#i think what i will probably do is take the parts that i think are good points and put them together into a post on my main blog.

[adieutristana]

nsfw headcanons; arcane women x fem!reader

still new to writing this kinda stuff yall dont kill me. anyways, here's some general headcanons. again, i'm open for nsfw requests, just please read through the new section in my rules post!

summary; general nsfw headcanons with arcane women and their girlfriend.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest

tags; nsfw, fluff, everything is done consensually, some aftercare (full aftercare headcanons here), fingering, cunnilingus, strap-on use, strap-on referred to as dick, degradation, rough sex, nipple play, light bdsm (sevika, lest), anal (sevika, lest), public (mel), jinx being a brat, vibrator use (jinx, caitlyn) gun play (jinx), period sex mention (jinx), usage of words like ‘slut’ and ‘whore,’ sloppy shit, p in v (lest), dacryphilia (jinx, caitlyn), wax play (lest), breeding kink (vi), orgasm denial (mel, caitlyn), thigh riding (sevika, caitlyn), blowjob (lest), shimmer (jinx, lest)

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* the way i interpreted it at least, what jinx received after the fight on the bridge was a sort of shimmer infusion. she's got that stuff running in her veins, and jinx is basically 50% shimmer at this point.

✧.* i bring this up because the amount of shimmer in jinx's system gives her certain.. perks. such as her stamina being that of twenty women combined, how fast and hard she can go. she'd have fun increasing the speed, fucking you harder and harder while you're a writhing mess beneath her and can only think of the pleasure she's giving you.

✧.* even while receiving, jinx can go all night if she wanted to. she won't, because you're not as energetic as she is and she needs to let you rest (as much as she wishes you could go all night). the girl would be so damn overstimulated, but still, she'll demand that you make her cum again, and again, and again. she can keep going; she can take it.

✧.* a tit girl. she doesn’t care how big or small your boobs are, as long as she gets them in her hands and mouth! it’s probably a result of how damn sensitive her own are- jinx will be whimpering mess just from you pinching her nipples a few times.

✧.* she’s a switch, and what position she takes at what given time is just dependent on her mood. jinx is always unpredictable, always keeping you on your toes. she isn’t much different in bed.

✧.* so fucking noisy, and the dirty talk is downright filthy. it's bad enough that at times, you worry your girlfriend might lose her voice. jinx is very unfiltered in general, so you'd expect no less from her in the bedroom. she sees no point in holding back. you're making her feel good, why should she hide that?

✧.* "oh, fuck! ngh, just like that, you're fucking my pussy soooo good," she'd babble, taking every inch of your strap with impressive resolve. her lips are parted, swollen and red from just how hard she'd kissed you. obscene squelching noises filling the room while you pound into her, her legs pressed to either side of her body. "y'hear it? do you? that's me, fuckin' dripping for you. need your dick, ineeditineediti need it-"

✧.* SIZE QUEEN. jinx is a petite girl, shorter and thinner than most. yet she'd insist on you fucking her and stretching her with dildos that looked monstrous next to her. she's a whiny, squealing mess as you ease each inch into her aching pussy, but she always takes it so well. there's nothing quite like the feeling of being pried open to jinx.

✧.* along with that, she's pretty flexible so you can get creative with positions. she'll let you press your knees to either side of her body, not wincing once or growing tired.

✧.* jinx does enjoy a variety of positions- doggystyle, reverse cowgirl, the like, her favorite positions are any where she can see your face. not only does it give jinx a rush to see your flushed, fucked-out expressions, but it also gives her that sense of connection to be able to look at you while you pleasure each other. she's the type to hold eye contact with you the entire time she eats you out, and to bore her gaze into yours in missionary.

✧.* she'd be riding you, arms wrapped around your chest as you piston the strap into her. she's whimpering and squealing louder and louder with each thrust, but her eyes never would leave yours. you're fucking her at an unforgiving pace, plastic tip kissing her cervix, but she still feels so at ease and cared for.

✧.* i feel like jinx would say 'i love you' at least once every time.

✧.* a munch. jinx loves it when you sit on her face, and she's the type to be downright offended if you don't put your full body weight on her. she'd tug you down by your hips before plunging her tongue deep into you without warning, earning sharp cries from you. every time she hears those noises, her ego grows bigger, and damn. you'd allow her that.

✧.* also loves to eat you out from under her workbench. seeing you in her chair, under her desk, in her space, so willingly submissive to her- it's thrilling to her and she can't quite explain it.

✧.* "fuck yes, toots," she'd grumble, pulling back from your wet heat for just a split seconds. "you taste so damn good. so fuckin' sweet and needy f'me."

