#going to paint and have An Experience with Music

[ratherembarrassing]

2025: week 27

in brief: (forgotten from last week) i had a ticket to little birdy's 21st birthday show for bigbiglove at the corner, and despite feeling like a literal wet dishrag i am glad i went because live music is the greatest thing a person can experience; the impressionists exhibition at ngv with my mum. we both independently decided a toulouse lautrec painting looked like christine baranski in the gilded age; got a haircut, my hair still looks fucking awesome so that's nice; a wet leg themed cream bun from dua bakery, because collingwood yards was doing some wet leg album drop thing. idk; the pistol shrimps (2016), it's been on my to watch list for literal years; tennis, but that final was awful so the less said etc.

now for something a little different: i was looking back through these entries from the last couple of months, and something that isn't readily apparent, because i started cheating by combining weeks to make it look like i had a lot to report, is that i actually haven't had a lot to report in months. a few months ago i stopped reading 95% of tumblr posts that had more than one paragraph, and i've watched three scripted tv shows since march. realising this has been really scary. i feel deeply fucking broken in a lot of ways right now, and just typing this out is making me cry for about the seventeenth time this week, not because those things are particularly important per se, but they are demonstrative of a bigger problem but also in and of themselves fairly significant mediums through which i interact with the world, and the last few months has whittled away at those connections to art and thought and people in ways i wasn't even aware of as it happened. and that's really scary.

i'm taking the next few months off from work, and i'm taking the next few weeks off from everything, and i'm going to steal a version of the question amy poehler asks at the end of her podcast so that i have a list of things to go to when my brain feels like it in the next while: what are you watching, reading, listening to, engaging with that makes you feel good?

[funkle420]

a great way to combat genAI in the future would be educating kids (and teens and college students and all ppl) on art way more.

[mrfoox]

.... OK I really hope I can keep this dude ♥

[sylusismybby]

Sylus doesn't realize how big he is until the first time you two have sex. You hiss, your hand gripping onto his bicep tightly as he pushes his cock into you. "Everything alright, sweetie?" His voice held a certain amount of gentleness, he stops moving as he waits for you answer. "Yes...you're just...big..." Sylus lets a small smile come to his lips. "I'll just have to be careful then. Wouldn't want to overwhelm you thus early on, kitten." His hips move forward again, this time he takes his time, making sure you feel all of him. Your gasps and moans are like music to his ears, he can listen to them all day. "Tell me if it's too much and I'll stop." It was too much but you didn't want him to pull out, it felt painfully good.

Once he was fully inside of you, he let's you adjust to his size, moving only a little bit. Your pussy squeezed him a few times making him groan. "You feel amazing. Can I move now?" He leans down feeling the way your legs wrap around his body, he holds onto your thighs as he kisses up to your jaw. "Yes." It's a weak yes, you felt so full, he felt so good. Sylus nods and then starts moving his hips setting a slow pace at first. As soon as he sees that your experience grows to one of full pleasure, he speeds up, his hips moving quicker, harder. The moans that leave your mouth get louder, your hands move from his arms to his back, nails digging into his pale skin. He chuckles, he isnt fucking you fast, he is fucking you well. "There we go. Thats my good kitten." He kisses you on the lips, it's a kiss of raw passion, you feel him everywhere in your body. The room is filled with skin slapping noises as his cock moves in and out of your pussy.

Pulling away from the kiss, he grabs your hands pinning your wrists above your head. "Look at yourself. You're taking me so well." His red eyes are filled with adoration and lust, this is exactly how he wanted you. You look up at the mirror that was above the bed, it's an imagine that you wish you can take a picture of. Sylus is on top of you, his body moving against yours, his back painted by the scratches of your nails, your sweaty bodies illuminated by the dim lights. It didn't him long to realize where you were looking, he bites into your neck before speaking. "Enjoying the view are we? Atta girl." Then he starts to thrust into you faster, his cock pouding you deeper than before. A loud moan of his name echoes through the room, you grab onto the sheets, eyes rolling back. He was hitting all the right spots.

When your velvety walls start to clench around his length, he knows that you're close, so he slows down, wanting to savor every bit of you. Sylus takes one of your breats in his mouth, his tongue eagerly swirling against your nipple. The combined pleasure is making you lose your mind, your back arches. "Syl! Faster please!" You're begging him now, something you swore you'll never do. "Is that so? Well, what my kitten wants, she gets." He takes hold of your legs and puts them on his shoulder.kissing your ankle before his movements speed up. Sylus admires the way your breasts bounce at his every hard thrust, he admires how your body reacts so perfectly to his. "Syl! I'm close!" The desperation in your voice makes his cock twitch, you feel it too. His hand moves down your leg until it reaches your core, he gently rubs his thumb over your clit to get you to cum. It works, tou cum around his cock, your body twisting in pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. He follows, pulling out quickly and painting your stomach white, his eyes are closed for a moment before he looks at you again. Sylus gives you a few moments before he turns the position around si you were on top of him. "We aren't done yet. Afterall..." He looks up, looking at your reflections in the mirror. "...it's time for me to admire the view too, sweetie."

[parrish-the-thot]

A continuation of this post I made

I imagine Steve genuinely doesn’t think about Eddie, like at all. Besides the occasional “what is he yelling about in that table” or “ Munson actually showed up to class” or once in sophomore year he thinks “how much does Munson charge for an ounce of weed? Would he take a $50 for an ounce” which causes Eddie to wait around all day at the picnic table wishing for some shmuck to offer $50 for just an ounce, but no one shows up (Steve had to go pick up Dustin after school and didn’t want him to find weed the weed when he inevitably starts going through Steve’s car)

The lack of soulmate thoughts really irks Eddie, because he knows his soulmate is in Hawkins, but he never thinks about Eddie, like at all??? Positively or negatively?? Eddie jumps on more tables, he blares loud music from his van, he is in a band, he is the drug dealer for all the teens in Hawkins and all his soulmate thinks is “why the fuck did Munson double park his van, I’m going to be late looking for a parking spot now” it absolutely drives him crazy.

He eventually figures out his soulmate must be a jock of some kind because one day he hears “what is Munson doing under the bleachers?” when some sports team is let out of playing with balls practice. He is briefly heartbroken his soulmate isn’t a nerd like him, but then spends the night thinking about how a certain fluffy haired jock could play with his balls anytime.

Steve isn’t not thinking about Eddie on purpose, but they just don’t run in the same circles, so he doesn’t really think about him too much, just in a genuine, “I don’t know them, don’t interact with them, so I don’t really think about them” sort of way. Especially after befriending the kids, Steve’s focus goes to keeping them safe and being a babysitter instead of finding his soulmate.

Steve’s experience with his soulmates thoughts is completely different. Starting in middle school he heard his soulmate think he was cute which he thought was nice. As he got older his soulmate would still think he was cute, but also handsome or pretty which, he doesn’t know any girls who call their boyfriends pretty but ya know, he can roll with that. He thinks he will have to roll with a lot of stuff, since hai soulmate seems to into a…a lot of interesting things, to say the least. Steve has dated a lot of girls but none of them seemed to want to rub their face in his chest hair like his soulmate did, who also wonder is Steve was that hairy everywhere which- he was but he didn’t think a girl would want to know about that.

He would be in the middle of a basket ball game and he hit with a 15 minute monologue about how wonderful his ass looked in “thise little green shirts that ride up his ass in the best way” and how his soulmate “wanted to be those shorts” causing Steve to miss three different shots. Also with all this wildly kinky stuff and even general sex things Steve has never heard of or thought about he figures he should become more knowledgeable to better be prepared for his soulmate.

One day when Steve is cleaning up a drink he spilled in the cafeteria and heard “god Harrington looks good on his knees, bet he would look even better with my cock in his mouth” figures chances are his soulmate isn’t a girl at all.

With not much else to loose and a new door opened up to him, Steve starts spending time thinking equally horny thinvs about different guys he sees in class, just to see if they will react to what he is thinking. This is how he figures out Eddie is his soulmate.

Steve notices eddies table is getting a little rowdy, as is always does before Eddie gets up on someone’s table and he rants about jocks and preppy girls while stepping on people’s lunches, Steve thinks “what if comes over here, spits in my stretched out hole, and fucks me right next to Heathers Halloways tuna sandwich”

Eddie, whose soulmate didn’t even think about Eddie that one time his car got spray painted a fit was all the school talked about for a week, was NOT expecting that at 12:30 on a Tuesday and promptly trips on a chair and slams face first into the lunch table, breaking his nose.

Eddies friends rush him to the nurse and Steve is torn between this being a sign Eddie is soulmate or Eddie just clumsy, Steve has seen him walk into a door twice, so he don’t 100% sure. Steve decided to test this anytime he has a clear viewpoint of Eddie and starts thinking the most horny, kinky things possibly about Eddie to see if Eddie reacts proves he is Steve’s soulmate (also revenge because Steve had to go through years of Eddie horny pondering interrupting Steve during important tasks games or tests so Steve figures he should pay that forward during eddies dungeons and dorks games)

[mwphisto]

LaDs: You have a Low Libido

~ inspired by anon’s ask! I hope I captured the idea okay! As someone with a typically high libido I tried to think from the perspective of when I’m on my period and not in the mood at all lol

~ all love interests included

Warning, this post contains: mentions of sex, mainly fluff.

Xavier

⭐️He can control himself and his needs, if you’re not in the mood? Then neither is he. Cuddling is more than enough

⭐️Xavier knows that a low libido doesn’t mean no libido, so when you’re actually in the mood for once? He jumps on the opportunity and makes sure you enjoy it too.

⭐️Xavier loves being intimate with you in a variety of ways, and he knows his limits to his own restraint. He’ll always prioritize you and your needs before his own.

“We haven’t had sex in like a month.” You mumble the words sheepishly into his chest, eyes peering up at him as if you were bracing yourself. “Yeah, and that’s perfectly fine.” It’s a sleepy yawn of reassurance, his fingers toying with your hair as you pout. “You’re not… bothered by that? I feel bad…” that gets him, blue eyes zeroing in on where your head presses to his chest. “It doesn’t bother me in the slightest, you have no reason to feel bad. Why would you even feel bad about not being in the mood for sex?” That struck a cord in you, eyes widening slightly as you meekly offer. “Wouldn’t you prefer a partner who’s more in tune with your needs?” You knew for a fact that your boyfriend’s libido was high. “Don’t be ridiculous, there is a lot more to our relationship than sex. Sure when we do have it it’s great, but I don’t need it every day to know I love you.”

Rafayel

🎨Rafayel has a normal libido (save for ebb day) so when he learns your libido is a bit low? No problem!

🎨He loves showing his affection to you through other intimate means — hand holding, cuddling, taking a bath together, painting your portrait, and many more

🎨When you are in the mood, he’s sure to make it special. Candles, petals, nice music, he’ll go the full nine yards to make sure the experience is worth it for you

“Y’know, it means a lot that my low libido doesn’t bother you.” You confess it softly one night as you two share a bath. You’d been lingering on this for a while now, a bit envious of the fact that you didn’t get turned on as frequently as others did. “Course it doesn’t bother me, cutie. Sex is great but you being comfortable and having your needs met his much greater to me.” While you appreciated the sentiment, you wished you could crave your boyfriend on a deeper level. You did, of course, having a low libido didn’t mean you had none at all. You just wished for his sake that it was a little more… frequent? “Don’t you dare think like that.” Had you accidentally said it out loud? “It doesn’t bother me at all, cutie. We don’t need to have sex every day for me to know I love you more than words.”

Zayne

🩺Zayne doesn’t mind it at all, if anything, you having a low libido calms his nerves. Especially at the start of your relationship, he likes to take things slow!

🩺Zayne is a man of patience as well as a man of restraint. He knows when to hold back, if you are not in the mood when he is? It's totally fine, he'd never put that level of expectation on you.

🩺When you are in the mood though? Expect Zayne to be feral -- but within your comfort zone of course.

"Are you sure you're okay with this, Zayne?" You had been scrolling your period tracker, and from what you could see, the last time you had marked the day with a little red heart was… “Three weeks is not that much time, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure we’ve gone two months without seeing each other because of work.” But that answer didn’t really help you for some reason. “I just feel like… I’m failing you.” At that, Zayne’s book snapped shut and his attention fully focused on you. “Don’t you dare equate having a low sex drive to failing me as my partner. I have loved you far before I even knew what sex was. I would love you until my dying breath even if we never had sex once in the decades we have been together.” You didn’t think it was possible to love the man more than you already did.

Sylus

🍷Sylus being the consent king he is, has no issues when you confess to him that your libido is relatively low.

🍷He’s very in tune with his own body for that matter, if he attempts to make a move and you’re not reciprocating in a way that tells him you’re also in the mood? He doesn’t mind at all, he’ll take care of his needs later on.

🍷When you make the first moves signaling that you’re down? Expect this man to ask your consent once, twice, three times before he even touches you. He needs to be positive you're doing this because you want to, not because you feel obligated.

"I love you so much, Sy." The bedroom was quiet, your bodies bare and pressed together underneath silk sheets. Roughly twenty minutes prior you two had gotten out of the shower after having sex. It was the first time in about a month, and you were completely satisfied. "I love you too, kitten. More than anything." Even still, you couldn't help yourself from feeling a bit self conscious. Even after being so thoroughly loved by the man whose heart was thundering under your ear. "Promise me that you're really okay with me not having a wild sex drive..." You could feel him stiffen a little, a quiet huff slipping past his nose. "Kitten, I will say it every day until it is engraved in your head. You having a low sex drive does not stop us from being intimate in other ways. I love you as you are, I'd be upset if you ever changed. So please know that you are nothing less than perfect for me, I would never ask for anything more.”

Caleb

🪐Caleb struggles a little bit at first, his sex drive being relatively high most of the time. He craves you so damn often.

🪐Caleb is able to reign himself in, I mean he did so for how many years? If you don't have a high libido, he can figure out his own means to take care of himself if he is seriously in the mood. He'll never, ever, force you into anything!

🪐When you are in the mood? Caleb goes insane, he'll make sure you have the best time, your pleasure being his absolute focus. He'll genuinely fuck you like it's his last chance ever.

"Y-you know just because my libido is pretty low... doesn't mean we'll never have sex again." You can barely push yourself up, entire body trembling as Caleb pants beside you. "I know, Pips. I just can't help myself sometimes. Makes me go a little insane when you're needy." You feel your cheeks warm, hiding your face in the pillow below you . "I love you for never pushing my boundaries... I just wish I could help you out a little more often." His brows pinch together at that. One glance from the pillow and you see Caleb has rolled over to stare at you. "Pips, my love. You are perfect, an absolute angel sent to earth and I have the honor of loving you. I may be on the higher end of the libido spectrum..." He makes little air quotes and you find yourself cracking a smile. "...But sex is often the last thing on my mind when I get to hold and love you every day. We don't need to have sex every day, every week, hell even every month for me to know that I love you just as deeply as you love me."

[celestiamour]

MEOW MEOW MEOW SE-MI SMUT X F!READER PLL,ZZPLZLZZ IM ON MY KNEES PLZ

ft. han se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ an examination of piercings turns into something more┊0.8k words

contains: smut!! dom se-mi & sub reader┊tongue piercing, receiving oral, one mention of needles, innocent reader, se-mi is older & called “unnie”

➤ author's note: glad to see the girls getting just as much love as the boys in my inbox

“did they hurt?” you asked, gently holding your friend’s face in your hands and admiring her like a newly discovered painting from the renaissance era. it was mesmerizing how the light shone off the metal, and you couldn’t stop staring, even going as far as to run your finger over the little star of her nose piercing in awe without thinking. it was so damn cute how fascinated you seemed to be by these decisions she made nearly a decade ago in her teenage years.

normally, se-mi wouldn’t have let anyone put their hands on her and would probably punch them if they went anywhere near her face. yet here she sat in her bed allowing herself to be adored by you. she wondered if this was how cats felt when being coddled by their owners, the spoiled white persian kinds you see in movies with diamond collars and more toys than what they know to do with. “no, it was just like a pinch.”

“i couldn’t imagine that— having a needle pierce my skin, i mean,” you shivered. “my ears were pierced when i was a baby, but even then, they’re a little crooked because i wouldn’t stop crying.”

she giggled at the thought of it. “it’s not the needle that’s painful, it’s the healing process. the days after i got my tongue pierced were the worst, i couldn’t eat for days.”

“you have a tongue piercing?”

humming to confirm, she cheekily stuck out her tongue to show off the metal pierced through the muscle, even flexing it to flaunt the jewelry. it was extremely amusing to see how flustered you were becoming even though you tried not to show it.

“why did you get it pierced when it’s not even visible all the time?”

“cause it feels good for…”

“feels good for what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head in a way that made her want to eat you alive.

“well… it’s kinda hard to explain, but i could show you if you like…”

you didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about at first until you found yourself flipped on your back with your shorts dragged to your ankles along with your panties and her head in between your shaking thighs, sliding her hot tongue between your folds and savoring the taste collecting on her palette. this wasn’t something best friends did, but you made no attempt to push her away and allowed her to do as she pleased.

“s-se-mi unnie…” you whined out, fingers finding and tangling with her dark locks yet also doing the contradictory action of wiggling your hips away. you’ve never felt this way before, knots twisting in your stomach and fire spreading under your skin as you try to wiggle away from the foreign sensation that felt too good to be real.

“ah, ah, ah, don’t run from me, you taste so fucking sweet.” her grip on your legs tightened as she pulled you closer to her, swirling the cold pierced metal across your throbbing clit and enjoying your moans like music. “i wish we had done this sooner, don’t you? god, i don’t think i could ever get enough now that i’m here.”

you couldn’t even verbalize a proper answer with nothing but pathetic whimpers falling from your mouth, eyes flickering between her and the ceiling as they rolled back with tears threatening to drip down the waterline. did things like this always feel so good, or was se-mi simply an expert who knew your body better than you did yourself with age and experience? silly little questions you would ponder if you weren’t getting your brains fucked out by just her tongue, making her wonder in return how you would handle taking her strap when you were already going crazy like this. (you have no idea how long she’s been fantasizing about having you like this, sitting in this very bed thinking about your soft skin and lips against hers with her hand crammed in her pants.)

