck, max- you feel so good, so big-“ ──★ will actually just come on the spot if you praise him enough

──★ loves it when you’re loud… means he’s doing a good job

──★ can’t get enough of you on your knees staring up at him with his cock in your throat…. ──★ it might actually be his favourite sight ever

──★ freeuse!! absolutely loves it, thinks it’s the best thing in the whole world ──★ doing the dishes? nope, now ur being bent over the counter taking his cock as he tells u how beautiful u are ──★ watching tv? nope, now ur blowing him with spit dripping down your chin and tears coming out of your eyes as he strokes your hair

──★ edging you…  ──★ such a power trip for him ──★ bro, it’s like he has a quota of at least four ruined orgasms before you’re allowed to come

──★ oh my lordddd this guy loves seeing his come on you ──★ on you, in you, around you, dripping out of you… just anywhere he can get it, really ──★ sometimes won’t clean u up after so you wake up the next morning with his dried come in between your legs ──★ yeahhh, safe to say you didn’t make it to the shower until a whole two hours and another three creampies later

──★ like i said earlier… loves marking you up/loves being marked up ──★ every time u have sex he tries to fuck you so good you leave deeper marks than the time before (masochist) ──★ will just stand in the mirror watching the red lines move as he flexes his back muscles etc ──★ lowkey he gets sad when they fade after not being able to see you for a while ──★ don't worry, it just means he'll rail you even harder when he next sees you x

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you and fewtrell were still friends; a silly breakup didn’t change that. so, just like he’d done with all his other friends, he’d invited you to his party. it wasn’t for some big event or anything; "just because,” he’d told you with a smile. 

his little apartment was crammed full of people, some of whom you didn’t recognise, more of whom you did. everyone had greeted you excitedly; you hadn’t really turned up to these things for a couple of months. you’d used work or school as excuses, but everyone knew the real reason. 

your friend had been the one to show you the post; a fan account sharing a photo they’d found of lando with some girl on a date, sat in the shade at a cafe table.

you’d smiled brightly and told her you were “so over him,” as he clearly was you. she’d matched your smile and given you a big hug and told you how proud she was of you and that, “i know it hasn’t been easy, but he’s such a scumbag anyway. you’re so much better without him.”

you’d raised your coffee mug and cheersed her, laughing at getting away from him unscathed, but on the inside, you were absolutely fuming.

“i’m sorry, angel. i’m just getting too busy; i have so many things on, and i feel so exhausted all the time. i want you to have everything you deserve, but i just don’t have the time anymore to make that happen,” and then here he was, not even two months later, sharing this random girl’s fucking drink; a bright lipstick stain on the rim of the cup right under where his mouth was placed. 

“don’t look fucking busy to me,” you’d hissed as you scrolled through the fanpage’s feed later that day.

post after post was dedicated to sightings of him. press events, races, selfies with fans, merch photoshoots, and that stupid date. you'd stalked through the account until you recognised the pictures as being screenshotted from your own stories, and told yourself that was that, and there was nothing else to be done.

you hadn’t expected lando to be here tonight. from the way he’d paled when you made eye contact, then darted off, hoping you wouldn’t follow him, he hadn’t either.

of course, because you didn't live to appease him, you’d trailed behind him from room to room, keeping a healthy distance until he was alone. then you’d cornered him and dragged him into the closest room that would provide you both privacy— the guest bathroom. 

one thing had led to the next, and you find yourself in the position you’re in now; on your knees in front of him, one hand stroking along his weeping cock, the other pressed against his thigh for support.

“i was trying to move on…” lando manages, throwing his head back with a groan as you press a kiss to his tip, right on the slit. you lick your bottom lip as you pull away and taste salt.

“is that why you went on that date? to move on?” 

your hand keeps stroking him as you talk, your eyes trained on his face as he struggles to articulate himself. 

“use your words, lan.”

a few tears fall from his eyes as he whines for you to keep going. 

“i’m sorry!” bursts from his lips, “oli set it up; he said i needed to stop moping! i didn’t know there would be paps; i think she called them herself, i-“

he cuts himself off with a choke at a particularly sharp flick of your wrist.