✧.* a damn brat when she wants to be. she loves to rile you up, it's like a game to jinx. not so amusing for you when you're trying to fill out paperwork and jinx is groaning, taking your pen from your hand and holding it out of your reach while she tells you to just fuck her already.

✧.* "come on! that stuff is so boring, and here i am, soaked for you," she'd pout, her knees parting more beside you on the couch. "you always have to be so responsible, and it's irritating. you could be putting those hands to better use, but noooo."

✧.* or something along the lines of, “i can’t feel anything! are you sure you’re fucking me? come on, do something!”

✧.* not so mouthy when your face is buried in her cunt, that's for sure.

✧.* very into marking. placing her claim on you. almost every time, without fail, you’ve got a new array of hickeys splayed across your neck, chest, hips, and inner thighs. also very into writing on you, with permanent marker. she’d write ‘JINX’ right above your pubic bone, draw little hearts around your nipples, draw an arrow on your inner thigh pointing to your cunt that reads ‘JINX WAZ HERE!’

✧.* a crier, especially when you overstimulate her and when she orgasms. she gets embarrassed every time and tries to explain it away, but it’s just her body’s way of processing all of those sensations. poor girl can’t hold it in :(

✧.* being with jinx, it's gonna be either her tongue, a strap, or a vibrator pleasuring you, unless you can convince jinx to cut her nails. not likely, since she takes pride in their length. sorry :(

✧.* jinx isn’t afraid to get messy. she’ll be rubbing her sticky cunt against yours, having already squirted twice- her lips swollen from your kisses, thighs and lower stomach covered in sweat and cum. but she just can’t stop grinding against you, it feels so damn right.

✧.* along with that, jinx is definitely into period sex. the first time was a whirlwind, with jinx insisting she doesn’t mind and eating you out anyways. if anything, you being on your period makes jinx want to please you more so that you forget about those pesky cramps.

✧.* squirter, and her juices are tinged pink from the shimmer running through her body.

✧.* oh, you already know the prosthetic finger vibrates. she wouldn’t tell you the first time she used it, just say something like, “i’ve got somethin’ special for ya toots! what is it? well, i can’t say just yet! but you’ll love it. i know you will.”

✧.* the way you gasp as soon as you feel the vibrations against your clit and buck your hips into the metal gives jinx all that she needs.

✧.* definitely into gun play as well. seeing your pussy stretch to accommodate the barrel of her gun, the way your eyes widen and you gasp when her finger brushes over the trigger… oh, it’s art. jinx could fully get addicted to it.

vi;

✧.* A MUNCH.

✧.* it probably sounds far-fetched, but vi could cum just from eating you out. from tasting your sweet juices, the scent of your heat, the way your face contorts in pleasure, the trembling of your thighs in her hands, the obscene noises that spill from your lips, how it feels when you cum in her mouth- vi gets lost in it every single time.

✧.* it gets to a point some nights where you’ll almost have to pry vi’s face from between your legs.

✧.* likes to switch and doesn’t have a preference when it comes to top or bottom. i take her as the type who would do both during most sessions to balance things out, she gets some and you get some!

✧.* dirty talk is crazy when she’s domming, but when vi is subbing she can barely string together a coherent thought, especially not a full sentence. she tries to talk to you, tries to let you know how good you’re feeling, but it comes out more as a choppy string of moans and ‘please’s.

✧.* “oh, that feels so- haaaah, please, mm-”

✧.* vi is strong, stronger than most. meaning she can pick you up, fuck you while holding you up against a wall, or she could use that strength to slam your wrists into the mattress above your head while her free hand works at your heat. the possibilities are endless!

✧.* not necessarily loud, but she doesn’t hold back when it comes to noises either. always some form of grunting, groaning, heaving. or whimpering, when she’s on bottom.

✧.* her tits are so sensitive. she’ll try to act like it’s nothing when your hands brush over her hardened nipples, but oh gods when your lips form a seal over one and you start to swirl your tongue around it, vi loses her mind. she’s threading calloused fingers into your hair, trying to push you impossibly closer to her.

✧.* loves giving strap- she likes to receive too, but she’s more partial to giving when it comes to strap-on usage. it just gives her a rush, being on top of you, making you take her. it’s a bit of a power trip for vi.

✧.* “yeah, fucking take my cock- ngh… such a good girl for me, such a good slut.” she’s a panting mess, pounding into you from behind. your asscheeks are sore from the swats she’s given them, and you can feel vi filling you to the brim with every thrust. yet it’s intoxicating.

✧.* vi is just so smitten with you, she’ll do almost anything if you ask nicely. any position, any toys, any kink you want to try out. she’s a lover girl at heart, and aims to please above all else. all you have to do is say the word.