“fucckk, ‘m gonna- ngh!!” god, you didn’t know the word to match your oncoming orgasm, you just knew a peak was about to be reached thanks to her talented tongue.

“you’re gonna cum baby,” she chuckled. “don’t be scared, just let yourself go for me.”

suddenly her plush lips wrapped around your delicate pearl and sucked hard, and like activating a button, you cried out in pleasure and unraveled all over her face, back arched and hands tugging on her hair. she gladly licked up the messy remnants with a smirk, proud to have made you climax in less than five minutes.

“you did soooo good for me baby,” she drawled and pressed a few sloppy kisses on your twitching cunt as a reward, “think you can give me one more?”

[1lovewony]

The Power of Two (Hanni & Minji of Njz)

Hanni & Minji x Hanni's Ex

Summary:

Hanni and Minji, best friends, go out for a girls' night and encounter Hanni's ex-boyfriend, Jae, at a bar. Seeking to teach him a lesson and assert their power, they invite him to a secluded room where they engage in a passionate and intense sexual encounter. Taking turns pleasing each other, they ensure Jae remembers the night, emphasizing their control and desire. The story culminates in a satisfying and empowering experience for Hanni and Minji, leaving Jae utterly spent and them feeling content and in control.

Hanni and Minji were out for a girls' night, the city lights reflecting off their glossy lips and sparkling eyes. They were dressed to kill, their heels clicking against the pavement as they made their way to their favorite bar. The night was young, and they were ready to paint the town red.

As they pushed open the heavy door of the bar, the loud music and buzz of conversation hit them like a wall. They scanned the crowd, and that's when Hanni's heart skipped a beat. There, at the far end of the bar, was a familiar face—Jae, her ex-boyfriend. He was leaning against the counter, a smirk on his face as he chatted up the bartender.

"Fuck," Hanni muttered under her breath. "What is he doing here?"

Minji followed Hanni's gaze and her eyes widened in recognition. "That bastard," she hissed. "Want to teach him a lesson?"

Hanni raised an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

Minji leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let's give him a night he'll never forget. But on our terms."

Hanni felt a thrill of excitement and nervousness. "You're on."

They ordered their drinks and made their way over to Jae, their hips swaying in sync with the music. Jae's eyes widened as he saw them approaching, a mix of surprise and something else—desire, maybe—flashing across his face.

"Hanni, Minji," he greeted, his voice smooth as velvet. "Long time no see."

"Jae," Hanni replied coolly, taking a sip of her drink. "Fancy meeting you here."

Minji stepped closer to him, her voice a purr. "We were just talking about old times. Remember those, Jae?"

Jae's eyes darkened, and he leaned in, his voice low. "How could I forget?"

Hanni felt a rush of memories—both good and bad. But tonight, she was in control. She set her drink down and ran a finger down Jae's chest, feeling his muscles tense under her touch. "You know, Minji and I were just saying how much fun we had with you. Maybe we should show you how much we've missed you."

Jae's breath hitched, and he looked from Hanni to Minji, a hungry look in his eyes. "I'm game if you are."

Minji took his hand and led him to a quieter, more secluded corner of the bar. Hanni followed, her heart pounding in her chest. This was their night, and they were going to make sure Jae remembered it.

They found a cozy booth, and Minji slid in first, pulling Jae down beside her. Hanni sat on his other side, trapping him between them. She could feel the heat of his body, the tension in his muscles. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "You know what we want, Jae. Give it to us."

Jae turned to face her, his eyes dark with desire. "And what is it you want, Hanni?"

She smiled, a slow, seductive curve of her lips. "We want you to make us feel good. Like old times."

Minji's hand snaked up Jae's thigh, and he sucked in a sharp breath. "God, you two are trouble," he muttered, but he didn't stop them.

Hanni's hand joined Minji's, and together they explored his body, reacquainting themselves with the contours of his muscles, the heat of his skin. Jae's breath came in ragged gasps, and he closed his eyes, giving in to their touch.

Minji leaned in and captured his lips in a passionate kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth. Hanni watched, her own desire rising as she saw the effect they were having on him. She ran her hands up his chest, feeling his heart pound under her palm. She leaned in and nipped at his earlobe, her voice a whisper. "You like that, don't you?"

Jae nodded, his eyes still closed, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," he hissed. "God, yes."

Hanni smiled and turned her attention to his neck, kissing and nipping her way down to his collarbone. Minji's hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt, exposing more of his chest to their hungry mouths. Hanni could feel the heat building between them, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

Jae's hands found their way to Minji's waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Hanni could see the hunger in his eyes, the way his body responded to their touch. She felt a thrill of power, of control. This was what they wanted, and they were going to get it.

She slid her hand down his stomach, feeling the ridges of his abs, the way his muscles tensed under her touch. She dipped her fingers below the waistband of his pants, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his breath hitched as she brushed against his hip bones.

Minji pulled back from the kiss, her lips swollen and red. She looked at Hanni, a question in her eyes. Hanni nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. It was time to take this to the next level.

Minji stood up and pulled Jae to his feet, her hands on his chest. "Come with us," she said, her voice a command. "We have a surprise for you."

Hanni led the way to the back of the bar, where there was a small, secluded hallway with a single door at the end. It was a storage room, but it was private, and that's all they needed. She pushed the door open and pulled Jae inside, Minji following close behind.

The room was small, filled with boxes and crates, but there was just enough space for the three of them. Hanni turned to face Jae, her eyes locked on his as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the lace bra underneath. Jae's eyes darkened, and he reached out, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples.

Minji came up behind him, her hands sliding under his shirt, exploring his chest. Hanni could feel the heat of his body, the way his muscles tensed under her touch. She leaned in and captured his lips in a passionate kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth.

Jae's hands roamed her body, his touch hungry and desperate. He pulled her blouse off her shoulders, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He pushed the lace of her bra down, exposing her breasts, and took one nipple in his mouth, sucking and nipping until Hanni was moaning, her head thrown back in pleasure.

Minji's hands were busy unbuckling Jae's belt, pulling his pants down. Hanni could feel the heat of his erection, the way it pressed against her stomach. She reached down and wrapped her hand around him, stroking him slowly, feeling him pulse in her hand.

Jae groaned, his head falling back against Minji's shoulder. "God, Hanni," he gasped. "You feel so good."

Hanni smiled, a slow, seductive curve of her lips. "And we're just getting started," she murmured, dropping to her knees in front of him.

She took him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, tasting the salty pre-cum. Jae's hands found their way to her hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided her movements. She took him deeper, her hand stroking the base of his shaft as she sucked and licked, her other hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently in her palm.

Minji's hands were busy exploring Jae's body, her lips trailing kisses down his back, her nails digging into his skin. Jae was a mess of sensations, his body tense and trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Hanni could feel his muscles tensing, his body coiling tight as a spring. She knew he was close, but she didn't want him to finish yet. She pulled back, a wicked smile on her lips as she stood up, her body pressing against his.

"Not so fast," she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. "We're not done with you yet."

Jae groaned, his body shaking with the effort of holding back. "Hanni, please," he begged. "I need to be inside you."

Hanni smiled and turned to Minji, a question in her eyes. Minji nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let's give the man what he wants," she said, her voice a purr.

They led Jae to a stack of crates in the corner, a makeshift bed for their pleasure. Hanni lay down first, her body on display for Jae's hungry eyes. Minji straddled her, her lips capturing Hanni's in a passionate kiss as Jae watched, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Hanni could feel the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together perfectly. She ran her hands up Minji's thighs, her fingers digging into her soft flesh as she pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

Jae's hands were busy exploring their bodies, his touch hungry and desperate. He ran his hands over Hanni's curves, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He pushed Minji's skirt up, his fingers finding her wet and ready, and he slipped two fingers inside her, pumping them in and out as she moaned and rode his hand.

Hanni could feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. She reached down and guided Jae's cock to her entrance, her eyes locked on his as he slowly pushed inside her, filling her completely.

They both moaned, their bodies pressing together, their breaths mingling. Jae started to move, his hips thrusting against hers, his body taking control. Hanni wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, harder, faster.

Minji straddled Hanni's chest, her wet pussy hovering over Hanni's mouth. Hanni reached up and pulled her down, her tongue delving into Minji's folds, tasting her sweetness, feeling her shudder and moan above her.

Jae's movements became more frantic, his body tensing as he chased his release. Hanni could feel him swelling inside her, his body coiling tight as a spring. She knew he was close, and she wanted to push him over the edge.

She sucked Minji's clit into her mouth, her tongue flicking and swirling as she brought her to the brink. Minji's body shook, her hands fisting in Hanni's hair as she came, her juices gushing into Hanni's mouth.

The taste of Minji's orgasm sent Hanni over the edge, her body clenching around Jae's cock as she came, her muscles milking him, drawing out his own release.

Jae groaned, his body shaking as he spilled himself inside her, his seed filling her, marking her as his. He collapsed on top of them, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Hanni could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm, the way her body still pulsed with pleasure. She looked up at Jae, a small smile playing on her lips.

"That was...incredible," he murmured, his voice hoarse with exertion.

Hanni smiled, a slow, seductive curve of her lips. "We're not done yet," she said, her voice a promise.

Jae's eyes widened, and he looked from Hanni to Minji, a hungry look in his eyes. "What do you have in mind?" he asked, his voice already husky with renewed desire.

Minji smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Round two," she said, her voice a purr. "And this time, I want to be on top."

Jae groaned, his body already responding to their touch. "God, you two are going to kill me," he said, but he was smiling, his eyes dark with desire.

Hanni and Minji exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them. They were in this together, and they were going to make sure Jae remembered this night for the rest of his life.

They spent the rest of the night exploring each other's bodies, their touches growing more intimate, more desperate with each passing moment. They took their time, savoring every touch, every kiss, every moan. They were in control, and they were going to make sure Jae knew it.

As the night wore on, their movements became more frantic, their bodies more desperate for release. Hanni could feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. She knew they were close, and she wanted to push them all over the edge.

She reached down and guided Jae's cock to her entrance, her eyes locked on his as he slowly pushed inside her, filling her completely. Minji straddled his face, her wet pussy hovering over his mouth. He reached up and pulled her down, his tongue delving into her folds, tasting her, feeling her shudder and moan above him.

Hanni started to move, her hips thrusting against Jae's, her body taking control. She could feel him swelling inside her, his body coiling tight as a spring. She knew he was close, and she wanted to push him over the edge.

She leaned down and captured Minji's lips in a passionate kiss, her tongue exploring her mouth as she rode Jae's cock, her body slamming against his, her muscles clenching and unclenching around him.

Minji's body shook, her hands fisting in Hanni's hair as she came, her juices gushing into Jae's mouth. The taste of Minji's orgasm sent Hanni over the edge, her body clenching around Jae's cock as she came, her muscles milking him, drawing out his own release.

Jae groaned, his body shaking as he spilled himself inside her, his seed filling her, marking her as his. He collapsed on the makeshift bed, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Hanni and Minji lay down beside him, their bodies entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal. They had given him a night to remember, and they knew it. They exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them. They were in this together, and they had just shown Jae exactly who was in control.

As they lay there, their bodies sated and spent, Hanni couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. They had taken what they wanted, and they had given Jae a night he would never forget. It was a night of passion, of power, of pleasure. And it was a night that would stay with them all, a memory etched in their minds, a testament to the power of two women who knew what they wanted and weren't afraid to take it.

The room was quiet, the only sound their soft breathing and the distant hum of the bar. Hanni looked at Minji, a small smile playing on her lips. "That was...intense," she whispered.

Minji smiled back, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "He won't forget us anytime soon," she replied, her voice soft but firm.

Jae, still catching his breath, managed a weak smile. "You two are something else," he said, his voice hoarse. "I never expected...that."

Hanni propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. "Expect the unexpected, Jae. That's what makes life interesting."

Minji nodded in agreement, her hand gently stroking Jae's chest. "And tonight was definitely interesting," she added, a playful tone in her voice.

Jae chuckled, a low, exhausted sound. "You can say that again," he muttered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "I needed that."

Hanni raised an eyebrow. "Needed what? A reminder of what you're missing out on?"

Jae opened his eyes and looked at her, a serious expression on his face. "Maybe. Or maybe just a night to remember. You two know how to make an impression."

Minji leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. "Glad we could oblige," she murmured.

Hanni felt a pang of something she couldn't quite identify—satisfaction, maybe, or a sense of closure. She had shown Jae that she was in control, that she could give and take pleasure on her own terms. And she had done it with her best friend by her side, making the experience even more meaningful.

As they lay there, their bodies slowly cooling down, Hanni couldn't help but feel a deep sense of contentment. They had taken what they wanted, and they had left their mark on Jae. It was a night of empowerment, of shared pleasure, and of friendship. And it was a night that Hanni would cherish, a memory of a time when she and Minji had taken control and shown the world what they were made of.

Eventually, they untangled themselves from each other and began to straighten their clothes, their movements slow and lazy. Hanni looked at Minji, a soft smile on her lips. "Ready to face the world again?" she asked.

Minji returned the smile, her eyes shining with happiness. "With you by my side, always," she replied.

They helped Jae to his feet, and the three of them made their way back to the bar, their steps slow and steady. As they re-entered the noisy, bustling world, Hanni felt a sense of detachment, as if the rest of the bar was moving in slow motion while she was stuck in a bubble of her own making, a bubble filled with the memories of the incredible night she had just experienced.

They said their goodbyes to Jae, their voices low and intimate, their touches lingering. And then, hand in hand, Hanni and Minji walked out of the bar, their heads held high, their hearts full, and their bodies sated. They had taken what they wanted, and they had left their mark on the night, on each other, and on Jae. It was a night to remember, a night of passion, of power, and of pleasure. And it was a night that would stay with them, a memory etched in their minds, a testament to the power of two women who knew what they wanted and weren't afraid to take it. AN: My yearly smut, see yall next year

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: WHO ARE YOU GONNA DATE NEXT? ᯓ★

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I. II. III.

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How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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⋆✴︎˚⋆ Pile I

OH- OHHHHHHHHH (I HAD to do this🤓) The moment I flipped these cards, I had to take a deep breath because WOW this spread is screaming romance, romance, ROMANCEThe energy here? Soft, dreamy, emotionally available, and actually willing to communicate their feelings like a functioning adult. (Shocking, I know.) This is the kind of person who has main character energy, but not in an obnoxious "look at me" way, more like a "low-key mysterious but actually an absolute sweetheart who accidentally makes people fall in love with them" type. They are also giving ‘hopeless romantic with a heart of gold’ vibes, but also kinda shy and dorky at times.

They’re deeply in touch with their emotions, thanks to all this Cups energy, which means they feel things deeply. We’re talking someone who sends you “thinking of you” texts just because, who remembers tiny details about you that even you forgot, and who probably makes killer playlists based on your mood. (OML😭) They might even be the type to write poetry or play an instrument. (If this person owns a guitar and has ever strummed it while looking out of a window dramatically, I will scream.) They’re also super romantic. They believe in love. Like, BELIEVE believe. They’re not out here for some casual nonsense; they’re here for the feels. If they’ve been hurt before, they’re still hopeful and open to love instead of being bitter. (We love emotional maturity.) Physically i am seeing doe-eyed, soft-smiling, artistic cutie vibes. BABE. BABE. This relationship is so soft, so wholesome, so emotionally fulfilling, if yall are people who had a relationship where you felt like you didn't even exist to the person then this NEXT relationship is totally different. You know how in movies there’s always that one couple who makes everyone else sick with how adorable they are? Yeah, that’s y’all (i’m really NOT jealous) . They’re also a partner in every sense of the word meaning they work with you, not against you. . If you’re struggling, they’re there to support you. If they’re struggling, you’ll actually know about it because they communicate. (A rare species, truly.) They’re most prolly a Water sign/ has strong water placements or just very emotionally intuitive. If you have someone with these placements around you, then this is your sign.  3 out of 4 cards are cups so i believe Y’all might bond over something artistic, music, painting, poetry, photography, film, something that requires emotions to create.They fall fast and hard, so if you’re used to people who are distant or confusing, this is gonna feel like a whole new world. This is the kind of love that feels like a warm hug after a long day, safe, sweet, and real. 

this person is a walking green flag. Soft but passionate. Romantic but stable. Playful but serious about love. This is the kind of relationship that feels safe and exhilarating at the same time, like home, but with butterflies. If you’ve been manifesting someone emotionally available, thoughtful, and ready to go all in for you…well, here they come. Oh, and one last thing, the fact that three out of four cards are Cups? That’s no accident. This person is MEANT to stir up your emotions and bring you into a deeper love experience. It’s not just about dating; it’s about feeling something real again.

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⋆✴︎˚⋆Pile II

First off, this person? Chaotic. But like, in the best way possible. The Fool and Page of Cups together are giving ✨ golden retriever energy ✨ with just a sprinkle of emotionally confused poet vibes. They’re the type to send you ten unhinged tiktok totally out of the blue with no explanation, and then disappear for three hours because they had an unexpected emotional breakdown. I had a friend like that who used to do this, and trust me these kind of people are strangely ADORABLE. They’re playful, optimistic, and have this lowkey naive, wide-eyed way of looking at life, but don’t be fooled, Strength is here, meaning they know how to handle their emotions. They just choose to exist in this dreamy, slightly reckless way.  I’m getting someone with a youthful look, no matter their actual age. Soft features, expressive eyes that basically scream “I have deep thoughts but I get distracted by cute dogs”, 

Okay, so, Page of Cups and 7 of Swords? Babe… this is giving situationship that could turn into a masterpiece or a disaster, depending on how you play it. There’s gonna be a lot of dreamy, flirty, almost cinematic moments where you’re both caught up in the fantasy of each other. But here’s the thing, with 7 of Swords meaning, there’s a hidden element to this person. Not necessarily in a bad way, but you might feel like they’re holding something back. Strength is telling me you might end up being the one keeping this relationship stable, because this person? Yeah, they’re fun, romantic, and spontaneous, but they need someone who grounds them. Otherwise, they’ll float off into whatever alternate reality they live in. You might find yourself teaching them how to actually deal with their feelings instead of turning everything into an inside joke or a quirky monologue.