“she’s pretty, lan.”

he doesn’t reply, eyes wide and brows scrunched together as he tries to figure out where you’re going with this. you don’t stop fisting his cock, sticky precome dripping down your hand.

“did you fuck her?”

he shakes his head desperately, tears rolling down his cheeks at the stimulation you're giving him. 

“lando, words.”

“i didn’t!”

really? you stop all of a sudden, contemplating the new information he’s just revealed to you. 

“…have you fucked anyone else since me?”

he sniffles at the question and shifts on his feet.

“lando.”

god, it’s getting exhausting having to constantly remind him of his manners.

“yes.”

his reply is so quiet that if you hadn’t been listening with pricked ears, you might’ve mistaken it for just a breath passing his lips.

“was that a yes?” 

to be fair, you have as well. and you’re not going to punish him for taking advantage of being single, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“did you enjoy it?”

he frowns, then shakes his head gloomily. god, this is getting more interesting by the second.

“and why not, lan?”

lando hesitates, biting down on his tongue as he mentally debates himself on whether to tell you or not. the part of him that still wants to be a good boy for you wins out. 

“no one else’s been able to make me come; there’s something wrong… i-i  don’t know.”

he averts his gaze, almost shamefully, missing the smile that creeps along your mouth.

“oh, you poor thing, lan. that must be really hard, huh?”

he sniffles again, pitifully. 

feeling sorry for him, your hand resumes stroking up and down, and you take pleasure in watching the emotion on his face contort from shame to satisfaction. he opens his mouth to reply to your last question when the doorknob rattles, followed by a series of hard knocks. 

“hello?! i need to take a shit!”

lando’s eyes widen even more at the sound of one of his friends’ voices on the other side. 

your hand doesn’t stop moving up and down; lando’s flies up to his mouth to muffle himself, eyebrows knitting together at the prospect of being caught. you reach up and push it away, probably more forcefully than you needed to. 

“don’t even think about it,” you hiss, before licking a wet stripe up the underside of him, balls to tip. his mouth drops open at the feeling of your warm tongue, then you’re taking his cock in your mouth and sucking hard.

you can hear his nails scratching at the wood of the door as he scrambles for purchase; something, anything to ground himself as your head bobs up and down on his cock. 

the doorknob rattles once more, then falls silent. you pull off with a ‘pop’ and smile up at him.

“good boy, lan. so good.”

his eyes are still shut tight, but a small, proud smile appears on his face at the praise. you reward him by returning to his cock, trying to suppress your gag reflex each time he hits the back of your throat. 

he’s assumed he’s allowed to be loud now, breathy moans leaving his perfect lips as he throws his head back, overwhelmed by pleasure.

an idea pops into your head and your mouth is moving before you can contain it, pulling off him to rest your cheek against his flushed tip. 

“why don’t you film this, honey?” 

lando’s eyes fly open, taken aback by your suggestion.

“yeah,” you’re rolling the idea around in the back of your mind.

you decide you like it and you want to keep going, “get your phone out, lando; let’s film this for the next girl you go out with. show her how to make you come like i do, yeah?” 

he’s shaking like a leaf, poor thing, but you don’t let up. one hand comes up to stroke just the base of his cock, knuckles brushing against your cheek as you do so.

“i mean, you’re moving on from me. if you fuck her, you should at least come in her, right, honey? so let’s help her learn. give her a lesson on how to treat you properly, lan.”

you’re pretty convinced your words are going in one ear and going out the other. he seems more focussed on not busting prematurely to properly take in what you’re saying.

you’ve had enough of his disobedience.

“lando, do you want to come?”

it’s not so much a question as it is a threat, and lando recognises it, eyes flying open as your words finally get through the thick fog of pleasure. 

he nods desperately, tears pricking at his eyes again. what a crybaby.

“yes— fuck, yes, please; don’t just leave me here!” 

it’s not illogical for him to be so worried; you can recall many a party in the past, just like this one, where you’d left him hard and leaking on a whim. 

you pull your hand away now and he chases after it with his hips before whining, defeated.

“get your fucking phone out, lando.” 

he fumbles around in his pants pocket for his phone and passes it to you obediently. you reward him with another kiss to his cock. he shudders at the contact.

staring at his lockscreen, you type in the passcode he’d had during your relationship— your birthday—, not necessarily expecting it to work. the screen slides up and you find yourself on his homescreen. 