✧.* due to her sweet nature, vi would be so attentive during rougher sex with you. even as she’s tossing you around, coaxing what must be your fourth or fifth orgasm out of you, calling you pathetic and needy, she’d be looking out for you. one second she’s degrading you, the next she’s asking if you’re okay and if you need a break. additionally, she does internally wince when she talks down to you, though she tries to hide it. she knows you know she doesn’t actually think of you like that, but she does hold back because she can’t bear the thought of going too far with it.

✧.*despite liking to be rough from time to time, especially if she knows that you like it and you ask for it, vi also does enjoy slow, sweet lovemaking to keep things balanced. she likes being able to pleasure you, to worship you, show you exactly how much you mean to her through her touch.

✧.* “shh, baby,” she’d whisper, kissing down the valley between your breasts, towards your sternum and stomach. “i’ll make you feel good. so good. just lay your pretty self back and take it. can you do that for me, love?”

✧.* her favorite positions are probably doggystyle and 69. doggystyle gives her room to manipulate your body, a prime angle to pound into you, room to pull your hair and force you to look back at her while you’re coming undone on her dick. 69 is ideal for eating you out, but you both get off, so it’s even better. she’d be trying to stifle moans while her tongue is lapping at your clit, sending vibrations through your core when she can’t hold back anymore.

✧.* one orgasm is never enough when it comes to vi. she wants to give you more, and more, and more. her hand would be soaked and her fingers beginning to prune from just how much you’ve already given her, but she still swears you can give her one more (those words are almost always a lie).

✧.* creamer, and there’s SO much of it. the first time you made her cum you didn’t say anything, but you questioned to yourself whether this is a normal amount. but you quickly grew to love it- seeing vi make such a mess, shaking and whining.

✧.* can somebody say BREEDING KINK. no, it’s not scientifically possible for a woman to get another woman pregnant. but vi will be damned if she doesn’t try.

✧.* pistoning her strap into you while she has you folded into a mating press, grunting and panting with her hands on either side of your head. “gonna fill you up just right,” she’d say, breathless. “please, vi-” “shh. i’ll give it to you, you’ll be such a pretty mama, fuck- take it. take it all.”

✧.* while she enjoys getting her tits played with, i definitely see vi as more of an ass girl when it comes to you. she loves eating you out from behind, slapping your ass during sex, even slapping your ass in public when you’re just trying to pay the poor street vendor. she just can’t get enough of the feeling of plush skin in her hands. the shape, the sensation.

✧.* a head pusher. practically shoves your mouth into her pussy while she’s bucking into your face, groaning and panting while your tongue laps up everything she’ll give you. the proximity does something for her, but she also just… can’t help it. it’s reflex at this point. you hit just the right spot, and her strong hand is flying to the back of your head to push you even further.

✧.* RIDE HER ABS. that’s all i’ll say.

mel;

✧.* such a devoted and sweet lover. also a switch, and she truly doesn’t mind what position she takes at what moment. usually mel lets you decide, she trusts you and the pace you set.

✧.* she’s devoted to your pleasure, but she also won’t deny herself any; not by a long shot.

✧.* however, there are times when she’s had a frustrating day at work. the councilors wouldn’t listen to her, her ideas weren’t getting anywhere, she felt a mental block growing stronger with each passing second. every minute she was in that room was like torture, and all she wanted was to get home.

✧.* so the second she does, she’s asking you to lay down so she can lower her pussy onto your face and lose herself.

✧.* “please, love, make me forget- oh, shit! aah!”

✧.* mel doesn’t really curse much, so a good signifier that she’s feeling good is when you hear her swearing. she’s always so poised, so refined in the way she speaks. careful to converse in a manner becoming of a councilor, of a medarda. so when she’s making those pretty sounds, laid back with three fingers deep inside of her and you hear her swear, you know you’ve got her.

✧.* “right there, hah, mm…” she’d moan, grabbing at one of her breasts to anchor herself. “that feels so- fuck! oh, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

✧.* she’s not necessarily loud either, just the right volume to assure you that she’s feeling good.

✧.* mel’s stamina is pretty average. she knows how to pace herself, so it’s really up to you and how long you want to go for.

✧.* she prefers lovemaking and being doted on in the bedroom rather than rough sex and being denied. that’s not to say she’s opposed to trying out something more hardcore, but generally, she prefers to feel cared for in the moment. touch her, love her, worship her.

✧.* however, when she’s topping, she could deny you for hours. it’s something to do with the power she’s holding over you.

✧.* “mpph, please, just let me come, aaah.. i’ll be so good, mel.” you’d whimper, writhing beneath her touch. “shh. you’ve been so good already, but you can hold out a bit longer, can’t you? that’s my strong girl.”