This connection? It’s got potential. I was getting ‘JUST KISS ALREADY’ vibes from this spread so many times. But also, This person might have commitment issues at first, or they just don’t realize when they’ve caught feelings. This relationship will be fun, unexpected, and maybe a little messy at times. You’ll never be bored, but you might have to decide if you’re willing to wait for them to fully step up and be emotionally present. If you do? This could turn into one of those soulmate-tier love stories that start off as chaotic best friends and then evolve into something real. This person is gonna make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts, and you’re gonna make them feel like home. Just make sure they don’t get lost in the clouds before they realize what they have with you. 

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⋆✴︎˚⋆ Pile III

Picture someone who walks into a room and the air literally shifts, not in a dramatic, "I’m better than you" way, but in that "damn, why does this person feel like a wish come true?" kind of way. The Star as the headliner of this spread? BABY, this person is ethereal. 

They’ve been through their fair share of life lessons, some of them painful as hell, but instead of becoming bitter, they’ve transmuted all that pain into wisdom and grace. (Honestly, teach me your ways, mysterious heartthrob.) They’re a dreamer, but not the delusional kind. I have a strong feeling that pile 3 already know their person at the very least, they’re connected to your past in a really poetic way. The 6 of Cups is screaming, "This ain't no random fling, this is destiny, baby!" There’s a familiarity about them, like the feeling of revisiting your childhood home after years of being away. There’s also a chance that this person is deeply sentimental, they might keep old love letters, hoard little trinkets from meaningful moments, or be the type to remember the exact date you first texted them "lol" and took it as a sign from the universe. They’re romantic, but in a quiet, "let me show you, not just tell you" kinda way.

Physically? ELEGANT. LUXURIOUS. GOURGEOUS. 10/10. I also have the feeling that for some of you, this person might be quite rich as well. They could be successful or at least super stable and independent, but there’s something soft and sentimental about them like they love deeply but don’t fall easily. One thing i would say that they don't fall easily. 4 of the Pentacles is telling me that they guard their heart like a bank vault. Not in a "toxic, emotionally unavailable" way, but in a "I don’t just give my energy to anyone, I need to be sure" kinda way. They might be financially stable or working towards major success, so they protect what they’ve built. At first, they might be reserved, taking their sweet time to open up, but once they do? BABY, THEY’RE ALL IN. Slow-burning but SO rewarding. This is the kind of love that feels like déjà vu, like you were meant to find each other.  And the thing is, you’re worth the risk to them. Your connection makes them feel safe enough to let go of their tight grip on control. This isn’t a surface-level situationship, this is intentional, slow-burning, "I want to build something real with you" love.

(Also, be ready for someone who spoils you subtly, not in a flashy, Gucci gifts every day kinda way, but in "I remembered you liked that indie artist, so I got us front-row tickets" kinda way. 🥹) BUT one more thing, also think They’re going to be verrryyy slow to say ‘I love you’—but when they do? Oh, it means something. This is the kind of person who will show you they love you 100 different ways before they ever say it out loud.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[dollzstrology]

⋆｡°✩ — His Favorite Fantasy ᝰ A Rafe Cameron Christmas Special

Lyrics — Rafe’s been begging to introduce roleplay into your sex life, and you’ve been brushing him off, until now. When he comes home from a long trip, you surprise him in a sexy maid costume, turning his wildest fantasy into reality. Christmas came early, and so will he when you’re done with him.

Music Advisory — roleplay [reader is a sexy maid], a little smutty [brief handjob/blowjob], very suggestive ending, s4!rafe coded, business man!rafe

Duration — 3k words

Words from Artist — Merry Christmas Eve Everyone! I wanted to write a fun and smutty holiday fic for Rafe and this is the concept I came up with! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

Current Platforms — main m.list・obx taglist・navigation

Rafe has been dropping hints for months: lingering looks, teasing remarks, and casual comments that made it clear about what he wanted. The Kook prince has been wanting to experiment in the bedroom for a while, bringing a new spice to your sexual relationship by having a role-play session. It’s been on his mind for a while and he wasn’t shy of letting his fantasies be known.

It started out as a joke, or at least, that’s what you told yourself. One of Rafe’s usual throwaway, flirty remarks, the type that always made you roll your eyes and mutter a soft, “You’re crazy, Rafe,” as you gave him a playful shove. But your slightly dismissive attitude never stopped him. If anything, it only encouraged him to bring the idea up more.

Over breakfast, during your lazy afternoons at home, when you both are partying at the boneyard, even during your late night phone calls. No matter the setting, whenever the thought of you in a slutty little costume, showing off the assets you were blessed with, he speaks his mind.

Like that time a few weeks ago, when you were cooking dinner. You’d been on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab an ingredient from a high shelf, Rafe walked up behind you, pressing his chest against your back, and his arm stretching past yours as he helped you reach what you were looking for. “Y’know,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, “you’d look so sexy in one of those little outfits. All short ‘n tight, wearin’ one of those skimpy skirts.”

“Rafe!” you’d hiss, fighting a tight lipped smile while your cheeks burn from his flirty comment. You stepped out of his grasp and swatted his arm like you usually do when he brings up the idea of you dressing up for him.

"What?" he'd say, grinning like the devil himself, giving your ass a nice grab before placing a soft kiss on your cheek. "Just tryin’ to paint you a picture."

It wasn't just the comments, though. It was the tone of his voice, the way his voice dripped with mischief, his eyes dark and suggestive, like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. And damn it, he was good at it. You'd laugh it off every time, rolling your eyes or shaking your head, pretending you weren't affected while saying “Keep dreaming, Cameron. Not gonna happen”. But in reality you actually wanted to dress up in a slutty costume for Rafe, you just couldn’t let him know that.

Your plan has been in moniton for months, with Christmas right around the corner you thought this would be the perfect time to give him what he’s been practically begging for as an early Christmas gift. You’ve been spending your time scrolling through multiple websites, trying to find the perfect ensemble to surprise him with. After continuously surfing the web you finally found the perfect costume and it was thankfully delivered just in time to surprise Rafe with it before he came home from his business trip.

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as you open the package, pulling out each part of the costume in awe as you imagine the material clinging to your curves, and how Rafe’s going to be practically trying to rip it off you after the image of you being his sexy maid is stained in his brain. Out of all the role-playing scenarios he’s talked to you about, acting as his maid who ‘cleans up his messes’ and ‘does a little extra for her holiday bonus’ is the one he’s brought up the most.

Rafe’s private jet landed a few hours ago so now you’re currently preparing for his arrival and doing final touches on your look; spraying your favorite scent of perfume, taking your hair out of its current updo and allowing it to cascade down shoulders, and finishing your makeup with your strongest setting spray to keep it as fresh as possible.

As you take one final glance in your full length mirror, you can’t help but feel a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling in your stomach. The maid costume fit perfectly, snug in all the right places, the small white apron tied neatly around your waist, and the white thigh-high stockings with a lacy trim that adds a perfect amount of tease. You give yourself a once over, turning slightly to admire your physique, causing a smirk to come across your lips. “Damn, I look good.” You mumble under your breath as you make sure your hair looks its very best.

The sound of your phone buzzing as it sits on your vanity pulls your attention away from the mirror and you walk over to see read the notification which you soon realized it was a text from Rafe:

[8:55PM] Ray❤️: Just pulled in the driveway, baby.

As your eyes read Rafe’s text your heart skips a beat as the moment you’ve been carefully planning for months is finally here. You quickly adjust your stockings, grab the feather duster off your bed, and make your way downstairs to the front door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves.

After a few minutes of waiting you can hear the keys being placed in the front door, and soon the door swings open and reveals Rafe. His navy blazer was slung over his shoulder, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his usual confidence carrying him inside. “Baby!” He calls out while his eyes quickly scans the area around the front door before he goes into his home office and sets his things down before trying to find you around the large square footage of Tannyhill. “Baby, where are you-” His words become lodged in his throat and his eyes widen when his gaze lands on you, standing in the kitchen in your costume, leaning against the granite countertop with a feather duster in your hand with a coy smile.

"Holy shit," His voice is low and raspy, he runs his hand over his buzz cut and rubs the back of his neck out of shock and disbelief that you’re standing in front of him, acting out one of his top fantasies. Rafe’s eyes can’t pry away from you in this beautiful ensemble: an all black lace corset that pushes up your plump breast, a little mini skirt that shows the bottom of your ass cheeks if you bend over in the slightest, white garters around your thighs and stockings wrapped around your slender legs, and the cherry on top that completes the outfit—and causes his cock to strain against his slacks— is your pretty feet in the Christian Louboutin black stilettos he bought you a while back.

“Welcome home, Mr. Cameron.” your voice is laced with a playful innocence but your eyes are telling a different story. Rafe doesn't respond immediately; his jaw slackens slightly, and his piercing blue eyes roam over body, soaking in every detail of your outfit like he's committing it to memory so he’ll never forget. His hand remains frozen on the back of his neck as though he's trying to ground himself from the initial wave of shock. Finally, his lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk, the kind that always sends shivers down your spine.

"Holy shit," he repeats, his voice thicker this time. He drops his blazer onto the back of a chair and walks toward you with purposeful steps, resting his hands on your hips, trying his best to keep himself under control and not just devour you right here on the kitchen counter. "I must've walked into the wrong house because there's no way my girl-" He pauses, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "—the one who's been brushing me off for months-is standing here looking like every fantasy i've ever had."

You twirl the feather duster in your hand, your coy smile growing as you feel his hand grasp the flesh of your ass. "Well, Mr. Cameron. I thought it was time I finally give you what you’ve been asking for." you say, your tone dripping with playful seduction.

Rafe's grip on your ass tightens, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp. His smirk deepens and his eyes turn a shade darker with a glint of desire, showing that he’s clearly amused by how committed you are to your role. "You got no idea how long i've been waiting for this, baby." he drawls, his voice low and teasing.

Rafe steps even closer, pressing his body against yours until there's no space left between you, allowing you to feel his bulge that’s aching to be wrapped around your sweet pussy. His other hand slides up your waist, brushing against the lacy corset before resting just below your breast. "You've been playing hard to get," he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin, making goosebumps rise to the surface. "Brushing me off, laughing it away like I didn't mean it... And now you're just gonna stand there ‘n act like you didn't drive me crazy on purpose?"

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure under his intense gaze and his fiery touch as his hands move to multiple parts of your body. "I wanted it to be a surprise, an early Christmas gift." you whisper, setting the feather duster done and beginning to unbutton the rest of Rafe’s shirt so you can get him shirtless. "And judging by the look on your face, l'd say I made the right decision."

A dark chuckle escapes Rafe’s throat as his lips graze the corner of your mouth. "Oh, you did, sweetheart," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "But don't think for a second you're getting away with teasing me like this."

Rafe steps back slightly, his hands sliding down your thighs before effortlessly lifting you onto the countertop. The cool granite against your skin sends a shiver through your body, and before you can even react, he leans in, trailing his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone in teasing nips.

"I've got a lot of making up to do for all the times you told me this wasn't your thing," he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His lips leave a trail of red marks, each one more insistent than the last, and you know they'll be hard to cover up tomorrow when you head out.

You grin at his remark, the teasing satisfaction in your eyes matched only by the heat building between you. His lips find yours in a kiss that's raw and hungry, his large, calloused hand wrapping around your throat in a possessive grip that makes your breath hitch. He kisses you sloppily, yet perfectly, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless and desperate for more.

Finally, he pulls away, his lips hovering just above yours, his eyes dark with desire. "I'm all yours, Mr. Cameron," you breathe, your voice thick with anticipation. "Whatever you need, I'm here to help."

Rafe pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes, his hand still wrapped around your throat, his grip firm but careful. His lips are slightly swollen from the rough kiss, and his eyes are dark with desire. "Whatever I need, huh?" he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tilts your head back, exposing more of your neck to him.

You nod, your breath hitching as his lips graze your throat, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. "Yes, that's what I'm here for," you whisper, your voice shaky but steady enough to keep up the act.

His piercing gaze locks onto yours, and then he lowers his eyes, making a slow, deliberate trail down to the very obvious bulge straining against his slacks. "Oh, i've got something you can help me out with," he says, his voice dripping with filthy intent. His hand slid to your chin, tilting your head up so you couldn't look anywhere but at him. "And trust me, sweetheart, it's a big job."

Your breath hitches as Rafe's words hang in the air, thick with desire and dirty promise. His piercing blue eyes pin you in place, his grip on your chin firm but gentle, commanding your attention. The smirk on his lips is cocky and confident, the kind that always makes your stomach flip.

"Oh, is that so?" you murmur, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze, though you try to keep your tone playful.

Rafe tilts his head, his thumb brushing lightly against your bottom lip. "Mhm," he hums, his voice low and gravelly. "You've been teasing me all night with this little outfit, acting like a good girl. But we both know better, don't we?"

Your cheeks flush at his words, but you hold his gaze, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Well, Mr. Cameron," you reply, your voice dripping with false innocence, "I'm just here to... serve."

That earns you a low, dark chuckle from Rafe, his fingers sliding down to grip your neck lightly, just enough to make your pulse race. "Good," he murmurs, his lips brushing yours but not quite kissing you. "Then get down on your knees and start working... because I'm not letting you off easy."

The command sends a rush of heat through your body, and you feel his hands guide you off the counter with practiced ease. “Yes sir, Mr. Cameron.” Once your heels hit the tile you grab Rafe’s hand and lead him to the living room, making sure you twist your hips perfectly so your ass ripples with each step you take so Rafe’s eyes stay glued to your body.

When you're in front of the couch you softly push him into the cushiony material and once he’s seated your knees hit the soft rug beneath you, looking up at Rafe through your lashes while you undo the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather through its loops and throw it off to the side before pulling his pants and boxers down. Once the cotton cloth is no longer acting as a restraint, Rafe’s hardened cock springs free, softly hitting his lower abdomen before it rests in front of you, pre-cum leaking down his tip, making your mouth water at the sight.

You wrap your hand around his shaft, creating a pleasant sensation to shoot through Rafe’s body as your warm palm moves toward his tip and down to his base. Once you see the veins in his cock become prominent, and his shaft starts to throb in your hand, you move all your hair over your shoulder before kissing Rafe’s pinkish tip and taking him in your mouth, swirling your tongue on his cock and sucking him off just the way he likes.

As Rafe watches you, your lipstick leaving stains on his cock, the way you're taking him deep in your throat, watching your saliva drip down his shaft, and the vibrations flowing through his body from your soft hums to keep yourself from gagging makes him throw his head back in ecstasy, wanting to fuck your pretty little throat until it’s raw and hoarse.

He uses his large callous hands as a makeshift ponytail, tangling his hands in your hair before pushing you down further onto his cock, forcing your nose to touch his groin and the tip of his cock to your uvula, making a hiss spew from his mouth. "Fuck, that's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice filled with the wicked intent to press you to your limit and use you in any way he pleases.

Rafe's grip on your hair tightens as he guides your movements, his hips rolling forward slightly, matching the rhythm of your bobbing head. His cock twitches against your tongue, and the guttural groans spilling from his lips tell you just how much he's losing control. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust, his eyes locked on the way your lips stretch around him. "So fuckin' pretty like this. My perfect little maid, doin’ such a good job for me."

Your hands rest on his thighs for support as you take him deeper, your eyes watering but fixed upward to meet his intense gaze. He groans at the sight, his free hand brushing the tears that are flowing down your cheek with surprising tenderness, a sharp contrast to the way his other hand grips your hair.

"You like this, don't you?" he growls, his tone teetering between teasing and demanding. "Taking me so well, letting me use this pretty mouth. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, huh?"

You hum in response, the vibrations traveling through him and pulling another curse from his lips. "Shit," he hisses, his hips jerking forward instinctively. "I could do this all night. But you keep this up..." He trails off, his voice rough as his breathing grows heavier. "...and I'm not gonna last much longer."

Rafe pulls back slightly, letting you catch your breath before pressing you down again, his cock sliding deep into your throat. The lewd sound of your gagging only fuels him further, his eyes filled with lust as he watches you work, completely lost in the pleasure you're giving him.

"That's it, sweetheart," he groans, his voice low and gravelly. "Prove to me you're my good little maid. Show me just how well you can take care of me."

Fanbase — @ietss @shimmeringana @ims1 @anything4yooongi @genesis-p4l-love @oatmealisweird @ilovechickfilasauce @brooklynadoresdior @jordscosplay @taylormarieee @rivivie @shadyshady @m-mally @jj-maybank944 @bakugouswaif @princessadaniii8 @gillybear17 @rafestoothbrush @daisywonderland @loganssswifeyyy @curlyhairedgurlie @kennediijordan @megilite @crowskanej @death-by-tbr @agustd202204 @4thgradefilms @flvredcas @steverogerswife69 @hellokittyontop @belsssssss @stalkingyou @intomaeve @ameliablaine21 @alina5368 @julia-fandom @jvisisv2 @mini-shark @poetictrashsstuff @winterssecrett @simp4toomanymen @witchmoon10 @pvyden

[petrichoravis]

You, everywhere I look. | s.r

summary: Spencer finds himself unable to move through his life without finding pieces of you in everything he does or sees. He can’t say that he minds. (Or, you have been away and Spencer welcomes you home with love and flowers.)

word count: 1,7k

what to expect: spencer reid x fem!reader, no plot just spence being down bad, fluff (like tooth rotting, the couple that you see on the street and feel like barfing kind of fluffy), domesticity, established relationship, mention of spence lifting r up but he doesn’t actually, mention of future children as well as bad experiences with relationships but it’s not a plot point and there are no actual children, food and eating, English is not my first language

a/n: this is kind of my form of shit posting, bc this isn’t particularly good, but I liked it somehow. I think my fics being swallowed up by the algorithm has given me the freedom to just post what I want

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Spencer stretched his arms above his head with a sigh. The sun filtered through the curtain, beaming the shadow of the windows on the inside of the fabric like a projection screen.