“i thought you were moving on, honey. what’s this?”

blush coats his cheeks as he glances away from you and the unlocked phone you hold in your hand.

“i haven’t changed it yet. was gonna… just got used to it.”

how cute. 

“you wanna be good for me? you wanna help your girl learn?”

he nods again, though he’s slower to agree, like he doesn’t like everything what you’re saying. it’s funny; how he thinks his opinion matters. 

you start off jerking him slowly, watching as he draws his lip between his teeth, his hands shaking as he struggles to press record. you hear the little ding sound and the flash shines in your eyes as he finally starts filming, and you feel yourself get wetter than you should at the knowledge that you’re on camera. 

you start by mouthing slowly at his head, enjoying how much he struggles to maintain any semblance of composure. he squirms as your tongue passes over his tip, hands flexing as he fights the incessant urge to rush you. 

you know the exact moment his patience runs out; he pushes his hips forward, forcing himself past your lips. you glare up at him from the base of his pelvis, mouth split open by his thick cock, but don’t make any move to stop and scold him. 

instead, you take it in stride, taking a deep breath through your nose before pulling off almost all the way, then back down again. lando lets out a heavy sigh as your mouth moves around him, warm and hot.

you glance up and notice the phone drifting off-course, filming more of the bathtub than you, so you stop, balls-deep, and frown at him through the camera until he gets the memo. when he points it back at your face, you smile as best you can, wide-eyed and innocent like this is something casual for you, before returning to the task at hand.

he keens at you and thrusts his hips forward, desperate, and you gag as he hits the back of your throat. this earns him a hard swat to the thigh, to which he babbles out a, “sorry, fuck-,” before you take him even deeper.

you take his free hand and hold it against your neck, pushing his palm flat against the bulge that appears as his cock slides down your throat over and over. 

“oh fuck- oh my god...”

his cock twitches in your mouth as he feels you take him entirely.

you kind of regret the whole filming thing now; you can’t see his pretty face anymore when you glance up, just a blinding light in your face and a dark lens staring at you. 

he’s squirming more and more, and you know he’s close; he’s getting so loud. his moans are becoming more choked as he nears his peak, and he sets the phone down with a slam against the marble countertop; his hands fly down to grip at your hair. you almost think to stop and tell him off, but this is a special occasion, you suppose. 

“fuck, please let me come; please, please,” he begs you.

you pull off him just enough to murmur at his tip, “i don’t know, honey. do you deserve it?” 

he nods pathetically, pushing his hips forward to get the slightest bit of stimulation from you, ignoring the sensitivity of your lips mouthing at his head.

you decide to be cruel. 

a sob escapes him as you lean back on your heels, away from him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“but what about your girl, lando?” 

you glance towards his phone, abandoned on the edge of the sink, probably still rolling. 

“fuck, she’s not my girl; i don’t care about her. fuck her- fuckin’- please!”

your head tilts to the side, and your eyes drift up, pretending to think about it. 

“mm, no. that’s not very fair to her, is it?”

the tears start up again; this time out of frustration. his brain isn’t working nearly hard enough for him to think of what the right thing to say is. instead, when he opens his mouth, what comes out is a pitiful, ragged gasp. 

“what are you gonna do to convince me you deserve it, lan? ‘cause… i don’t think you’re doing a very good job of it right now.”

his eyes squeeze shut as he racks his brain for what you want to hear. 

“move back in with me. i’ve missed you so bad, angel— fuck!”

you thumb swipes over his leaking slit, smearing precome over his sensitive head. still not good enough. he hisses and whines again.

“please-, i can’t live without you. i need you. i need you, angel!“ 

his lip is raw from biting down on it, his lashes wet from crying. 

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i was wrong; i was so wrong to end it! i miss you all the time, i regret it every day; i’m so sorry, please come back, please, please-“

you hum, finally satisfied with his grovelling, and hollow your cheeks as you take all of him in your mouth again. hands in your hair holding you in place, lando’s hips take over as he chases his own pleasure, bucking forward, forcing his cock down your throat. your jaw goes slack and you finally allow him take what he wants from you; just a hole for him to empty his balls in. 