✧.* partial to body worship. take your time with her, slowly removing her clothing to tell her every little thing you love about her body. her soft skin. the swells of her breasts, her lean muscle and smooth thighs. she’ll be gasping, petting your hair and praising you, letting you know what feels right. every touch from you feels like a promise, and you’ll do damn right to keep it.

✧.* TRIBBING. she especially loves being on top when it comes to scissoring, so that she can set the pace and get both of you off just right. it checks off all of mel’s boxes- proximity, close connection, being able to see your pretty face, and the fact that you both get pleasure from it.

✧.* “oh, gods, love,” she’d grunt, grinding her wet cunt into yours. strings of arousal connecting the two of you, rutting into each other. “don’t stop, unngh- that’s so good, so fucking good.. faster. faster.”

✧.* although she’s refined and poised, mel is not above fucking you in public. you’d be at a gala together, champagne glass in hand and trying to converse with others; some of the most important figures and families in piltover. yet all you can focus on is mel, the way the white dress she chose hugs the curves of her hips just right, and the slit that runs up the side. you try to be subtle, but mel is observant. she notices. and this is one of the few times where she’s a bit more rough.

✧.* “just couldn’t wait?” she’d ask, her fingers pounding into you in an empty room just outside of the crowded hall. “almost struck a deal, a good one, before you started undressing me with your eyes. it’s distracting, love.” “i’m sorry, baby,” you’d whimper, so fucking close to your peak. “sorry isn’t going to cut it. but you’re so pretty… so wet, too. i’ll be merciful.”

✧.* mel likes to set the mood. candles, maybe some soft music crackling over a stereo as well. as i keep saying, she’s a romantic! she wants you to see the effort she’s putting in for you, to know just how much she cares. all of this is worth it to her, you’re worth it.

✧.* just one is rarely enough for mel. if you’re more the one-and-done type, she won’t try to coax more orgasms out of you- but for her, she can go several rounds. back to back to back, coming undone on your fingers and mouth and strap and loving every second.

✧.* always holding onto you somehow. her arms wrapped around your shoulders while she rides you, one arm around your waist to steady you while she fingers you against a wall, the like. however, mel’s favorite is holding your hand, interlacing your fingers together. it just feels so intimate, so loving. it’s also grounding in a way, she can squeeze your hands as the sensations grow stronger, or as a silent support while you teeter over the edge of climax.

✧.* aside from times like i mentioned earlier, mel isn’t really a fan of quickies. there are some exceptions, but she prefers to take it slow within the confines of a place she knows is safe. she wants to take her time to truly appreciate you, and she can’t do that if she’s got a time constraint.

✧.* says she loves you every time, probably multiple times. the intimacy of it all overpowers her. some people may think that saying ‘i love you’ over and over makes it lose meaning, but on the contrary, mel means it more each time she says it.

✧.* “oh, oh, gods… mm, i love you, right there…”

sevika;

✧.* have fun trying to move at all after sleeping with sevika.

✧.* she’s a top-leaning switch. she won’t deny pleasure herself, but she won’t ask for it either. she’s more than happy to just fuck you again and again, her pleasure being derived from the sight of your head thrown back in ecstasy and the sound of your pleasured screams.

✧.* sevika loves just about anything, but she’s partial to the strap. it gives her a rush of power, being able to split you open and fuck you so deep, so right. definitely gets one of the biggest dildos she can find to insert into the strap, just so she can make you lay there and take it.

✧.* rough, experienced, and doesn’t hold back when it comes to degradation. she’d pull her cock almost fully out of you, just leaving the tip- before slamming back in, drawing a borderline pornographic moan from your lips. “fuck, doll, you sound filthy. can’t even talk right now, can you? fuckin’ slut, losing her mind already.” she’d drink in all of your noises, your labored breathing and the way your eyes roll to the back of your head. “gods. i’ve never been with someone this fuckin’ desperate. i almost pity you.”

✧.* can and will manhandle you. she’ll be pushing your chest further into the mattress while fucking you from behind, yanking your hips into hers as she thrusts into you. smacking your ass so hard the sound nearly echoes through the room. she’ll flip you on your back, nearly throwing you down on the bed just to continue her relentless rhythm. she wants to absolutely ruin you. so let her.

✧.* she wants to leave you sore and tired for the next day, so that every time you try to even take a step you’re reminded of exactly what, or who put you into this position.

✧.* sevika’s stamina is admirable. exhaustion weighs heavy on her during the day, her work cut out for her. running around handling zaun, tying up loose ends silco left, and making sure jinx doesn’t get herself into too much trouble wears her out quickly. but somehow she still has so much energy when it comes to fucking you. she could go all night if you allowed her, without so much as yawning.