He dreamed of you—a good dream for once. A child of your own, a life filled with joy, laughter until your stomach hurts, and rolling in the grass together down the hill where your house sits.

Dream analysis has never been something he believed in, given that it is purely based on interpretation, with no underlying logic or factual basis. But you made him forget logic, made him want to believe in all the things ethos and the universe told him.

But dream analysis and believing that a dream could inspire a future were two different things. And he so badly wanted to lead that kind of life with you.

In the bathroom, he found your toothbrush next to his in the run-down cup. You had insisted on painting clay with him for your second date and made a cup with beautiful flowers embellishing it. But you had forgotten to add a handle before painting, so it had its place on Spencer’s sink now.

You were a little sad that he wouldn’t be able to drink his coffee out of it every morning, but he had assured you that they would keep him motivated to brush his teeth every day and save him from cavities.

The toothbrush for you was something that had accidentally happened.

You and Spencer had started off as a hesitant couple, as you’d called it. You did all of the things couples did, kissing, going on dates, sleeping at each other’s apartments, but both of you were hesitant to put a serious label on it.

Spencer was careful because of his job and the dangers that it brought with it—too many of his relationships having fallen victim to his profession—and you because of the hesitancy that was brought on by ex-boyfriends and baggage.

But as the two of you spent more time together and started falling deeper in love, you started sleeping at Spencer’s house more than at your own.

With that came that you always had to bring your own necessities. Often, this led to you leaving things with him that you needed at your house when you left his.

So, Spencer bought you a toothbrush (and a towel (he had towels, but he saw one that he knew you’d like) and a hair brush and shampoo). He tried to disguise it like it was just a spare one he coincidentally found at the bottom of his drawer.

(“What a coincidence that all of those things appeared at the same time, huh?” You had teased, and he was too focused on your smile and the fact that you had your things at his place now, he just replied, “Mhm.”)

Spencer pressed play on the CD player he installed in his bathroom, which you laughed at him for, but found endearing at the same time.

You always played music while brushing your teeth to make the activity more enjoyable and to really brush for three minutes, which Spencer never failed to remind you was important. It was something your family passed down to you, and Spencer was incredibly proud that you trusted him with it, too.

As he pressed play, the intro song to your favorite album started playing. You must’ve forgotten to take the disc out. He hummed along around the toothbrush while brushing.

After he finished cleaning up, showering (your shampoo stood on the little shelf in his shower cabin) and putting on clothes (the cardigan he chose was your favorite, a brown one made from soft wool, with a green button band), he made his way into the kitchen.

He wasn’t much of a breakfast eater before meeting you. Usually, he chose to grab a coffee and a doughnut on his way to work, but you made him want to wake up early to wake you softly, to eat still-warm buns and solve crosswords and sudokus.

It had become a habit for him now, even without you here, waking up earlier to enjoy the morning sun at his table next to the window, watching birds.

Crossword puzzles were something he saved for you and him, though.

On his way to the office, he passed by a flower shop like he did every day, called The Water Lily Pond. Named after the famous painting by Monet.

They always had a beautiful array of flowers, and today they had a big bouquet of your favorite flowers and bicolored leaves, and goat willow twigs as decoration stood right outside. He swore to himself to buy you one on his way back.

Walking just a few steps further, he saw a cat with a little hat looking out of the window and smiled. You would love that, begging for him to lift you up so you could pet her, and he would roll his eyes and pretend that he cared about being on time while already lifting you up.

The work day is one of the rare slow-moving ones, Spencer’s task mainly involving research on offenders that are already in prison, to refine profiling techniques and methods for future consultations with other law enforcement officers.

It’s a tedious process, and he is well aware that he had been chosen for the task because of his practical ability to read as many words a minute as he can. He doesn’t mind, Garcia and JJ visit him from time to time, he plays cards with Emily, and Hotch invites everyone to a lunch break.

He ordered your favorite food at the restaurant, and when the conversation about Emily’s cat Sirgio, subsided, Morgan asked about you.

“How’s the lady, boy genius?” A smirk ready on his lips. Spencer was sure that anything he’d say would end in relentless teasing.

“She’s great,” he smiled sheepishly, ignoring the cough of ‘I’m sure she is’ from Morgan. “She’s been away to visit friends and family last weekend, and work kept her busy until now, but we’re cooking today. Staying in, maybe read something together.”

Penelope squeaked in delight, “That sounds so lovely! Tell her I said hi, please. Oh! And that I totally didn’t forget to send her the cookie recipe, I’m just perfecting it. It has to be perfect.” She went on, asking him to ask you if you wanted to come to her girls night and if you liked strawberry or preferred cherries, and only stopped when Morgan laid a hand on her shoulder, gently.

“I will,” Spencer replied, laughing fondly. He had introduced you to the team just a month after you had made things official, and they adored you from moment one, just like he knew they would.

Penelope had even baked you cookies for your last birthday, and as you stood next to the table, snacking on them, she said that she trusted you to pass the recipe down your family line and promised to send you the recipe.

(Spencer had choked as she said it, scared that it would be too soon to implicate such a thing. But you had handled it with grace, telling her that you would feel honored to bake delights like Penny’s sugar cookies for your future children. Spencer knew he was done for in that moment, if he didn’t already know it, anyway.)

After lunch, they all went back to the office to finish their respective tasks for the day and went home early thanks to Hotch’s insistence that they deserved one day a year to be home before dark.

On his way home, he went by The Water Lily Pond like he promised himself to buy you the flowers and pretty paper for a card, you always said how much you loved handmade gifts.

Speeding back home to keep the flowers fresh, he saw a couple on—undoubtedly—their first date and smiled; he still remembered his nerves as he took you out for your first date. He kissed you under the low light of the lantern over your apartment entrance.

Back home, he found a vase in the crannies of his cupboards and presented the bouquet on his kitchen table, the card he made with press-dried flowers leaned against it.

It wasn’t long before his doorbell rang, and Spencer hurried from his kitchen to the door, cotton socks on his hardwood floor slithering.

“Hi,” he breathed out as he opened the door to see a smiling you.

“Hi,” you echoed. It was funny to think that you’ve known each other for years and still felt nervous around each other, as if you had gotten to know each other for the first time again every time you saw each other.

Spencer let you in and hugged you tightly, his arms wrapped around you securely and his head on your shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” You were rocking slightly, not letting go for quite some time, and when you did, it was just to kiss each other softly.

When you did separate, you were smiling fools. “I got you a little souvenir,” you said, searching your bag for the present. It was a little key charm, a vintage-looking lock. “I know it’s not much, but I found it in a vintage store and thought you’d like it.”

He took it from your hands, smiling even bigger. “I love it, thank you.” He kissed your cheek. “Are you hungry?”

You nodded, linking your hand with Spencer’s as if you were going somewhere far rather than five steps towards his kitchen.

As you saw the bouquet, you gasped. “It’s so beautiful,” You peeled away from your boyfriend to look at it more closely. “My favorite,” you pouted at him, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He said fondly, stepping closer to you to hug you from behind.

Not much cooking happened that evening, you mostly stayed on the couch, talking and kissing. Well, you did try to cook, but you were so caught up in each other that you accidentally burned the food and ended up on the couch, eating take-out from boxes.

──────── ✿

thank you for reading! please remember that reblogs and comments encourage writers to share more 𝜗𝜚

[kingdom-carer]

How to regress when you’ve literally never done it and you have no idea what to expect (or it’s been a while)

*turns around in chair like Captain America* so ……. you wanna be tiny.

Awesome! :D

Voluntary regression, when done intentionally, can be immensely fun and healing. Let’s get you set up for success.

Step 1: Set Your Goals

Your goal should never be “to regress” - it may not happen. You may spend all of your time just age dreaming (acting small with your big brain still in). You need to be okay with that.

The reason you’re regressing isn’t the same as your goal. “Because I’m traumatized,” “for fun,” and “for chronic pain” are all valid reasons, but they don’t provide you with the framework for healing that we’re looking for.

Here are some specific, achievable goals:

“I want to relax and have uninterrupted fun after a long day.”

“I want to reparent my inner child through affirmation work, gentle parenting, and rules for self-care.”

“I want to work through trauma I’ve experienced through play so I can experiment with new outcomes for tough situations.”

“I want to complete easy tasks/assignments to give myself a sense of pride and accomplishment.”

“I want to allow myself to trust and be cared for in a way that I am usually resistant to.”

“I want to allow Jesus to speak to me when I feel most vulnerable and receptive to His kindness.”

“I want to improve my self/care habits by making them fun and digestible.”

“I want to revisit childhood/deep-rooted fears so I can work through them with effective coping mechanisms, like journaling.”

Step 2: Selecting Your Tools

Here, you might have seen lists of things that people like to use when they’re little, but rarely do they explain why they like to use them. These lists also may not resonate with older or alternative regressors.

So instead, I will give you categories of things that I believe are relevant to regression, and you fill decide what satisfies it best for you.

Something to wear: do you have clothing that is easy and comfortable to move around in, makes you feel good to wear, and/or gives you sensory input you crave?

Something to watch: do you know of a show, movie, or YouTube channel that holds good memories for you? Is there one out there that piques your interest? It doesn’t have to be “kid-friendly,” but its effect should be comfort and peace, not intellectual or emotional strain. We are not looking for challenge - that is for developing your grownup brain. Many regressors prefer kids media for this reason.

Something to do (with your hands): Stimulating senses other than sight is vital for grounding, especially in today’s online world … and, considering the nature of the work we are doing, you may need it. Painting, sensory sand, going to the beach, swimming, making music, woodworking, crocheting, polymer clay, diamond painting, puzzles, coloring books, and more can all bring out your inner child. Again, we are looking for joy, not challenge; perhaps your local dollar store has a craft kit!

Something to read: are you a scientist who loves learning about animals? A horror fan who loves spooky tales? Do you remember a series from your childhood that brought you joy? Reading is a great way to escape into a simpler world and evade screens, especially if it’s crafted without profanity or triggering subjects. Children’s books may also minister to you in ways that adults failed, such as teaching emotional regulation, socialization, and how to fight common fears.

Something to hold: plushies have been proven to be beneficial for mental health, but a companion doesn’t have to be stuffed! Action figures, dolls, and other friends can be thrifted, bought, or dug up from closets. They provide sounding boards for scary thoughts that get less scary when said aloud, companionship during play, travel, or sleep, and serve as willing recipients of your creative outputs (bracelets, clothing, drawings, etc). And, when you need a hug, your favorite toy can be right there with you in the absence of a human friend.

Something to nibble: food is fuel for the body, but it is also love. Choose foods that are nutritious and fun, just like you’d give a child. My personal faves are Slim Jim’s, pepperoni, berries, nuts, dairy, and veggies with dip. Treats are great too, but spend your tummy bank on nutritionally valuable food first! Regressors also find fun in experimenting with different vessels for food and drinks, like crazy straws, bottles, ZooPals plates, or character dining sets.

Something to play with: ‘play’ has many definitions and types. Below is a short list of types of play. No matter if you like toys or not, gather objects or activities that encourage play.

Symbolic play - using one object to represent another (i.e. a flower becomes a wand - try blocks or play scarves)

Locomotor play - moving play (try roller skates, online exercises/dance classes, or small exercise trampolines)

Creative play - invoking a desired or experimental outcome (try Legos and art supplies)

Deep play and rough-and-tumble play - play that involves bodily risk and movement (try hiking, rock climbing, or swimming)

Dramatic play - orchestrating play without personal involvement (“setting up” elaborate scenes with toys was a big part of my childhood play! Try small toys and accessories like Calico Critters, stuffed animals, or dolls)

Exploratory play - play to gain information (try boxed or homemade science experiments, or simply asking, “I wonder what happens if I …?”)

Fantasy and imaginative play - playing in a way that is unlikely to occur in real life and/or the rules have changed (try dressing up to be a superhero, royalty, animal, etc)

Mastery play - bringing a task to completion (build a campfire, dig holes in sand to fill with water, complete a video game level, etc)

Object play - manipulating objects to learn more about them (common in developing babies and autistic stimming; try fidget toys)

Socio-dramatic play - taking on a role that involves social interaction (I.e. playing house or doctor)

Somewhere to go: novelty can be hugely effective in delighting your inner child. Try hanging out in the backyard, going to a park/museum/aquarium, taking yourself on a “little” shopping spree with a set budget, going to a theme park/state fair, or checking out kids media from your local library. Since you are exiting your safe space, you must be mindful of those around you. This is why I usually recommend this to those who know they will only be age dreaming, unless they are completely alone. For your safety, please do not involve anyone who has not consented in your regression.

Something to see: if you can, decorate your safe space or a portion of your safe space in a way that makes your inner child happy. Try changing your phone wallpaper, collecting figures, displaying stuffies on your bed, putting up wall stickers or drawings you’ve made, or changing your bed sheets.

A note on pacifiers: pacis made for adults are a great way to abate thumb-sucking and unhealthy oral stims. They will shift your teeth only if you use them excessively; try limiting use to an hour at a time, and always wear your retainer if you have one. If you feel pain, stop. Disassemble and clean immediately after use.

A note on diapers: I personally do not use diapers because I don’t want or need them, but should you choose differently, there are lots of creators who have more information on them. Most importantly, they are not shameful.

Step 3: Meeting Your Inner Child

How do you know when you’ve regressed?

When play takes over.

When you find yourself fully engaged in what’s in front of you, finding captivation in the simplest things, you are regressed. It isn’t some magical transformation - you’re just revising a part of you that has always been there, latent. It is an unlocking of childhood whimsy … a state of being easily awed.

Thoughts may simplify; adult reasoning for comfort objects may reduce to a petulant mine. Anxious spirals may be replaced by a simple mama, I’m scared. Thoughtful analyses of character arcs and subplots may sound more like yay, ponies!

If you have an internal monologue, it may disappear, replaced with more primal emotions like “angry” or “scared” or “happy” or “calm.” There have been many times that my husband has asked little me what’s wrong, but instead of words, only sobs make it out of my mouth. Then, when he holds me, a warmth I can’t name fills my chest and makes me sleepy.

What is your inner child like? Are they more or less …

Sensitive?

Chatty?

Energetic?

Creative?

Impulsive?

Experimental?

Outspoken?

Stubborn?

Relaxed?

Giggly?

Curious?

Focused?

Defiant?

Angry?

Expressive?

Your inner child, like all children, is subject to fits and flights of fancy. This is normal! Love them as you would love a normal child.

Step Four: Caring For The Bunchkin

Since our goal is not to regress, we have the freedom to take a third-person point of view while we are in our safe space, check in on ourselves, and see how we are doing.

If your goal is to heal, take things slow. Choose one activity at a time that allows you to explore your deeper thoughts, and allow ample room for fun and relaxation.

Instead of focusing on your trauma and hurt, start by asking yourself - “what are my deepest desires? What am I lacking? What is important to me? What can I give myself that I did not receive?”

Kids’ “About Me” worksheets are a great place to start, since there are no wrong answers. As you get more comfortable being small, try making or completing worksheets that ask the weightier questions.

Caring for with your inner child can be as simple as imagining them like another person. For example:

If you are shameful of your desire to connect with an old fandom, ask yourself why that might be. Did someone tell you that it was shameful? Did you have a bad experience in that fandom? Were you at a turbulent point of your life? What might you say to a child experiencing these emotions now?

If you are reluctant to make noise or take up space, ask yourself why. Did someone tell you that you were ‘too much?’ Were you afraid to be judged? Did someone punish you for getting in their way? What would you say to a child afraid to take up space in your presence?

If you are distressed at the idea of stimming openly while small, ask yourself why. Did someone - or life experience - teach you to mask? Are you afraid of being judged as a “faker?” Are you afraid of looking or feeling incapable in some way? What would you say to a child who is afraid to stim?

If you are upset with yourself for reacting to a trigger, ask yourself why. Do you feel like you should be more healed, or more in control of yourself? Are you afraid of slipping back towards a state you used to be in? Are you afraid of re-experiencing trauma?

What would you say and do for a child who struggles with a trigger?

Showing your little self compassion and modeling joy from an adult headspace is vital. Don’t say anything to your inner child that you wouldn’t say to an actual child.

You may not be quite ready to believe the healing truths you have learned when you are big, but putting them into practice when you are small is a great way to soothe yourself from the inside out.

(I filled up my star chart by making my bed each day! Good job, me! I worked so hard, and now I get a treat!)

(I did a drawing all by myself! I can put it on my fridge now. Wow, I’m so glad I made something today.)

(I went outside, and there are so many cool things to see! What an awesome world I live in.)

Healing can be tough, but it’s so fantastic. It all starts with being kind to yourself. You can do it!

Step 5 - Putting Out Fires

Oh dear, something went wrong, and now a tantrum is afoot. Or a meltdown. Or a flashback. What do we do?

Hold up your fingers like birthday candles and blow them out to encourage deep breathing.

Play a song that makes you feel good, and dance if you can. Physical movement is your best antidote.

Name 5 things you can see, 4 you can touch, 3 you can hear, 2 you can smell, and 1 you can taste.

Repeat your affirmations aloud. There is power in hearing something that isn’t your own mental hurricane. “I am loved, I am safe, I am going to be okay.”

Assign the trigger to a stuffie (don’t worry, they are willing participants!). Say, “hey, wait a minute, why should you be in charge? These are MY thoughts! Take that! And that! And that!” Toss your stuffie around and get those crazy thoughts away from both of you!

Assign the trigger to a stuffie, and pretend they are you. What would you say to calm them down and tell them you are here for them?