“thank you, thank you, thank you-“ he’s babbling as he gets closer, like he always does, “fuck, angel; love you, thank you, love you-”

he finally comes with a broken cry, hot come spurting in your mouth. his hips don’t stop, prolonging his orgasm for as long as possible after months of being unable to. your pussy clenches on nothing as he pulses against your tongue.

you manage to swallow half of his seed, coating your mouth in the bitter taste of him. the other half oozes out of the corners of your mouth, and you jerk your head to the side to avoid getting any on your dress. his cock slides out of your mouth easily, leaving a soreness in the back of your throat when you swallow.

you look up at lando. his legs are shaking and his eyes are trained on you, following your every movement like a dog would it’s master. 

“such a good boy, lan. come here, honey.” 

at your command, he slides down to the ground to meet you, and when his knees settle against your own, you kiss him finally. 

a relieved whine escapes him as he melts into your touch, shoulders sagging and body leaning towards yours. he’s kissing you desperately, trying to communicate months of dissatisfaction with his tongue as he pushes it into your mouth, running along your teeth. his hands grab at the front of your dress, trying to pull you closer, ever closer. 

he tilts his head down and away from you, so your lips end up on his cheek. you open your mouth to complain until you feel his tongue dart out and licks up his own come from your chin. you smile against his stubble. maybe he hasn’t lost all his manners after all.

his mouth returns to yours and the taste gets mixed in with your saliva and his. you can’t help but moan as everything familiar sinks in, and you realise lando’s back. he's here, with you. emboldened by your noises, his teeth nip at your lip; not hard enough to draw blood, but not softly either. his arm sneaks around your waist, settling at your hip. 

it stays there for not even five seconds.

he trails it slowly down, drawing little patterns on your thigh as he edges towards your cunt, trying to be inconspicuous. you only notice subconsciously his fingers dancing along your panties, light against the wet spot right on the front of them, or your hips canting up, aching for him to touch you like he used to do. 

your hands fly up to either side of his face as lando pulls your panties to the side and pushes his index in in one go. his mouth stills against yours once he’s buried up to the knuckle, waiting for you to stop him. when you don’t show any signs of wanting to, he curls his finger up tentatively. a sigh leaves your lips as even just one of his fingers fills you up in the way you’re used to.

taking your sounds as permission to continue, he pushes his tongue back past your lips as he drives his thick finger in and out of your sopping wet pussy. his teeth clack against yours as he swallows down all the noises you’re making. 

he pulls out suddenly, and his mouth leaves yours again; this time to take his slick-covered finger in his mouth, tongue swirling around his knuckle as he licks up every trace of you. you pant heavily, taking the opportunity to catch your breath as you watch him with half-lidded eyes, on his knees in front of you. your tongue runs over your swollen bottom lip, feeling every mark left by his teeth, and your pussy clenches, wanting him back in her now. 

you reach out for him, and his hand drops from his mouth as you near. you pull him towards you by the chin, tapping at his lips— still wet from a mix of your slick and his saliva— when you're happy with how close he is.

his jaw hangs open on command, and his eyes dart down to your lips expectantly. pleased with his retained obedience, you kiss the tip of his nose gently before prying his mouth open wider, and spitting. 

he moans happily as his tongue rolls your saliva around his mouth, before he swallows and shows you. 

“mm, such a good boy, aren’t you?” 

you don’t mean to say it out loud, but lando hears all the same. his pupils get impossibly darker, and he all but lunges back at you, pushing you against the side of the tub as he connects your mouths together again. 

your fingers find his hair and pull, earning a desperate whine from him just as his index and middle fingers push back into you with no resistance. his hand starts pumping in and out and you gasp into his open-mouthed kisses, back arching off the porcelain skirt as he hits your g-spot like he never forgot how to. you can feel his hardening cock against your hip, eager to fuck you again after so many months.

as much as you also want that, you tear yourself away from him as the amount of time you two have spent in this bathroom suddenly occurs to you. any longer and either someone will get max to unlock the door because they really need to piss, or max himself will find you as he’s cleaning up the apartment afterwards.

a string of spit connects your mouths still, until your finger comes up and twists itself around it, breaking as it gets too thin. his fingers slip out of you with a wet squelch and your cunt mourns being full already. you push yourself off the ground, brushing your knees of imaginary dirt. lando remains where he is, crumpled on the ground, chest heaving.