✧.* she’ll grab your chin to force you to look at her, holding direct eye contact while she fucks you. she wants to see every expression of yours, she wants you to see her face while you cum.

✧.* “who’s makin’ this pussy feel good?” she’d demand, grunting as she grabs a fistful of your hair. you’d yelp at the sensation, your voice breathy and bordering on whiny. “aahh! you! you, mmph- sevika, you’re making it feel so good…”

✧.* also lowkey (highkey) really into anal… being able to please your tight asshole and feel you clench around her fingers as she keeps rutting into your cunt. yeah

✧.* it’s not often that she does, but sevika likes to have you tied up. your wrists tied to the headboard of her bed, the wood creaking while she rocks into you and holds your thighs apart. it’s picturesque almost, you look so damn perfect and pliant. and all for her.

✧.* the ropes are rough and frayed, something similar to what would be used on a ship. it’s not much, and they look like they’ve been used before- they’ll definitely leave marks on your wrists once you’re done. not to worry, sevika already has ointments for once you’re done, and she makes sure to space things like this out. she loves the sight of you bound for her, but not enough to over exert your poor skin.

✧.* she loves hearing those gorgeous sounds you make for her, but sevika does have neighbors and she’s not above shoving your discarded shirt or panties into your mouth if she feels that you’re being too loud. “hush. gonna wake the whole neighborhood at this point, doll. or is that what you want?”

✧.* when she does allow you to top, she’s pretty quiet. a stark contrast to how breathy and gruff she is while pleasing you, but she’ll still make noises! just at a low volume. yet her words do still hold some of that domineering edge.

✧.* your tongue would be delicately splitting her wet folds, teasingly licking up her slit before it brushes right over her clit. a shiver runs up her spine and she groans, a breathy noise that only serves to motivate you more.

✧.* “shit, baby, like that…” she’d breathe out, her chest beginning to heave up and down. “faster, baby. more. like you mean it.”

✧.* creamer, but she’ll squirt if you coax enough orgasms out of her. when you first found this out, she was on the edge of her fifth orgasm, panting and grunting before her walls clenched around your tongue. you then felt a wet warmth splash onto your face, and your gaze flickered. something downright predatory awoke in you, making you desperate to see that again and again.

✧.* “come on, sevi, just gimme one more, mm… that was so fucking hot,” you’d murmur, bringing your face close to her glistening cunt yet again. “another? i think- aah, i’ll break,” sevika breathes out. “good.”

✧.* RIDE HER THIGH. she didn’t even know she was into it at first. you’d be kissing her, panting into her mouth as you strip her of her shirt- before pulling away. “i wanna try something,” you’d say, before lowering yourself onto one of her bulky thighs. beginning to rock your hips, your clothed clit bumping against her thigh while a sharp gasp is pulled from you.

✧.* sevika’s eyes are opened to a whole new realm of possibilities. her hands are flying to your waist to help guide you along on her thigh, feeling your arousal leak through the cotton of your panties. “fuck, dove, you really are a whore.” she says, a low chuckle following. “i wouldn’t have thought of this, but you’re just too damn eager… look at you, soaking me. you’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

✧.* before you know it, sevika is asking you to ride her thigh regularly!

✧.* sevika’s neck is her weak spot. kiss up the expanse of it, suck dark marks into her pulse point, and she’s a damn mess. she’s tilting her head back so you have easier access, melting from you just touching her neck. it’s kind of adorable, honestly.

✧.* switches up the second you’re done- is so sweet and loving during aftercare. making sure that you’re okay and taken care of before she even thinks of doing anything for herself, making sure she didn’t go too far and you’re not too wrecked.

caitlyn;

✧.* switch with a slight preference for topping. she’s been in control most of her life, usually having the upper hand and hardly ever not getting what she wants. she doesn’t expect much less in the bedroom- that, and she loves seeing you fall apart beneath her, knowing that she’s the one responsible.

✧.* caitlyn has long and strong fingers, perfect for reaching all the spots that you’ve never been able to reach yourself. the second her middle finger brushes against that spongy spot that makes your vision blank, her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth is open in a ‘ah, gotcha!’ expression.

✧.* “yeah, darling? you like that? should i keep going, hm?” you’d nod frantically, panting and flushed beneath her. “then keep being good for me. you can do that, can’t you?”

✧.* BRAT TAMER. you might be able to get away with being mouthy with others, but never with cait. she’s a patient woman, but you learn after a while of being with her how to push her buttons just right. wearing that very patience thin with every word and sway of your hips. you’re giggling, until caitlyn is pushing you against a wall and clawing at your clothing, ordering you to spread your legs.