Get a change of scenery. Go outside, go somewhere else, take a shower or bubble bath.

Scribble your feelings on paper. No, really, go ham. Break some crayons. Then crumple them, tear them, and throw them away.

Most importantly - don’t be mad at yourself.

The debrief - what can we do for next time?

Handle triggers with care, but don’t be afraid of the feelings that accompany them. There is an unmet need somewhere in your soul - what is it, and how can you meet it?

Journaling and affirmations - record what happened and why you think it happened, and then write kind things to and about yourself.

“Do it scared” - push past the lies you have been told about yourself and enjoy things anyway.

I am a Christian, and I live by the phrase: “if it isn’t your reality, make it your prayer.” Even if you don’t believe now that you are safe, loved, and capable, saying these things to yourself constantly will help them be realized.

Obviously, avoiding negative language about yourself in your adult life is the other half of the pizza. Your inner child is doing work for adult you, too! Don’t undermine it!

The Wrap Up

Well, Kiddo, I’m so glad you’re taking this step in your healing journey. A few things to remember before you go:

You may grow out of regression! That’s good! It’s a sign that your inner child is happy and content.

You may never grow out of regression. That’s okay! Your inner child can get love all your life!

Your regression is your business. You don’t have to tell anyone about it if you don’t want to. Choose who you tell very carefully.

Ignore the haters. You’re doing great.

Bye, Kiddo! You are so loved!! 🥰

[loveemagicpeace]

5th house - creative, joy, vibes, what do you like to do

5th house in Aries

your creativity and joy are fueled by passion, excitement, and spontaneity. You love doing things that make you feel alive—things that have an element of risk, thrill, or adventure. Your artistic expression is likely bold, raw, and unapologetic. You thrive on physical activities that feel like play—dancing, acting, or even something competitive like sports or martial arts. Spontaneous dates, last-minute trips, or doing something bold in love brings you joy. You like passionate, fast-burning, and exciting experiences in love—there needs to be heat. You’re the person who throws ideas out and gets people moving.

5th house Taurus

You enjoy artistic pursuits that engage the senses—things that feel good, look good, and have lasting value. You likely have a natural talent for art, music, fashion, or anything that involves aesthetics and craftsmanship. You love working with tangible materials—painting, sculpting, designing, singing, or even cooking could be creative outlets for you. You enjoy slow, indulgent hobbies—reading a great book, painting in the sunlight, or cooking a delicious meal. In love, you crave deep, sensual, and loyal connections. Poetry, journaling, or any form of self-reflection through art is a natural outlet for you. You enjoy romantic moments that are slow and intimate—candlelit dinners, cuddling, meaningful conversations. Physical touch is very important—you love skin-to-skin closeness, affection, and comfort in relationships. You're the type to curate a perfect aesthetic—whether it’s your outfit, your home, or the vibe of a gathering. Warm, sensual, and artistic—you bring a grounded and magnetic presence wherever you go.

5th house in Gemini

You’re naturally gifted at writing, speaking, and storytelling—poetry, short stories, journalism, or even social media content might come easily to you. Anything that involves words, ideas, or movement excites you—singing, acting, podcasting, or even stand-up comedy could be fun creative outlets. Hobbies that involve quick thinking and adaptability (like improv, trivia games, or debate) bring you joy. You’re attracted to witty, mentally stimulating partners—you need someone who can keep up with your conversation and curiosity. You’re great at entertaining people with your stories, humor, and observations.

5th house in Cancer

Your joy comes from feeling emotionally safe, nurturing others, and creating things that have deep emotional resonance. You might love nostalgic or sentimental art forms, like scrapbooking, photography, or storytelling.Your creative expression is cyclical—you create based on how you feel in the moment.Poetry, journaling, or any form of self-reflection through art is a natural outlet for you. Spending time near water (the ocean, lakes, or even a warm bath) might be particularly soothing and inspiring for you. Being around animals, children, or anything that brings out your nurturing side gives you joy. You seek deep emotional connections in romance—you don’t do casual flings unless there’s a strong emotional bond. You might be the "mother" of your friend group, making sure everyone feels included and cared for.

5th house in Leo

You naturally shine in anything artistic, and you love to express yourself in bold, dramatic, and attention-grabbing ways. You have a strong sense of personal style and might love fashion, makeup, or anything that lets you express your personality visually.You likely enjoy entertaining others, whether it’s through storytelling, humor, or just being the life of the party.Hobbies that involve performance, leadership, or creative control excite you the most.You love grand, passionate, and theatrical romance—you want love that feels like a movie. You’re drawn to partners who adore and admire you—you want to be treated like royalty.Magnetic, playful, and full of energy—people are naturally drawn to your light.

5th house in Virgo

You take a methodical and skillful approach to creativity, enjoying activities that allow you to perfect your craft. You may enjoy writing, editing, design, or any art form that involves structure and precision. Hobbies like pottery, knitting, woodworking, or technical arts could be appealing because they require patience and skill. You enjoy healthy, productive activities, like yoga, journaling, meal prepping, or DIY projects.You’re attracted to people who are reliable, intelligent, and detail-oriented.You might enjoy simple, cozy, and thoughtful dates, like cooking together, taking a walk, or sharing meaningful conversations. You don’t seek the spotlight, but your attention to detail and dedication make you stand out. You bring a calm, thoughtful, and skilled energy to any creative environment.

5th house in Libra

You have a natural flair for art, design, and all things that bring people together, whether in relationships or in creative collaborations.You’re drawn to art forms that emphasize balance and symmetry—painting, sculpture, photography, or even interior design might capture your imagination. You might also be drawn to performance arts, where the interplay of light, movement, and color creates a visually harmonious experience. Hobbies that engage your sense of style and design—like fashion, decorating, or even culinary arts—can be very satisfying. In romance, you appreciate mutual respect, charm, and an effortless sense of style. Flirting for you is an art form—graceful, playful, and refined, with an emphasis on genuine connection and shared interests.Creating a harmonious and aesthetically pleasing environment for dates or intimate moments is important. Your presence is charming and diplomatic, making you a natural at social gatherings and creative collaborations.

5th house in Scorpio

You don’t just create for fun—you create to express deep emotions, uncover hidden truths, and evolve. Your creativity is deep, emotional, and transformative—you don’t do lighthearted or surface-level art. Art forms like writing, poetry, film, music, or painting can be a cathartic way to express what words alone cannot. You have a magnetic and hypnotic artistic style, often leaving a lasting impact on others.Transformation is key—you may love alchemy, shadow work, astrology, or even extreme sports that push you beyond your limits. Love for you is intense, passionate, and all-or-nothing—you crave deep emotional and physical connections. You might experience powerful, fated love affairs that change you at your core. You don’t settle for superficial fun—you seek meaning, transformation, and raw self-expression.

5th house in Sagittarius

You approach life with passion, enthusiasm, and a thirst for knowledge, always seeking new experiences that expand your mind and soul. Your artistic style is expansive, bold, and adventurous—you love experimenting with different forms of expression. You might love writing, filmmaking, or even comedy because they allow you to share wisdom in an engaging and fun way. You find joy in travel, exploration, and expanding your horizons—whether physically or mentally. You may enjoy dancing, music, or anything that makes you feel free and uninhibited. Love for you is an adventure—you need excitement, freedom, and intellectual stimulation. You enjoy relationships that broaden your perspective on life, and you may even have a thing for long-distance romances or people from different cultures. You bring an exciting, energetic, and optimistic presence wherever you go. Your natural storytelling ability makes you a magnetic speaker, writer, or performer.

5th house in Capricorn

You take your creative projects and hobbies seriously, often striving for mastery and recognition in what you do. You may be drawn to classic, timeless art forms like architecture, sculpture, classical music, or writing. You enjoy hobbies that involve skill-building, strategy, and discipline—such as chess, calligraphy, photography, or business-related activities. Physical activities like yoga, weightlifting, or hiking may appeal to you, as they allow for gradual improvement and mastery. You are reserved at first, but once you commit, you are deeply loyal and dependable. You don’t rush into romance, preferring to build trust over time. You see relationships as an investment and don’t waste time on flings or superficial connections. You bring a calm, wise, and authoritative presence to creative environments. You prefer quality over chaos—your fun is more about achievement and excellence than reckless spontaneity.

5th house in Aquarius

You don’t follow the crowd—you create your own rules when it comes to fun, art, and romance. Your artistic style is unique, experimental, and ahead of its time—you don’t like to create the same thing as everyone else. You may be drawn to technology-driven or futuristic art forms, like digital art, film, music production, or experimental fashion. You might enjoy abstract, surreal, or avant-garde art, as well as sci-fi, astrology, or anything futuristic. Hobbies like coding, astrology, gaming, photography, filmmaking, or anything tech-related may appeal to you. You love group activities, festivals, and social gatherings, especially ones that feel alternative or different. Love for you is unconventional and exciting—you’re not into overly traditional or restrictive relationships. You might be drawn to unique, rebellious, or intellectual partners who challenge your mind. You may be open to non-traditional relationship dynamics, long-distance connections, or partners from different cultural backgrounds.

5th house in Pisces

You are highly intuitive and drawn to creative outlets that allow you to escape into other realms—whether that’s through art, music, fantasy, or romantic connections. Your artistic style is dreamy, mystical, and imaginative—you’re drawn to art forms that allow you to express deep emotions and tap into the subconscious. You might be drawn to painting, poetry, music, dance, or other fluid, expressive arts that allow you to channel your feelings and connect with others on a soul level. You may feel compelled to create works that touch on spirituality, fantasy, or escapism, or that invoke deep empathy and compassion. You may love dreaming, daydreaming, and creating alternate worlds in your mind. Hobbies like meditation, astrology, photography, or creative writing may appeal to you, as they help you connect with your inner world. In love, you crave deep emotional and spiritual connections—you’re not interested in superficial relationships. You might be drawn to idealized or romantic fantasies in love, sometimes putting partners on a pedestal or falling for someone based on a dream rather than reality.

-Rebekah☀️🍓🌙

[lvrclerc]

✶ STEAL YOUR HEART, TONIGHT!

summary: after the united states grand prix, the drivers decide to immerse themselves in the true american experience by going to the most infamous coyote ugly in austin to celebrate ─ needless to say, max is in for a culture shock, and maybe a little heart attack when one of the coyotes seems to take a fancy to him.

F1 MASTERLIST | MV33 MASTERLIST

pairing: max verstappen x coyote!f!reader

wc: 7.6k

cw: reader is implied to be southern/has a southern accent, reader smokes, alcohol, english is not my first language, sexual/romantic tension, i know next to nothing about coyote ugly this is based on vibes and vibes alone, use of y/n, bittersweet towards the end.

note: the idea of max verstappen just stepping in a coyote ugly is so funny to me. here's to lei @cntappen who wanted to see a max fic!

WARNING!

You may get wet

You may lose your tie

You may lose your bra

No men on the bar

No touching the girls on the bar - even if it’s your own girlfriend, do that at home!

We don’t serve free water

If you pick a bad song on the jukebox, you may get skipped

If you are easily offended, this isn’t the bar for you

Be nice and have fun!

YOU WILL GET DRUNK, YOU WILL GET UGLY!

What did Max get into?

The words were written hastily on a board in front of the bar with a black marker, making him wonder how it successfully stood the test of time. The night was dark around the slightly weathered wooden structure, but the obnoxious neon red sign made each detail of the street clear as day: COYOTE UGLY.

It looked like something out of a bad, anachronic Western film ─ scratched paint, flickering lights, the low hum of American dad rock vibrating through the walls. Still, there was a line out of the door and people littering the front porch ─ girls in jean shorts and cowboy hats yelling to each other above the music, guys already stumbling out with their shirts unbuttoned too far.

Daniel was the one who insisted.

He flew in to watch the United States Grand Prix, as it would be the only one he’d be free enough to attend and it had been a little while since he caught up with some of the drivers ─ including Max, Max who had been the happy winner of the aforementioned Grand Prix. “Come on Maxie,” he’d said that afternoon wearing a cowboy hat he definitely didn’t pack. “After-parties are always the same. Fake VIP tables, same music, same people. We need something different for tonight! Something fun!”

Max had muttered that he was fine drinking in a familiar place and that nobody really went partying after Austin anyway ─ it was just another win, and they had a day to pack for Mexico. That was without knowing Daniel, obviously, who had already sent a group text. Much to Max's surprise ─ note the sarcasm ─ most of the drivers had declined due to exhaustion and the general reputation of Coyote Ugly. He thought that would be the end of it, until Lando, Carlos, Pierre and surprisingly Charles had all jumped at the idea like it was the goddamn social event of the season.

Mostly because Daniel had the talent to sell a bad idea to someone like a lawyer. And that─ that explained why Max was there.

Carlos was already walking ahead of them, sunglasses on despite the fact it was nearly midnight, yelling something to a drunkard behind him in fast Spanish. Charles trailed behind, squinting at the building like he was trying to figure out if the neon sign was ironic or a warning ─ Max concluded he didn’t look up what a Coyote Ugly was before tagging along. Lando was busy taking a selfie with a wannabe cowboy and cowgirl who stopped him, already in his element.

And now Max stood between Daniel and Pierre, outside this absurdly American fever dream of a bar, and he was pretty sure people were getting murdered inside. He wondered if Daniel had finally lost his mind.

“You’re going to thank me for this,” the latter declared, hands out like he was presenting a five-star resort instead of a glorified wooden box.

Max raised a brow. “No. I’m already regretting this.”

“I love it personally,” interjected Pierre. “Smells like tequila and questionable decisions.”

Daniel threw an arm around Max’s shoulders. “See? That’s the spirit. Come on, Max. Live a little. You just won a Grand Prix, you should be dancing somewhere.”

“I’m a driver, not a dancer. Especially not that type of dancer,” he deadpanned.

Pierre smirked. “You might not have a choice. I saw a line dance when I passed by the window, and someone getting body shots done on the bar.”

“You’re fucking kidding.” Max could feel himself blanching.

Daniel grinned like the devil himself, and Max wondered why he wasn’t in his hotel room. “Oh it’s real, mate. You’re in America─ home of deep-fried butter and girls with fire hoses full of Jack Daniels.”

Lando, who had finally rejoined them, snorted. “You sound wayyy too excited about this.”

“I am! This is culture,” Daniel insisted. “This is history. This is─”

He was cut off as someone inside screamed, followed by the unmistakable sound of a whip cracking. Max stared at the entrance, eyes narrowing at the figure of a woman sliding across the bar and before he could catch another glimpse─ the blur of the people inside blocked his view.

“... Is that even legal?” He asked.

Daniel just patted his back in fake reassurance. “Too late to back out now, champ.”

He ran to catch up with Carlos in front of them, leaving Max stranded in his own hesitation. Was he really going to…?

Pierre laughed, following suit. Well, he guessed it was indeed too late to back out, and Max never left things unfinished, after all.

The door slammed behind him like a final warning.

The heat of the bar hit Max like a punch. Everything was sweaty, loud, alive, sticking to his skin and prickling it. The floor vibrated beneath his feet from the raucous movements of the crowd, barely walkable, and the scent of whiskey and cheap perfume hung in the air. People were everywhere ─ dancing, shouting, laughing, adding to the bass escaping from the humongous, vintage jukebox in the back of the room.

Someone threw a bra across the room and no one even flinched. Carlos cheered.

It was lawless. Much more than what Max was used to.

“Welcome to America, baby!” Daniel hollered over the music, arms spread around him like he’d just stepped into a holy place.

Max shot him a look, dread comfortably installed in the pit of his stomach. He brushed someone’s feather boa off his arm with a scoff. “Is that what you call fun?”

“A little different from Monaco bottle service, huh?” Daniel grinned.

“Right now I’m just doubting your taste in bars.”

“Eh…,” the Australian clapped him on the back. “It builds character.”

Why would someone want to get literally hosed down with whiskey to build character, Max didn’t know ─ and it’s not like he pulled the example out of his ass: a guy was taking a whiskey shower in the middle of the room, given by a girl in very tight clothing and run-down chaps standing on the bar.

He squinted. “How is this even sanctioned?”

“Man, you ask yourself way too many questions, just enjoy! Look at the others, at least they’re already having fun.”

Carlos was already gone, swallowed up by a pack of cowboy boots and red lipstick, while Lando and Charles were making their way toward the bar with wide eyes and the kind of expression Max hadn’t seen since their karting days. Pierre vanished. Someone bumped into his shoulder so hard it almost knocked the wind out of him.

In the end, he just sighed. He wouldn’t win that fight. “If I get anything poured on me, I’m leaving.”

Daniel laughed. “Don’t worry, they’ll only do it if you ask. Or not. Anyways, let’s get a drink!”

Max started walking toward the bar, following in Lando and Charles’ footsteps before Daniel could even finish his sentence. If he wanted to survive the evening ─ hell, even just the ambiance ─ he needed something to keep him going. Preferably cold. Preferably strong. Preferably now.

But that’s when the music shifted, the lights dimmed ever so slightly, and suddenly ─ everything changed.

A warm glow from old projectors cut through the red haze, casting gold across the surface of the bar like a spotlight, and just like that, the crowd moved. Turned their heads toward the long wooden structure like it was a stage and not the stickiest surface in Texas. Someone behind Max let out a whoop so loud it nearly startled him, “Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” 

In the shuffles of bodies and beer, Max lost sight of Daniel completely.

He would have cared in any other circumstances, and maybe a part of him did at the moment, but he was only human ─ his gaze caught on the bar as well. More specifically, his gaze caught on you as you stepped into the light.

Crimson red cowboy boots first, planted strongly on the bar top, followed by the curve of your legs and the ripped, distressed hem of your shorts, the glint of a belt buckle looking like it carried multiple stories. Your tank top clung to your skin in the heat, and you were probably drenched in something ─ what, Max wouldn’t want to guess. Your hair was catching on the light, wildfire-like, almost matching the red neons. One of your hands lifted in the air, claiming the moment, and the other held a mic ─ beat up, wrapped up in tape, completely yours.