“come on, clean yourself up.”

you grab a towel, neatly folded by the sink, and throw it at him. he takes a moment to get to work, but does as you say, rubbing at his face first, then cleaning the excess amounts of your slick off his hand, and finally drying off his spit-covered cock. you smooth your hair down in the mirror, and pull your dress down, trying to look like you haven’t just hooked up with your ex in your friend’s bathroom. 

lando gets up slower than you had, and pulls his trousers back up his hips. another little ding from his phone as he picks it up tells you that, like you had suspected, it had been recording even after lando had tossed it aside.  

“you okay?”

lando sniffs one more time to compose himself, and nods, taking your hand in his as you unlock the door and step out.

there’s no one lingering around the bathroom, thank god— they would surely ask what the two of you were doing in there, but as you make your way through to the living room where everyone else is, you don’t miss the shocked looks the two of you get from the other partygoers, each of whom knows about your messy breakup. 

“lando! i’ve been looking for…” max’s sentence dies off in his throat as takes notice of who lando’s with. 

“max! isn’t this great? you always throw such a good party; thanks for the invite, babe.”

you let go of lando’s hand to wrap your arms around max’s neck. he hugs you back just a second too slow. 

“hi love. i, uh… i didn’t know this was a thing again?” he gestures to the two of you when you step back to lando’s side. 

lando smiles cockily, an aura of confidence around him, and entwines your hand with his again, the whiny boy in the bathroom completely gone from sight.

“well, we ran into each other earlier and got to talking and, honestly, mate? i didn’t realise how bad i missed my angel.” 

he presses a kiss to the side of your head as he says the last part, making you blush at the attention. max eyes the two of you suspiciously, like he knows something, but shrugs and decides to drop it. 

“well, as long as you’re both happy, i’m happy.” 

you nod eagerly at him, then at lando, who’s doing the same as you. you’re sure you both look goofy as hell, like a couple of bobbleheads.

max looks weirded out. whether it’s from the sudden rebirth of your relationship or the way the two of you are acting, you’re not sure.

you make your escape before things get even more awkward tonight. 

“bye, max! nice to see you again; i’m sure lando can fill you in later! love you!” you push lando in some random direction, speaking quickly so max can’t interrupt. 

his hand raises in a half-arsed wave, and you think you hear an affectionate, “weirdos,” before you’re out of earshot.

taking charge once you’re both around the corner, lando grabs your hand and clears a path to the kitchen, where he rummages around in max’s cupboards for two glasses and pours you a drink before doing the same for himself. 

you take a sip, the first thing you’ve tasted that’s not lando in at least an hour and a half, and sigh happily. he leans against the counters, watching your throat bob as you swallow down the alcohol. 

“you know we’re gonna need to have a proper talk,” you posit, glancing at him over the rim of your glass. 

he nods, a serious expression on his face very unbefitting him.

“and you should probably delete that video.”

lando pretends to think about it, before his face splits with another cheeky smile.

“mm… nah.”

“lando.”

he pulls you in by the waist and presses another kiss to your cheek. he dwells for a second, breathing in your scent before carrying on.

“it’s really hot. i might keep it for when i’m alone at a race and missing you, angel.”

you roll your eyes before realising how happy you are to be falling back into a familiar dynamic with him. lando seems to come to the same realisation at the same time, smiling softly down at you as his arm comes up to rest on your shoulders. 

“will you come over tonight?” he murmurs into your hair. 

you make a face at him, “…what?”

lando shrugs at you like it’s obvious, “saves you having to drive tomorrow morning.” 

“okay… um, remind me again why i’m coming to your place at all tomorrow?”

“well, we have to talk, right? might as well get it out of the way as soon as possible. plus, we wouldn’t have to do it in a bathroom at mine.”

he waggles his eyebrows as he says the last bit, clearly looking forward to continuing where you’d left off earlier. you respond to his confidence with a pat on the arm, and take another sip of your drink.

“let’s just see how the night turns out, okay?” 

it’s not a no, and from the way you catch him grinning into his drink, he knows it just as much as you. 

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