✧.* “i thought this was what you wanted? what you were begging for, not even a minute ago?” she’d grunt, slamming her purple strap into you at an alarming pace. ragged gasps and moans are pulled from your parted lips, and hot tears begin to stream down both of your cheeks. caitlyn would let out a low chuckle, tutting. “what, you’re crying now? come on, it’s not that bad. just a little lesson for you.” she’d coo.

✧.* there’s also been several times when you haven’t been able to behave yourself in her workplace, and she’d whisk you to her office to bend you over the hard wood of her desk, fucking you right then and there.

✧.* part of caitlyn delights at the sight of your tears. it’s exhilarating, in a way. seeing you so desperate, so wanton, knowing it was her who took you apart so expertly. seeing you so bared and vulnerable for her is a moment she wishes she could frame every time.

✧.* caitlyn can be such a temptress. she’s beautiful, anyone can see that- and she uses that beauty to her advantage. you’d come home from a long day of working harder than you ought, to be greeted by your girlfriend in white lace lingerie that leaves very little to the imagination. she knows you can’t resist, and she’s internally celebrating the moment you pounce on her.

✧.* “how was work, love?” she’d ask, voice low and smooth. “you look like you’re starving. maybe i can do something about that?” she’d muse, fingers teasing under one of her thigh garters.

✧.* when subbing, caitlyn is loud. she’s not screaming out in pleasure, but she doesn’t hold back any noises. she wants you to know how good you’re making her feel, to hear it on her lips and in her choppy words.

✧.* likes clitoral stimulation best, i think. don’t get me wrong, she thoroughly enjoys the feeling of penetration- but something about having her pretty clit played with until she’s an aching mess is just better.

✧.* also likes to be praised when she’s on bottom. tell her how beautiful she is, tell her that you’re taking her just right and she sounds so pretty right now. not only does it provide an ego boost, but it makes caitlyn feel so loved.

✧.* she’s a bit embarrassed to admit it, but she likes being on the receiving end of orgasm denial. so fucking close, her body strung thin like a bowstring. each nerve ending nearly on fire. but she can’t cum, not until you give her the green light, and it drives her insane.

✧.* “please, i’m losing my mind,” she’d cry out. “i need- mmf- i need to cum, pleasedarlingillbesogood,”

✧.* not opposed to quickies, but doesn’t opt for them. however, there are occasions where she’ll steal you away just before you have to leave for work, her fingers working as quickly as she possibly can to get you off- giving you something to think about the rest of the day.

✧.* something about your hips draws caitlyn in. maybe it’s the plush skin against them, the way they’re perfect for her nails to dig into, the feeling she gets when they rut against her, the rush she gets from gripping them to guide you as you grind against her thigh, or the way they sway when you walk. she can’t quite pinpoint it, but she also doesn’t care to.

✧.* “fuck, darling, keep moving,” she’d breathe out, gripping the tops of your hips as your wetness spreads over her thigh- folds glistening, head tilted back as lewd moans fill the room. “you look beautiful like this. so damn perfect, like you’re made for my viewing…”

✧.* she enjoys pet names a lot, but i think one of caitlyn’s weaknesses would be just addressing her by her name. especially if you usually call her by pet names outside of the bedroom. it feels so intimate, so personal.

✧.* “such a good girl for me, caitlyn,” you’d whisper, holding a bullet vibrator to her wet clit. “look at this pussy, so desperate for me. i can’t get enough.”

✧.* her favorite places to have sex are her bed and her desk. simple, but they work- her bed is a sanctuary, and it’s comfortable. optimal. her work desk serves many purposes, but her favorite is pleasuring each other.

✧.* caitlyn’s eyes are hypnotic, her gaze piercing. she’s big on eye contact during sex, demanding that you look at her the entire time. even as you’re fighting to not let your eyes snap shut or roll to the back of your head, the commanding tone in her voice keeps you grounded. it’s an ego boost, but it’s also a way of connecting to you.

✧.* gets rough when she’s especially stressed, which is often. she’s an enforcer and one of piltover’s most powerful figures; caitlyn is basically a walking manifestation of stress. slapping your tits, grabbing your chin, degrading you, shoving her fingers into your mouth and down your throat to shut you up.

✧.* that’s not to say that she doesn’t enjoy gentle love making from time to time- she absolutely does. she loves those nights where you take your time with her, truly conceptualize your affections for her. just how much you love her. she just gets carried away in the moment more than she’d like to admit.

lest;

✧.* switch with a preference for subbing. she will dom you if you ask her to, but most of the time, lest likes to lay back and bask in the feeling of you touching her. the scent of incense thick in the air, hair freed from her scarf and fanned around her as she lets out soft moans.