You didn’t ask for the attention of the people in front of you, no. You commanded it.

“LET’S WAKE THIS DAMN CITY UP!” You shouted into the mic, voice hoarse and tone ecstatic, and the whole room erupted.

And the music kicked in again, louder this time ─ an unapologetic, southern rock anthem beating against the wall. You dropped low, hips rolling to the beat while your hands gripped the metal bar above you to keep you on your feet. You popped back up with a loud, teasing laugh, and, mid spin, someone handed you a bottle. You poured the liquor straight into a row of open mouths, feeding the fire you started.

Max couldn’t get himself to look away.

If all the other bartenders, or coyotes as Lando affectionately corrected earlier in the night, looked like they performed the overt confidence, you didn’t: you looked in your element, basking in the spotlight, the attention and the smell of burnt wood. And it wasn’t just the way you moved, no ─ it was the way you owned it. Unbothered, untouchable. Like the bar was yours. The music, the night? Yours too.

And then for a second, just one ─ you looked at him. Dead in the eyes, over the crowd. Over the sweat and light and noise, and you threw him a grin. 

You caught him staring.

It should have been meaningless, the moment barely lasted enough to make note of it, but Max’s breath still hitched. The beat of the music wasn’t the only thing making his heart stutter off rhythm.

The chaos dulled, the music softened and just like that, you were gone. Lost behind the bar in the sea of bodies crawling in front of it. Max blinked. He wondered if he hallucinated you. 

He shook his head to get rid of the haze his mind settled into. Before he could have time to think about anything else, or even try, an arm dropped around his shoulders and a cowboy hat was on his head. Daniel had reappeared. “What a show, huh?” He said.

“Where’d you go?” Max asked, rearranging the hat on his head. He knew that if he took it off now, Daniel would be quick to put it back on.

“Went to fetch you this. Stole it from someone puking in the corner,” Max's nose scrunched at the mental image. “Come on, let’s finally get that drink. Maybe the Coyote you’ve been ogling during the whole perf’ will serve you.”

He protested. “I wasn’t ogling.” Because he wasn’t. I mean ─ what else was he supposed to do? Look at the ground while you danced? But Daniel was already on his way toward the bar and this time, Max followed him without much of a complaint. Mainly because he had been eyeing the spot you disappeared behind for the entire conversation.

People crowded around the wooden counter like it was a lifeboat. Arms waving, voices raised, someone yelling for shots and someone else already halfway to a table with three beers in each hand. The bartenders, sorry, Coyotes, moved like machines ─ fast, efficient, ruthless. Max tucked himself between Daniel and Pierre, who had reappeared as well, with difficulty.

And then, he spotted you again.

It was more like flashes of you, really. A hand catching a bottle mid-air. A flash of glitter on your cheek. A bandana tied around your wrist. Your voice cut through the air like smoke, low and teasing and just loud enough to carry. That’s what made Max’s head snap ─ it was unsettlingly recognizable, even after hearing so little of it.

“That’s your third tequila, cowboy. You aiming to dance or blackout first?”

Someone laughed ─ a rough, lovesick sound ─ and you grinned without looking up as you slid another shot glass across the bar. Through their drunk delusions, everyone around the table probably assumed they were in love with you, Max thought.

He stepped up, hands braced against the edge of the counter, waiting. That was when you turned and for the second time tonight, you looked right at him, as if feeling his presence before he could even call for another bartender.

Jesus fuck─ up close, you were something else entirely. Sun-warmed and sun-kissed skin, your cheeks were flushed from the heat along with your sweat-slicked collarbones. Your lips were pulled into the kind of smirk he’s sure could cause car crashes, and your eyes sparkled under the bar lights ─ like you knew exactly what he was searching for.

If you did, spare the poor soul and tell him, because Max wasn’t sure he wanted that drink anymore.

“You lost?” You asked. Your tone was smooth, a southern accent dripping from every word. God, that was dangerous.

Max blinked. Oh, he was gaping. “No,” he affirmed, a little too harshly.

Your eyes, intense, dragged over him, twinkling a little brighter than before. “You look lost.”

Max suddenly felt very conscious of how much he had to be sticking out. He had no outfits or items of clothing that fit this type of place ─ the light-washed jeans, the tennis shoes, and the black, short-sleeved shirt with his Formula One number in the back was as casual as he could do without looking homeless. The cowboy hat had to add some more ridiculousness to it, he realized.

He cleared his throat, frowning slightly. He usually wasn’t one to really care about outfits. “Just a drink, please.”

You leaned in, close enough that Max could smell your perfume. Warm, sugary, intoxicating. “Name your poison, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy. He gulped. For fuck’s sake, where did the confidence he had a few hours earlier go, when he was brandishing the Austin trophy?

“Whatever’s strongest.” God knows he needs it right now.

You just gave him a look ─ just the faintest eyebrow raise, clearly amused. Grabbing a bottle from behind you with practiced ease, you poured without measuring, slid a glass toward him with one hand, and propped the other on your hip, where Max’s eyes lingered a little too long.

“Try that,” you said. “If it doesn’t knock the edge off, I’ll give you a second round for free.”

He reached for the glass. You looked too smug, challenging him like he was no one to you, which he probably was. But Max liked a challenge, he was known for never backing out after all. He handled stronger for sure and America wasn’t the place that was about to teach him alcohol. He threw the whole glass back.

It burned.

His eyes watered, and Max coughed so hard he thought fire was about to spill out from his esophagus. You, on the other hand, looked delighted, grinning widely at his misery.

“You hate it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You laughed, and the sound echoed in Max’s chest like cathedral bells, so violently he froze. Must be the alcohol.

Noticing his lack of retort, you leaned your elbows onto the bar, eyes dancing. “Aww, ain’t you too pretty to be looking this miserable?”

You were going to be the death of him. The corner of your mouth curled as if you’d just lit up a fuse. Max swallowed, slowly recovering from the short circuit your voice alone had triggered. “Is that how you greet all of your customers─ uh…” He choked out, searching for your name on your shirt.

“Y/N.” The name sounded good sliding off your tongue. Max felt the need to know how it felt sliding off his. “And only the ones who look like they took a wrong turn at a country club,” you commented, chin propped in your hand, eyes still locked on his. Touché. “You got that look─ y’know, European.” You whispered that as if it was a bad word. “Quiet, repressed. Secretly judging everyone.”

“That’s harsh.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not judging.” He was. He just wasn’t judging you.

“Sure you’re not, Verstappen.”

Oh. Your tone was casual, tossed off like nothing ─ but the sound of his name in your mouth made something flicker in his chest. Not how you said it, even though the accent and the inflections played a part in it, but the fact you said it at all.

You knew who he was, and clearly ─ you didn’t give two shits.

“Anyways,” you kept on going, oblivious or choosing not to care about the semi-amused grin that slipped on Max’s face. “The drink in your hand says otherwise.”

He glanced down. He threw the glass back, yes, but the liquid was so strong he couldn’t even get half of it down before choking on it. “I’m drinking it.”

“Barely.”

Max straightened a bit. “Okay. Fine.” Again, his tone was harsher than he actually meant it to be. He just didn’t know how to handle whatever was happening there ─ your smiles, your presence. “What should I be drinking then?”

You didn’t answer right away ─ just tilted your head, eyes sweeping over him slowly, deliberately, like you were appraising a new kind of game. It sent shivers down his spine, and he was deeply ashamed to say he was enjoying it. “You trust me, pretty boy?”

There was the nickname again. “I don’t not trust you,” which was as far as he could go after knowing you for a dance and a drink. Maybe he needed more. Just to make sure you wouldn’t poison him.

“That’s a whole lotta syllables for yes!” You laughed, already moving, pulling down bottles Max could barely recognize, tossing ice into a shaker with a rhythm that matched the beat of the song playing overhead. Your hands moved fast, confident, dancing between ingredients as if you were born behind this bar.

Max was fast, yes, but not in the way you were ─ intricate, careful. Just like that, he was hypnotized again, eyes tracing your every movement.

It broke when you slid another drink toward him. Something golden, fizzing at the top, smelling like citrus and vanilla. Like you. “Go on, drink.”

He eyed the glass. “What’s in it?”

“You said you trusted me.”

“You put the words in my mouth.”

You barked out a surprised laugh. “Either drink or I’m telling your lil’ blond friend with the camera you can’t handle your liquor,” you nodded behind Max with a sharp grin. “Wonder how that’ll go down.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and Lando had his camera zeroed on him in a way that may have tried to be discreet but miserably failed. Max muttered a curse. First, because Lando had the bad habit of filming everything and for it to get leaked the day after ─ so if their little outing wasn’t public information already, it would be by tomorrow morning. Second, based on his first point, he couldn’t possibly be dragged through the dirt for going to a Coyote Ugly and have the reputation of a lightweight. His Dutch heritage would look like a joke. Max brought the glass to his lips.

It tasted like heat, honey, whiskey, and something floral he couldn’t name. “That’s… actually good.”

“Told you you should trust me,” you said, pleased. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I taste-test all the cocktails before I serve them. I’m not that much of a degenerate.”

You wet your lips, and Max’s eyes caught onto them for a split second. He wouldn’t let himself acknowledge the thought that almost formed in his head.

Instead, he blinked. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“So… intense.” It was a genuine question. He met people with fire, he worked with them daily, and he could consider himself one in a way ─ however, it was the contained kind. The one that was shaped to work toward a goal. You were a forest fire, spreading, in constant reach of something. Max was sure your fingerprints could burn themselves on his skin if you let them linger long enough. 

You laughed ─ loud and shameless. “Apparently. Tends to flare up when I’m bored.”

And maybe it was the alcohol, or the raucous crowd ignoring you both entirely, making it seem like you had your own, private sphere, but Max leaned forward, just enough to make your eyes imperceptibly widen by the action. It made his stomach lurch with a strange kind of pride. “And are you bored right now?”

You looked at him, gaze heavy with meaning. “Not anymore.”

Max felt something stir low in his chest ─ heat, curiosity, the burn of your drink still coating his throat. He wished he could have lingered on it, maybe make sense of it but you took it from him, leaning back and breaking the tension with a sly glint in your eyes. A reminder you were in control of the room.

“You ever poured a shot before, pretty boy?” You asked.

That was a change of topic. “Uh─ no?”

“Well, that’s about to change.”

Before he could argue, or even ask what you meant, your fingers stroked his wrist and he forgot about everything he was going to say. That’s when you tugged him forward, He didn’t resist, more out of shock than anything else, but next thing he knew he was behind the bar, ducking under the pass-through from which Coyotes went and left. Pushing him into your world.

The heat was much worse with the change of scenery ─ the lights brighter, the music louder, you right next to him.

“Are we─ Am I even allowed back there?” Max asked, stumbling slightly as he knocked into a pack of plastic cups.

“Nope,” you answered cheerfully. Just as on cue, one of your colleagues piped up, something about ‘no men on the bar’ and the wooden board of warnings at the front of the bar flashed in Max’s mind. You flipped her off lightheartedly, saying something along the line that, technically, he wasn’t on the bar. Just behind it.

From under the counter, you took out a bottle of something probably lethal and a metal shaker. “Alright, Verstappen. Time to earn your keep ─ didn’t think those drinks were for free, were you?” So that’s what it was all about. “You’re gonna help me make a round of Flaming Coyotes.”

“No way in hell that’s a real drink,” Max frowned.

“Unfortunately yes,” you said, cracking ice into a tin. “And you’re gonna light it.”

Your fingers wrapped around his hand, and Max’s heart stuttered at how your whole palm could wrap around one of his fingers. You guided it to the matchbox you set on the bar. “Relax, I’m not gonna let you burn your eyebrows off… unless you’re chicken?” You gasped, mocking.

“You really want me to set something on fire? With no… prior experience?”

“Only a little.”

You’re insane, he thought. You’re insane and he was never going to leave this bar. But Max was not sure he wanted to leave as badly as he did earlier, that’s why he lit the match.

The crowd erupted when the flame caught on the shot glasses. In front of him, Pierre, Daniel, and Charles cheered and whooped as loudly as he could, and somehow Max forgot all about them in these 20 minutes. He looked up, breathless, adrenaline buzzing through his veins like engine oil. You were watching him carefully, looking like you’d just found something very interesting in me. “Look at you,” you said, tone playful. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

And Max smiled ─ actually smiled, for the first time since this night started. Wide, boyish, and wrecked by it all, and fucking hell did he look good, you allowed yourself to think. His chest swelled with something as you smiled back. And maybe it was the fire, maybe it was the cheers. Or maybe it was you.

The following hours were spent in a blur.

Not the kind of blur Max was used to ─ it wasn’t the sharp edges of a race weekend or the post-win daze of podiums and press conferences. This was so much more different. Warm, messy in a way that curled around his senses and dimmed the seconds together until the clock disappeared.

Shots kept appearing in his hand like magic, and he went from behind to the front of the bar as he pleased ─ most of the bartenders called him an ‘Honorable Coyote’, which shouldn’t have been as funny as it was at the time. The jukebox never stopped switching music, keeping him on his toes. Lando and Pierre had stolen a mic at some point, or maybe you gave it to them for the hell of it, and slurred She’s Country by Jason Aldean so off-key some of the girls threatened to cut them off, splashing them with ice-cold water. Daniel had tried to climb on the bar twice, failing miserably because rules were rules, Charles was attempting to dance with a girl in a cowboy hat three sizes to big for her head, and Carlos was desperately explaining race strategies to a group of drunken Texan who clearly didn’t know what Formula One was.

And then there was you.

Always moving. Always glowing, whether it be from the sheen of your efforts or the loud, obnoxious ambiance that sublimed your features. You’d disappear back into the rhythm of the bar and the beat of the dance, your natural habitat, flinging bottles in the air, laughing as someone tried to kiss your hand and you sent them waltzing away, yelling over the crowd without care. And now Max was convinced people there didn’t simply think they were in love with you. They undoubtedly were ─ six steps in and all that. And he would have been bothered in any other circumstances.

But whenever Max looked up, he caught you looking at him. Every time, you smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing.

Max didn’t know how much time had passed by that point, only that his throat was dry, his cheeks flushed bright red and hurting from how much he laughed, the back of his neck scorching from something stronger than just alcohol. Somewhere along the way, the night had stopped being about celebrating a win and started being about you.

Maybe that’s how he got roped in a messy attempt at a line dance.

He tried to resist at first. Truly. Max still stood by what he said at the beginning of the night: he was a driver, not a dancer. But when you shouted to ask if everyone wanted to see an F1 World Champion do ‘a little two steps’ and everyone cheered, including his friends and colleagues, the traitors, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Not when you stood so close to him.

You’re Easy On The Eyes by Terri Clark twanged through the jukebox, loud enough to rattle the shelves and the floorboards, while Max tried to follow your explanations. His hands were on his hips, knees knocking together as he mimicked you except he was two steps behind and overthinking it. You were outwardly mocking him by now. “Your coordination’s better in a car, huh?” You teased.

Max huffed. “You call this coordination?”

“Aw, don’t pout, baby. You’re trying.” He rolled his eyes and you stuck your tongue at him. Daniel was somewhere in the back, filming, but Max had tuned the world out. 

Somehow, in the whirl of bodies, he caught you again, his hands instinctively flying to your waist to steady himself so he wouldn’t faceplant ─ that would be the highlight of his night. Before he could process it, and you always a step ahead of him, you grabbed the cowboy hat off his head and in one slick movement, settled it on yours with a wink. The crowd roared in approval. Someone let out a sharp whistle. Max wasn’t fluent enough in Southern to know what that meant, but the half-lidded look you gave him translated across every barrier.

Game on.

You roped him into much more after that. Max followed blindly, always rising to the challenge, stuck in the daze of you. In the decadence of Coyote Ugly. In the secrecy of the nighttime, where everything felt allowed and nothing had to make sense in the morning.

By the time he was able to breathe, he’d long dismissed the idea to try and find out where his friends had scattered to. The only thing he could feel was the warmth of your hand wrapped around his wrist, tugging him past the old, swinging saloon-style door and out in the thick, velvet air of the Texan night.

The back of the bar was quieter. The hum of crickets, the soft hum of the neon signs bleeding through ancient wooden slats, and the echo of music and laughter still pulsing behind closed doors. Cardboard boxes were lying around, swallowed by the wild, uncut grass. The sky was wide and open above him, seemingly endless, stars barely cutting through the heat haze but present nonetheless. Nobody was there apart from the two of you.

Back against the structure of the bar, Max quietly watched as you lit a cigarette next to him. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest. Wordlessly, you offered him your open back with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t smoke.” He waved it off.

You shrugged, blowing a grey cloud out to the night. He didn’t mind it ─ driving every day of your life, you get used to the smell. “I don’t really like smoking either. It just gives my hands something to do.”

Max chuckled. That didn’t surprise him either, he already figured out life moved with you and not the contrary. 

It seemed like you didn’t appreciate it when conversations stilled because you were quick to speak up again. “Didn’t think I’d see the day a world champion let a girl make a fool outta him in public,” you said, leaning against the wall. Your shoulder brushed his. The number of times you touched him tonight was too numerous to count, but this one felt different. Innocent.

Max threw a smile at you, eyes darting to his feet for a second, still a little glassy. “I’m not the type to mind.”

And that, for some reason, made you look at him. Actually look at him. The type of look stripping away the chaos, the teasing, the fire-breathing version of yourself you wore so proudly behind the bar. You looked at him and Max was faced with the fact that you were just ─ you. Still half-wild, still sharp, but a little less guarded under the moonlight.

He liked it. A lot.

“D’you always enjoy losing control that much, then?” You asked with a small smile.

Max’s lips parted to answer─ pausing.

He thought about it. How rare this was, to be in a place he didn’t understand perfectly, being in Formula One for 10 years, you get used to the pattern of events, and you know what to target when things don’t go your way to make them bend to your will. Right now, he was tangled in things whose sense escaped him, and did not want to run from it.

His voice was quieter when he finally answered. “Only tonight.”