✧.* her voice is so smooth, so calming. the kind of voice you could fall asleep to. lest isn’t necessarily loud during sex, but she gets pretty vocal. and her noises, her words sound almost heaven sent.

✧.* “oh, keep doing- aahh!- that, darling…” she’d breathe out, her tone soft and buttery with desperation. “i need it, i’m so close-”

✧.* lest is definitely experienced, so she knows well and good what gets her going. she’ll tell you as well, guiding your hands to exactly where she needs them and describing in vulgar detail what she wants you to do to her.

✧.* “play with my tits with one hand, stroke me with the other,” she’d breathe out, placing your hands over both her perky breast and twitching cock. “pinch my nipple, hard, run your thumb over the tip- oh, fuuuuck…”

✧.* the tip of her dick is easily the most sensitive part of her body. it’s so sensitive, it’s almost comical- but lest can’t help it. you know how to pleasure her exactly the way she needs. as soon as you take it into your mouth, teasing your tongue over the head before taking her full length, she’s already fighting the urge to buck into your mouth. it draws sharp gasps from her throat, her fingers gripping at the bedsheets.

✧.* but her tits aren’t meant to be neglected, either. plump and soft, sitting so pretty on her. her nipples are definitely pierced, usually adorning gold bars with dangling chains. play with them, suck on them, place clamps on them. she’ll eat all of it up, praising you all the while.

✧.* definitely enjoys being tied up during the act, and she’d likely want to try shibari at some point. she has the nice ropes: purple woven silk, soft against her wrists and ankles. the feeling of being bared open before you, completely powerless and at your mercy can’t compare to anything else.

✧.* i think lest is really into wax play, but can’t participate as much as she’d like to because wax is a pain in the ass to get out of fur. she’ll gasp at the feeling of hot, sticky wax on her tits and stomach, a shiver running through her body involuntarily. you like to indulge her from time to time, relishing in her every reaction. again, it just can’t be as often as you’d both like because of the aftermath :(

✧.* lest can’t exactly finger you since she uh… has claws. but she’s so skillful with her mouth, the thought of what you might be missing doesn’t even cross your mind. she’d take your clit between her lips, teasing over the bud with her tongue before sucking. brushing her silky hair over her shoulder and angling her jaw so she has even more access to you, drinking in every sound you make.

✧.* “you taste amazing, darling,” she’d murmur. “stay still, mm.. you want to cum, don’t you?”

✧.* lest could grow addicted to just eating you out. the feeling of your release on her tongue is a high she never wants to come down from. she’ll draw orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from you on just her tongue.

✧.* praise her!! tell lest how good she’s doing, how beautiful she looks between your thighs and how lucky you are to have her. it only makes her more eager to please you.

✧.* “gods, you’re beautiful,” you’d whisper, “that feels amazing, you’re amazing, you’re perfect-” before feeling her tongue slip from your clit to your wet hole, prying you open.

✧.* LOVES to be pegged. she’s also partial to cowgirl, but lests’s absolute favorite is doggystyle. she craves the sensation of you slamming into her hole, gripping her plump asscheek with one hand and yanking on her tail with the other. she’d let out a sharp yowl, her chest almost collapsing into the mattress at the feeling. but it feels so fucking good, even though it’s sending pain up her spine.

✧.* “oh, yes, yesyesyes,” she’d babble, so bravely taking every inch of your strap. “don’t stop, go harder- fuck, ow!” she gasps, her soft tail in your grasp as you pull. “sorry,” you’d wince, slightly loosening your grip. “no. keep holding it, it- aahh! feels damn good.”

✧.* she cums pretty quickly when you strap her down. she’s a bit embarrassed about it, but she just can’t help it. your strap rubs against her g-spot so perfectly, your rhythm is exactly what she needs and you fill her up just right.

✧.* alternatively, lest loves when you ride her. seeing your face while you’re on top of her, claws digging into your hips while she bounces you up and down on her length… oh, it’s gold. and the sight of your tits bouncing is always a welcome bonus.

✧.* sometimes lest will have her pipe with her while you ride her, in which case she’ll allow you to shotgun hits. your breaths mingling with one another and lips almost touching as magenta smoke is passed between the two of you. it only serves to further heighten your senses, bringing you even greater pleasure.

✧.* “you’re divine,” she’d breathe out, hips rocking into you with fervor. “take it. take everything, just like i know you can. you’re a damn work of art.”