You took that in with a nod and brought the cigarette back to your lips.

“I’m glad you came tonight, then.”

That was it. No confessions, no fireworks, but Max felt his chest tighten just the same. You were just two people, sharing the silence, letting the sticky Texas air settle into your skins, wondering what the hell would happen when tonight fades. He wasn’t ready to find out the answer yet.

So, Max asked, “What led you to this?”

“To what? Coyote Ugly?” You raised an eyebrow, blowing out a slow stream of smoke and watching it curl around the humidity.

“Yeah. Why do you do it?”

“That’s two different questions, pretty boy.”

“Guess I want an answer to both.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because no one ever asked. Not your friends, not your colleagues, much less your family who was less than understanding about your life choices.

You shifted your weight, eyes flicking toward the parking lot in the distance. “Well, I came in looking for a job, obviously.” Your voice was softer now. There was still a bit of tease around the commas, but not nearly as much. “Needed rent money. Didn’t want a desk.”

Max hummed. “Makes sense.”

You tapped the ash off the cigarette. “And then I stayed ‘cause… I dunno. You ever walk into a place and, as crazy as it sounds, even if it’s a mess, I mean like pure chaos, and wild and loud you think ─ yeah. This might be the only place I make sense? I get to perform. I get to be myself. Take up space. Alive, not rotting in place like I was scared to. I wasn’t allowed to… do all that before.”

“I get it.” He nodded.

“Didn’t think you would.”

“I race cars for a living. I get messy.”

It was meant to be a light answer, something thrown back with a crooked smile and a shrug ─ but as the words settled in the small space between you, something shifted.

Max looked out in the dark, the flicker of neon reflecting faintly off the metal of a rusted old pickup nearby. He let himself sink into the silence for a second, and you waited until he was ready to speak up again. And he did, in a whisper, more to himself than to you. “Everything’s always so… calculated. In racing. It’s controlled and measured, even the mess, you know? It’s still part of the plan, of what’s expected, somewhat.”

You turned toward him slightly, hip still leaning against the wall, cigarette flickering between your fingers.

“You’re serious,” you said. Not accusatory ─ just curious. “Like, really serious.”

He glanced at you. “And you’re not.”

“Oh, I can be. I know when not to be, which just happens to be most of the time. And I like it like that, honestly,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to be stuck in something that’ll bury me before my time, and I couldn’t see myself anywhere else now, not when I get to be unashamed like that.” Your last words were just above a whisper. “Free.”

The term stagnates for a while.

Until Max lets out a soft laugh, barely even there. “I don’t think I’ve ever been allowed to be anything else but serious.”

The words surprised him. Not because he never thought about them, but because he never said them out loud. He didn’t think he meant them. Now, they felt unescapable, slightly suffocating ─ and the way you looked at him, patient, didn’t help in the slightest. He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s always about being perfect. Image, numbers, control. If I mess up, people lose money. I lose standing. Teams fall apart. Media goes insane. There’s no room to just.. exist? I guess?” His voice dips lower.

Max wasn’t about to say anything more. He sobered up too much to spill his guts further to a little more than a stranger. Yet, the way you looked at him ─ meeting his gaze with something softer than you’d shown him all night ─ and what you’ve told him, you didn’t feel like a stranger at all. You, who wore fire like perfume and laughed like a dare, stripped down to ashes.

You voiced what he was thinking. “So we’re not that different. I mean, we both perform. In our ways.”

He couldn’t figure you out, no matter how much he tried, no matter how much you’ve shown and hidden tonight but God, Max could have spent hours and hours trying to puzzle you back until you’d finally make sense.

Instead, he just dipped his head in agreement, which made you smile gently. You nudged him with your shoulder. “Alright, Verstappen. Guess you’re not just a pretty face, huh?”

Max choked on a laugh, and he couldn’t help himself. “You are, though. And a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes at his sad attempt at flirting, snorting, but the grin spreading your lips lingered for longer than it should have. Max shuffled a bit closer to you ─ subtle enough that it could’ve been the heat dragging him in ─ but not so subtle that he missed the way you shifted too, gravity pulling you both toward something unspoken.

Quiet still, you spoke up again, voice barely above the hum of the night. “It’s nice, though. People like us don’t get a lot of moments like this.” You gestured around, the empty half-alley, half-garden bathed in neon spill, the distant sounds of cricket, the sounds of the music and the people inside like a faraway dream. This. The in-between.

Max’s voice came back low, warm. “Then we should make them count.”

You turned to look at him, slower this time. And Max ─ he didn’t dare move. Just watched.

The way the light caught on your dewy skin. The glint of sweat at your temple. Your pupils blown wide, not just from the dark but from interest, curiosity. That sharp, electric pull that had lived between you all night, was finally quiet enough to be noticed.

Your eyes dropped to his lips, just for a moment. It was so fast that he thought he might have imagined it. His heart twisted anyway.

“And how are you planning on making it count, Max?”

His name, swirling around your tongue for the first time tonight ─ sweet, sharp, honey on a blade. It hit him square in the chest.

Something in his chest stammers, tires hitting gravel at full speed, and all reason is thrown aside after that. He doesn’t even know how it came to it ─ your back flush against the wall, his hands on your waist, your eyes boring into his and your cigarette half-smoked, forgotten on the gravel. He could feel your body heat as if it was his, your breath quickening at the contact. He could feel you and he wondered if you felt him just as intensely.

His eyes traced the curves of your lips and Max wondered what you tasted like. Smoke, citrus, spice. He wanted to memorize the taste, throw it into a drink he could get drunk on every night, threatening his health to grasp the memory of you again and again.

That was until─

“MAX?!” A shout echoed down the parking lot. Slurred, and unmistakably Daniel-sounding.

More followed.

“Mate, where did he fuck off to?”

“We’re leaving in ten, HURRY UP!”

It was muffled by the distance, but he knew you heard it as well. The half-smile on your face betrayed you.

“So, you gonna kiss me, pretty boy?” You asked.

It would’ve happened.

Max would’ve leaned in and would’ve chased the heat grasping his ribs whenever you looked at him. He would have mapped your mouth, the curve of your waist beneath his palms, would’ve swallowed every sound you made as he was starved for it. He would’ve kissed you and let you burn him alive, gladly, but─

The voices grew smaller. Daniel’s laugh, Pierre’s yell, Charles’ confusion. Reality bleeding back in. Max’s jaw tensed. If he waited a minute longer, he’d miss his ride. Miss the world contained in his hotel room that would stop spinning if he missed a minute off the clock.

He simply told the truth. 

“If I start,” Max murmured, “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop.”

That earned him a look. It wasn’t surprised, or angry ─ it was something a lot like expectancy, and in some way, it hurt a lot more.

You stepped forward, hand gently rising to meet his chest. The contact was light but the weight of it hit him like a crash and when you pushed, just a fraction, just enough, it wasn’t playful or teasing. It felt like goodbye dressed like mercy. You took the cowboy hat you stole from him earlier in the night and put it back on his head.

“Then don’t start something you can’t finish,” you whispered.

You gave him one last look ─ one he’d replay for days, conflicting emotions dimmed down to the flicker of a lighter in your eyes ─ and turned toward the door.

And Max felt awfully selfish when he asked the shadow of your figure, “Are you still going to be there next time?”

You didn’t even look back at him, but he saw your shoulders shake in a bittersweet sort of laugh, now out of his reach. “In a year, you mean? When the Grand Prix calls you back to Texas? I don’t wait, Max. My life isn’t drawn for me. I take my chances.”

You disappeared.

Max didn’t follow. He just stood there, the imprint of your touch still warm over his heart, wondering if this night would feel like a dream come morning. If you ever existed ─ or if Coyote Ugly had simply conjured you from the smoke and the music to remind him what wanting felt like.

He hadn’t kissed you, but he would never forget almost doing it.

When he climbed in the back of Daniel’s car, he evaded all the questions, the friendly mockery, the knowing glances, the snickering about the cowboy hat he still held in his hand like it was something breakable. Max just sat there, humming along to the comments Carlos made about the night, fidgeting with the brim and rubbing his thumb along the worn fabric like it might give him answers. Maybe it had caught something of you ─ your perfume, your voice, your laugh, the heat of your skin ─ and would let it slip back to him if he held on it long enough.

But it didn’t.

Later, Max crawled into bed with the weight of the night hanging around his ankles like shackles, dragging the air from his lungs. He didn’t sleep much. He didn’t want to.

He woke up with the sun, far too bright for the early morning, streaming through the blinds he forgot to close. He could feel his brain pulsing behind his eyes, his bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open, the remaining, chalky taste of whiskey sticking to his palate like cement. The evening flashed before him, a fever dream he wished he had the strength to push away ─ the obnoxious music, the sweat, the alcohol, and your smile.

Almost.

Max groaned, sitting up with difficulty on his bed. Every single one of his muscles ached, a sore reminder of the failed attempts at dancing and bartending he made last night ─ some spots hurt more than others, and in some measure, they felt like the shape of your hands.

The cowboy hat he had tossed last night, in the desperate attempt to stop anguishing about the brush of your breath across his lips, laid in front of him, miserable. Max couldn’t help himself and he reached for it out of instinct.

It felt cheaper than it did before, most imperfect underneath the daylight. He’d already memorized the texture and shape of the memento, obsessively tracing it, and yet it didn’t feel sufficient. He supposed it never would, and he’d have to live with this reality.

Max was about to put it back on his nightstand. To swallow down an Ibuprofen, chase it with an ice-cold shower, and carry on with his life like always. Another plane, another race, hopefully another win.

But something made him pause. He turned the hat in his hands again, just like he did a few hours before sleep took him by surprise.

And there it was. Tucked just inside the brim, where the lining met the crown ─ scrawled in smudged black ink he’d bet his life was eyeliner, barely visible unless you were compulsively looking for it─

if you dare.

A little heart, and a phone number scribbled right beside it.

Max blinked, mouth parting just slightly, heart mistaking the rhythm of his breathing for the first few notes of a country song. He read it again, and again until it stopped feeling like a trick of the light and started feeling like a choice.

He left thinking you were supposed to be one moment. One night. A blur of burn and guitar chords ─ but you’d left a door open.

And it was seemingly Max’s turn to take his chance.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (i) : SCAVENGERY . (ms/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, guns, referenced assault, violence, toxic relationships, eventual fem love interest, bug taxidermy, unhealthy coping mechanisms, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; horribly in love with the idea of a self-sufficient classy mean judge. reblogs and interactions appreciated!! a lot (●'◡'●)

in fact, you are grateful for their ignorance. you do not need their recognition, their thanks.

you won’t say you’re not petty, not childish, not absurd and not disgusting for what you’re doing, but you’ve heard it innumerable times before, and don’t mind it now. in a matter of days, the limits you’ve placed on yourself have become the bane of your existence.

bright, technicoloured posters with you favourite bands and characters hang on the walls, music playing merrily on a small portable speaker you’d bought with your self-earned pocket money. it all provided the perfect image of a regular teenager, to the extent that you weren’t really creating a civilian identity like your family, but living through it. normally.

it makes you giddy, and you know it shouldn’t, to be so unsuspecting. your grades are mediocre, but your teachers praise your work, you’re not popular enough to go be invited to every party, but enough to be friends with three quarters of the grade, not dedicated enough to a franchise to know it super well, but still enjoy it through multiple perspectives. normal, exceptional, and normal.

that’s what makes it all the more rewarding to do what you do. since being adopted at eleven, you’ve pieced together the caped identities of the monolith you call your family with lovely colour-coded pin boards and pictures. you know they escape into the night to fight not criminals, but fight crime, beating and getting beat in the process.

you think it’s tedious, but you never comment. there’s not much you remember prior to coming into the manor, except the raw experiences from fleeing cheerfully down unkempt, spray painted, molding stairway chambers with your friends away from an angry neighbour, laughing the whole way down. sharing fries for one among six to seven people, since money was hard to get by and harder to go around and listening to the one person who could afford school talk about it. pushing your friends on the swings and them tying your laces in return, since the swings were too far from the ground to push yourself, and scratchy velcro was for “sissies”.

you could say your childhood was rugged, but fairly kind for a gothamite. you weren’t given the life of a gilded richman’s son like tim, or the hard street crime life of jason. you weren’t raised by assassins or masters like damian and cassandra, not clever and determined like duke, not gifted with athleticism like dick. normal, incredibly. lucky, even.

you cannot think of anyone when you think of family. you considered your group of friends (acquaintances does your relationship better justice, but at ten, everyone was a friend if they didn’t wear a badge and a cap) family, but you knew that’s not what the word meant. they’d go back home to fighting parents, single mothers, thieving fathers, earning siblings or aging aunts and uncles. you would go home to a quiet one-room apartment and a poor quality mattress.

it’s not fair to say you weren’t cared for. the neighbourhood considered you their darling child, your friends’ parents sending you food, aunties reading you stories and elderly residents providing comfort when you wanted the rare support of an adult. but you had no family because by your accord, you would have to return home to them for someone to be family.

it’s the opposite now. you return home from school to bruce wayne and his entourage of misplaced children, but your interactions are stiff as stone. you go out to diners and have the most soulless conversations, stay in the house and refuse to partake in their exchanges.

because you are different. their morals are aligned to your guardian’s, of justice and strength and so on, so on. your morals are aligned with your survival, no one else's, selfish, scavenging. you cannot get along on a base value, because you don’t belong to their nest of canaries. you are, as a silly buzzfeed quiz at five in the morning said, a shrike.

yet still, you seeked the warmth of family. the resurgence of that feeling you once had in your old life. you could never return, having now experienced the fruits of luxury, having lived too far from “home” for far too long, with the added weight of a bruce wayne shaped shadow that followed you. the immense danger it would bring to yourself and those around you would be preposterous, unimaginable, but no more horrifying than the awkwardness you'd receive from you old not-family. scrutinising stares, untrusting glances, forced waves. no, no, it wouldn’t do. you don’t want to feel miserable. 

it’s enough that your presumed family already gives you those looks. sneers from damian, concerned glances from cassandra, brief unease from dick, ignorance from tim, you could go on and on and on. and you’re not stupid. you only have yourself to blame.

your vanity, as the buzzfeed quiz had said, in curling cursive font that sometimes turned to boxes on the ui, presented itself as a horrifying ignorance. unlike a peacock’s gushing beauty, your pretty-factor extended only as far into first impressions. when someone gets closer, enough to see the white of your eyes, they shrink away.

crude comments, satirical dismissal, and sharp judgement are things that have, in air quotes, made you unlikable. when watching a documentary about bug-taxidermy on one of the tvs, damian had walked in and commented on the generous “inhumanity” of it. instead of justifying the practice with explanations of how ethical it was, you’d scoffed and called him dramatic. he antagonised you, and you couldn't care less.

mean things left your mouth without hesitation, “who cares” and “you’re doing too much” at the simplest things. but you didn’t do it on purpose. growing up, kindness was reserved only for people in your circle, barterers of goods and generosity. you were polite to the old ladies who brought you food, nice to the new kid who looked at you for guidance, and offered support to people who’d offered that to you too.

you had no obligation to be kind to the wayne household. they had done nothing for you, other than pulling you out of a blood stained alley and providing you a home you didn’t ask for. you weren’t let in on their family bonds and not given the chance to create mutual trust with them, and were not keen on it after their whitewashed kidnapping either. 

perhaps you had the frayed edges of low-class living from gotham’s alleys, but you also had firmly set, stich, stern and strict guidelines about your behaviour. you would not make the first move, and you would not do more than fulfill debts. one favour for another, never more.

that’s what makes your secretive secret side job exhilarating. you have no need to do what you do, except for a sense of duty. the term itself, obligation, is unfamiliar, exciting. like many, but not the majority, the batman and his menagerie’s morals seem too high standing for the crevices of gotham’s underworld. only the red hood can relate, and even he is too far from the truth in your eyes.

death was a permanent solution to the wrongs of people. but you could not simply just wipe out a criminal from the street and call it a day. the only striking similarity between you and bruce wayne, was that the two of you didn’t fight criminals, but fought crime. you snuffed it out as it started hinting at the surface, not waiting for a track record or a ticket list on a license. nothing was forgiven, because you were not obliged to forgive.

you did not forgive, but did excuse. the theft of food, the death of someone too touchy, the fractured ribs of a parent too cruel, were excused. because like you, the suspect, the criminal, was also simply bartering. a favour for a favour, a wicked death for a wicked life. they would be let off from your radar, until someone else got to them. you were not obliged to save them. you are duty-bound only to rid. 

out of habit really, you resorted to violence. seeing a lady bothered by a fellow too close a few months back, you did what came naturally without the supervision of domineering adults and officers and shot him point blank. for a second, the woman stilled, painted in blood from the spray that arced to her, before screaming in horror and fleeing, without so much as a glance in your direction. 

you were unperturbed by the lack of thanks, with a hint of humour at the thought, since it meant you were not indebted to her and she was not to you. 

but it’s the realisation that comes shortly after, that a fine or a scolding would not similarly scare away the man, and he was now well taken care of. and you think of the other scummy people hiding gotham’s crowded basements, and think of their freedom. it makes you angry, it always has, truly it does. death was not an uncommon occurrence in gotham, the murders and abductions, cruelty and pain all as abundant as the trash, poverty and crime within the city. why was it only an offense when it came to the people who perpetuated it?

comfort does little to save victims. a bag of cash and a pat on the back will not rid them of their memories, sadness, or their losses. you are neither sympathetic nor can you relate, but you are angry. have been angry. on their behalf. the world is a rotten and sick place, and this city is especially so. and while batman is a poor janitor, the red hood one too late, and the monolith of your family too distant, you are decided. you’ll wash this place clean like a broken truck, knowing it’ll never work again, but look pretty as it remains.

and you, a good-for-nothing, always scorning, useless kid, are unsuspecting. you are grateful for their ignorance. you do not need their recognition or their thanks.

> a/n i think this is a solid part one for a prologue bit. the crow choir series is getting a bit neglected because i want to think over its intricacies a bit better. in contrast, this is a very kick and throw kind of plot line, more fun to write for.

i've been super nervous to post on tumblr but am enjoying it. hopefully will upload the next bits soon, interactions so very very appreciated! esp ideas in comments or asks, because it makes me feel like i'm not wiling away the time i should use for other things (T_T) overall just feels nice too.

thank you for reading!!

[stillalivebydemand893]

Mosh Pits & Real Bruises

18+(can't keep it pg13 even if i tried)

A chaotic weekend at Riot Fest becomes a battle of unresolved tension when you’re forced to share a tent with Erik

The moment you stepped out of Julia’s Jeep and into the chaos of Riot Fest, you knew this weekend was going to end in either sex, arson, or both.

Mud. Music. Mayhem.

And him.

Erik. Fucking. Campbell.

Shirtless. Covered in tattoos. Sunglasses on despite the fact it was cloudy as shit. Holding a six-pack of root beer like it was the Holy Grail and he was the sin-soaked Indiana Jones of your nightmares.

You froze. Eyeliner? Shaking.

“JULIA,” you hissed.

“What?” she replied, with the stone-cold cool of someone who definitely knew what she did. She popped her gum like a villain. “I thought you’d be happy. I put you in the same tent. Save on space. And, y’know…”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The friction.”

You blinked. “I’m going to end you.”

“Don’t dry hump too hard,” she added cheerfully, grabbing her duffel. “The zippers can’t handle that kind of tension. Trust me. I speak from deeply unfortunate experience.”

You spun on her, ready to either scream or cry or crawl into a garbage can.

“You what?! Jules, are you serious?Im going to faint, I need three packs of Marlboros and a gallon of tequila right fucking now.”

“It’ll be fine,” she shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Cue Erik walking up like he heard from God Himself.

“Peach,” he said, dragging the nickname out like a goddamn love song dipped in sarcasm. “Nice to see your eyeliner survived the car ride. Did you use paint thinner this time?”

“You’re one joke away from getting buried alive in a port-a-potty, Campbell.”

Still, you hugged him.. The worst part? He felt good. Warm. Familiar. Like the disaster you never quite outgrew.

This was the guy who made you fall in love with KISS when he showed you Detroit Rock City on DVD ages ago. He used to made fun of you every time you sobbed at the end like a widow.

“THEY MADE UP, ERIK. AT THE CONCERT. IT’S FUCKING BEAUTIFUL,” you’d wailed once, sobbing into his shirt.

He just laughed. “Get a grip, Jesus. You’re leaking.”

Now, standing here, shirtless and smug, he was the same annoying bastard. But hotter. More dangerous.

“By the way,” he added, casually, “don’t spray that crime-against-noses perfume inside the tent again. I swear I sneezed for five hours straight last year.”

You flipped him off. “I’ll just fart instead.”

He nearly tripped over the tent trying to chase you down.

And just like that, war was declared.

By 4 PM your Docs were murdering your feet, you were on your third vodka Red Bull, and Erik had already managed to:

• Flirt with both bartenders.

• Arm wrestle a guy in a fishnet bodysuit.

• Steal a joint from a group of hippies and pretend he “found it on the ground.”

And somehow still have enough energy to piss you off every 15 minutes.

You were mid-rant about your boots when Julia dropped a bomb from her festival chair like she was narrating a true crime documentary.

“So... tiny thing. Your ex is here.”

You stopped chewing your fry.

“WHAT?Don’t joke with things like that Jules!I almost choked.”

“Brad. Cargo shorts. Tank top. Emotional damage.”

You blinked. Hard. Calculating whether stabbing him with a corn dog stick was legally considered assault or performance art.

Erik plopped down beside you. “Why do you look like you’re planning a crime?”

“Her ex is here,” Julia replied, sipping a neon drink .

“Fucking Brad? Is he still pretending to care about climate change to get laid?”

“Worse,” Julia said. “He’s with that TikTok blonde. Looks like she filters her soul.”

You stood, rage bubbling. “Nope. I’m leaving. Give me the keys. I’ll walk to the next state.”

Julia grabbed your wrist. “No. Screw him. Let’s get drunk. Start a pit. Snap a few bones for fun!”

Then Erik stood too, voice low, smirk deadly.

“Or…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

He leaned in. “We pretend we’re together. You sit on my lap. We kiss. He combusts. I win. You win. Everyone else loses.”

“Why would you enjoy it?”

“I’ve been dying to shut you up with my mouth since sophomore year.”

Your brain said no. Your body? Already glitching.

Your knees? Compromised.

You glared. “That’s evil.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “And hot.”

You took a breath. “Fine. But if you do anything weird, I will kill you with a glow stick.”

He leaned into your ear, voice pure sin.

“Peach, I invented weird.”

Ten Minutes Later

You were in Erik’s lap.

His arms wrapped around your waist.

His hand? Under your skirt, just resting on your thigh. Just enough to drive you crazy without doing anything explicitly illegal.

“This is… disturbingly comfy,” you admitted.

“You’re welcome. I make a great emo couch.”

“You’re also warm. I might keep you.”

He tensed. Just barely. Then squeezed your hip.

“Careful, sweetheart. I might not let you go.”

Your heart betrayed you.

Then- here came Brad. Like a walking red flag and discount cologne.

He looked over.

You smiled.

Erik leaned in, lips brushing your neck.

“Smile for the cheaters,” he whispered.

You ground down just enough to make him hiss.

“You’re playing with fire, Peach.”

You looked back, eyes glowing with mischief.

“Then burn with me.”

Suddenly: “FOO FIGHTERS, BABY! LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!” Julia screamed, sprinting toward the stage like her taxes depended on it.

Erik helped you down, and you laced your fingers through his.

Then, without thinking, you grabbed his hand and wrapped it around your waist as you walked.

“What’s this?” he murmured, smirking against your temple.

“Just wanted you to hold me,” you mumbled. Vodka was 80% of your blood. Truths were leaking.

Erik rubbed his jaw like it physically pained him. “Jesus, Peach. You’re drunk. And you’re killing me.”

You giggled. “I am drunk. But don’t die. I want to kiss you before you turn into a ghost.”

His grip on you tightened.

“Peach…”

You turned to him. “Yeah?”

He looked at you like he wanted to kiss you and start a fire at the same time.

“You better mean it. Because if I kiss you… it’s not fake anymore.”

You smiled.

Twenty minutes later, you were tipsy off vodka slushies and Erik’s smug hand on your waist.

The music was thunder. The crowd? Unhinged. You could feel the bass in your spine. Somewhere, someone was vomiting behind a speaker.

Romance was in the air.

You were pressed up against Erik, half-dancing, half-grinding, fully pretending you weren’t imagining what it would be like to climb him like a jungle gym and scream into his mouth.

“Peach,” he warned, voice in your ear, “if you keep looking at me like that, we are not making it to the end of this set.”

“Good,” you purred, letting your hand trail up under his shirt, just slightly. “Then let’s end it early.”

He visibly malfunctioned. You could practically hear the Windows XP shut-down sound in his brain.

“I hate you.”

“You wish.”

Then-

“BRING ME THE HORIZON’S STARTING, LET’S GO DIE IN A PIT!” Julia screamed, launching herself into the crowd like a goddamn Viking.

You whooped, grabbed Erik’s hand, and pulled him in after her.

Big mistake. Huge.

The Mosh Pit

It was a war zone. Sweat. Boots. Elbows. You got hit in the ribs twice, and you loved it. Someone screamed, someone lost a shoe, someone proposed to their girlfriend mid-breakdown. You lived for it.

Until someone shoved you. Hard.

Your boot caught in the mud. Your body lurched. And before you could hit the ground-

Arms. Around you. Tight. Warm. Familiar.

Erik.

He caught you mid-fall, pulling you flush against his chest like you weighed nothing. The look on his face?

Absolute panic + raging murder boner.

“ARE YOU OKAY? WHO THE FUCK SHOVED YOU?”

“I’m fine,” you gasped, but your knees said liar, and your ribs weren’t vibing either.

Erik scanned the pit like he was about to start swinging. “I will punch someone into the sun.”

“Chill, Campbell.”

“No,” he snapped, grabbing your face in both hands, eyes dark. “You do not get to die in my arms because some punk jackass couldn’t handle the circle pit. You’re mine, got it? If anyone’s going to bruise you, it’s gonna be me. Consensually.”

You blinked. Slowly.

“…That was the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Fuck it,” he muttered, lifting you bridal-style like it was nothing. “You’re done. We’re going back.”

“Erik, I can walk-”

“You limped. I saw it. Don’t argue. I’m turned on and concerned and that’s a terrible combo.”

By the time you got back to the tent, you were buzzed, bruised, and completely feral.

Erik laid you down gently like you were made of glass, then immediately turned into a one-man emergency team. He yanked his hoodie off, shoved it under your head, grabbed a half-used first aid kit from his bag, and muttered to himself like he was about to perform surgery.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

“My soul. Also my ribs.”

He huffed out a laugh and lifted your shirt,carefully. You watched his face go from playful to holy shit as he caught sight of the forming bruise.

His fingers brushed it softly.

His jaw clenched.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmured, not looking up. “I thought-fuck. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“You’d miss me?” you teased, even though your heart was hammering like a war drum.

He finally met your gaze. And this time, there was no joke in his voice.

“Peach. I don’t think I’d recover.”

You swallowed.

The tension exploded like a firework at point blank.

One second you were staring at him.

The next?

Mouths. Colliding.

Tongues. Teeth. Desperation. Heat.

He kissed you like he was mad at you. Like he wanted to ruin you and hold you forever all at once.

You moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

He groaned against your lips. “You sure?”

You nodded, whispering: “Just don’t stop.”

That was all he needed.

He tugged your shirt off, eyes devouring every inch like you were a feast and he was starving.

“God, look at you,” he breathed. “All mine. Finally.”

“Less talking,” you panted. “More ruining me.”

He smirked.

“Brat.”

And then he did exactly that.

You were pinned to the floor of the tent, chest rising, breath ragged.

He hovered above you, hair falling into his eyes, skin flushed and glowing from the adrenaline of the pit and from you. His hands were everywhere. Up your thighs, along your waist, gripping, claiming.

“Say it,” he growled against your neck, voice low and wrecked. “Say you want this.”

You gasped, back arching into him as his mouth sucked just below your collarbone, hard enough to bruise.

“I want this.” You swallowed, voice shaking. “I want you.”

That did it.

He crushed his mouth to yours with the kind of heat that short-circuited your brain. Tongues tangled, teeth clashed. His hands slid under your shirt,greedy, like he couldn’t decide what to touch first. The feel of him pressed between your legs had you melting.

You rolled your hips up into him, and he growled.

“God, Peach…” His lips traced fire down your throat. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“You first,” you breathed, dragging his shirt up and over his head. He helped, then dove right back in, hands skimming your sides like he was memorizing you by feel alone.

You were bare from the waist up in seconds, cool air hitting hot skin, and Erik froze. His eyes roamed every inch of you, jaw clenched like he was holding back a scream.

“You’re not real,” he muttered.

“Then keep touching me until I am.”

He did.

His mouth closed around your nipple and you cried out, fingers fisting in his hair, dragging him closer. His free hand slid between your thighs, over your underwear, pressing just enough to make your legs shake.

He kissed his way up your chest, lips swollen, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You moaned, hips lifting.

He smirked. “All for me?”

“Only for you.”

And then,he moved his hand.

Slow. Firm. Torturous.

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but he just chuckled darkly.

“Don’t hold back now, baby.” His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear. “I wanna hear how badly you need me.”

You whimpered, nails dragging down his back as he leaned in, voice dark and delicious in your ear.

“I’ve waited years for this, Peach. I’m not stopping until you forget your name.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that made your body melt, made your legs fall open, made you want to cry.

Your bodies ground together in a rhythm that felt filthy and perfect, a desperate.

Clothes disappeared. Hands roamed. Skin on skin, breathless and begging.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Erik, please-”

He pulled back, eyes black with want.

“Anything you want,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m yours.”

“I’m never letting you into a mosh pit again,” he growled, dragging his fingers down your thigh where a scrape still stung.

“I’m never wearing a bra again.”

He blinked.“God bless.”

You smirked and pressed into his hand like the brat you were,already warm, already soaked from adrenaline and the way his voice rasped when he was pissed and turned on at the same time.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice full of danger. “All needy and whiny. My little brat.”

And then,zip.

Your eyes dropped.

Holy shit.

Pierced. Leaking. Ready to ruin you.

Your lips parted involuntarily.

“Someone’s excited to meet me,” you purred, with innocence while inching closer .

“Count your blessings, sweetheart.” He grinned darkly.

Before you could say anything back, he slid into you in one brutal, perfect thrust,no warning, no mercy. You bit down on a gasp, but he was already there, covering your mouth with his, swallowing every moan like it was his favorite song.

And it was. You could feel it. The way he moved. The way his hands gripped your waist like a lifeline. The way his tongue tangled with yours like it was personal.

“Fuck, Peach,” he groaned against your lips. “You feel like you were made for me.”

One hand found your breasts ,thumb brushing your nipple until your back arched like a string had snapped inside you.

“This tent is too damn small-” he grunted.

You barely got the words out: “Then let me ride you.”

That flipped a switch.

In one slick, filthy motion, he rolled and pulled you onto him, guiding your hips like he was building a symphony from chaos.

You settled over him, breath caught in your throat as his piercing brushed that sweet, unbearable spot deep inside you.

“Please guide me,” you whispered, already shaking.

His eyes were black with hunger as he took your hips in both hands and slammed you down, making you cry out.

“Always, baby. I got you.”

And he did. Every bounce. Every drag. Every time your thighs quivered and your moans turned breathless, he was right there, helping you fall apart and loving every second.

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, Peach,” he said through gritted teeth, voice rumbling against your ribs like thunder. “So pretty, so loud for me-keep goin’, I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

You just moved.

Riding that high with his fingers digging in, his mouth back on your throat, his breath hot against your shoulder, whispering filth you didn’t have the brain cells left to process.

Until it hit.

That snap. That white-hot, stars-exploding, everything-blurring release.

You collapsed against him, shaking, babbling something like his name and a curse and maybe a love confession.

And Erik-sweaty, gorgeous, wrecked,wrapped his arms around you like you were made of glass and buried his face in your neck as he followed, cursing against your skin.

Silence.

Then:

“I think I saw God,” you mumbled.

Erik laughed,that deep, post-orgasmic wheeze of a man who knows he did that.

“If God’s in this tent, we’re both going to hell.”

You didn’t care.

You were in his lap. Still full of him. And the world could wait.

Because for once, you didn’t feel broken.

You just felt his.

You woke up to the smell of sweat, sex, and the faint scent of Julia’s anxiety coffee wafting in from outside the tent.

Your legs were jelly. Your throat was wrecked. Your body?

Fully used. Thoroughly destroyed. Proudly ruined.

You shifted slightly and winced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, flopping back onto the sleeping bag like your bones were made of mashed potatoes. “He actually broke me.”

A voice, dangerously smug, purred beside you:

“That’s what happens when you tell me to go crazy, sweetheart.”

You whipped your head toward Erik, who was lying on his side like a smug little slut .Bedhead. Hickey-covered chest. That damn piercing catching the light. Still naked.

And grinning like the devil just gave him a participation trophy .

“I should slap you.”

He reached over and trailed his fingers down your bare stomach. “You did. Repeatedly. Pretty sure you left claw marks on my back too.”

You flushed.

“…You deserved them.”

“You moaned my name like a prayer and then cried after the third—”

“ERIK.”

He smirked. “You started it, Peach.”

You groaned and shoved your face into the hoodie he’d thrown over you sometime during the night. It still smelled like him. Sin. Laundry soap. Regret. Lust. Possibly weed.

Then, the sound that could strike fear into your horny little heart:

“I KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE, SLUTS!”

Julia.

“IF THAT TENT SMELLS LIKE REGRET AND CUM, I’M BURNING IT.”

You choked on your own oxygen.

Erik grinned. “She’s so supportive.”

You shoved his face into a pillow.

Outside, Julia continued:

“I BOUGHT DONUTS AND THREE TYPES OF GATORADE. BUT NO ONE GETS ANY UNTIL I GET DETAILS. AND YES, I’M YELLING. BECAUSE YOU BUTT DIALED ME AGAIN AND I HEARD EVERYTHING.”

You buried yourself deeper in the hoodie. “I’m never showing my face again.”

Erik sat up and stretched,like a cat who just knocked everything off your emotional shelf.

“You sure you’re gonna be able to walk?”

You glared at him. “If I limp, I’m telling everyone you punched me.”

“You screamed my name loud enough, babe. No one’s gonna believe that.”

You threw a boot at his head.

You eventually emerged wearing his hoodie (because yours had mysteriously vanished), his hickeys, and the haunting realization that your knees were still shaking.

Julia handed you a donut and a coffee with a grin.

“You got railed so hard the rats left the campsite out of respect.”

Erik, unbothered and half-dressed, just sipped his Gatorade like a post-sex Olympic gold medalist.

Brad and TikTok Barbie walked past at the worst possible moment.

You locked eyes with your ex.

Erik stood, walked over, and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind like he had every right to. And he did.

“Morning, Brad,” he said cheerfully. “Peach couldn’t walk this morning. I take full responsibility.”

You blinked.

Barbie gasped.

Brad’s jaw clenched so hard it could’ve snapped.

Julia whispered, “Ten outta ten. Emmy-worthy.”

You turned, grabbed Erik by the shirt, and pulled him down for a kiss that was all tongue, bite, and I dare you to look away.

When you pulled back, Erik looked dazed.

“I’m keeping you,” he muttered.

“You better,” you whispered, voice low.

Brad stormed off.

Julia did a backflip emotionally.

And you? You leaned into Erik, bruised and aching and alive in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

“Same tent tonight?” he asked, voice in your ear, already smug again.

You grinned.

“Only if you promise to break me again.”