[y3sterdaysproblem]

the shift - c.s.

takes place after this

cw: yelling, crying, mentions of drug use, implied sex

wc: 4.2k

part of the fwb!chris series

it’s been weeks.

weeks of radio silence from chris, and you weren’t giving him anything to work with either. in your head, you said what you needed to say, and the ball was in his court.

he never responded after the last message, more than likely trying to pick up the pieces of whatever relationship he had, for whatever reason. she didn’t seem worth it. she seemed boring, innocent, annoying. every time she spoke it sounded like nails on a chalkboard and you had to check to make sure your ears weren’t bleeding.

ever since the party and the incident, you’ve kept yourself as busy as possible; picking up shifts, going out with friends, cleaning your entire apartment every few days, just to avoid thinking about how badly you fucked everything up, just to avoid the chris sized hole in your life.

being alone was never something that bothered you, always enjoying time by yourself to do whatever you wanted to do, even if that was just rotting and doom scrolling, nobody could tell you you couldn’t do it.

you’re doing exactly that, body wrapped up in a blanket as you lounged on your couch in comfortable clothes, legs tucked under you. the tv was on a low volume in front of you, and at first you thought the knocking was coming from the show that played lowly, but when you paused it and heard it again, you realized it was your door that somebody was banging on.

you didn’t want to move, hoping that whoever it was would just leave you alone eventually, probably trying to sell you some shit you didn’t need anyway, but when your door rattled for a third time, you huffed and threw the blanket off of yourself, standing up and walking towards the door. “i’m coming!” you yelled, approaching the door and finally ripping it open, your eyes widening and heart dropping to your stomach when you saw who was on the other side.

“it’s been a long time since i’ve heard you say that,” he says, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

you’re unamused, staring at him across the doorway silently. he rolls his eyes at your lack of response, pushing past you until he was inside your apartment. you didn’t say anything, shutting the door and turning around to face him, eyebrows raised like you were waiting for him to speak.

chris turns to face you and sighs, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. “I left my favorite lighter here,” he says, and you can’t help but scoff out a laugh. “a lighter? a fucking lighter? you’re here because you left a lighter?” you shake your head in disbelief and push past him, knowing exactly which lighter he was talking about. it was on your coffee table getting daily use from every time you lit a blunt when you would smoke at night or on days off like this. “you’re the most ridiculous person i’ve ever met,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you reach for the lighter, spinning around on your heels to hand it to chris.

you knew he was following you into the living room, but you had no idea he was standing as close as he was, and the second you were facing him, he was closing the distance.

chris’s hands reached out for you, one hand landing on your waist and the other wrapping around to the back of your head, pulling your body closer to his as he leaned down and slammed his lips on yours, sighing softly once they finally made contact. you’re caught of guard, hands held out on either side of you as you process what was happening, the lighter slipping from your fingers as you finally move to grasp onto the front of his shirt, holding him close for a moment before pushing him back, pulling your head back to stare at him confusedly. “chris, what the fuck?” you question, and his hands never leave your body as he dips his head down to bury into your neck, lips pressing against your skin fervently, teeth nipping like he couldn’t get enough. “i’m sorry,” he whispers against your jaw, pulling your bodies together again, closing the gap you created when you pushed him away. “you’re right, I was out of line, we were both at fault, forgive me.”

you felt like you were dreaming, partly because you’ve never experienced chris apologizing before, especially not so profusely, and also because your body was melting into his habitually, like no time had passed, like you’d never been angry at all. “chris,” you breathe out, head tilting away from him as your eyes fluttered shut. “you can’t just come into my house and fuck me and think everything will go back to normal.”

“i’m apologizing at the same time,” chris responds, pulling his face away to stare down at you. “you were right, she’s too boring for me. I was so mad because I felt like someone finally gave me the time of day, felt like I could be myself around her but I couldn’t. I wasn’t myself around her and I can’t be myself around anyone except…” he pauses and sucks in a small breath before sighing out again. “listen, i’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. I feel sick to my stomach saying this out loud but I missed you,” he pauses after he says this, eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness.

it was hard not to give in instantly and forgive him, especially with the way his fingertips dug into your skin, desperate to feel you as close as he could. he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so needy, so eager to feel you on him, all he knew was apologizing was the quickest way to have you sprawled out underneath him just the way he liked, but you were still far too angry to crack just yet.

“chris, do you even remember what you said to me?” you question, still wrapped up in his arms but with enough distance to glare up at him. “do you remember what you called me? how you backed me into a wall and made me cry? how you embarrassed me in front of all of our friends? or do you only care about making up so we can go back to fucking?”

you start push away from him fully as you speak, his hands falling to his sides as he watches you back up and create a bigger gap between you both. his mouth opens to speak, then closes again, his shoulders drawing up into an awkward shrug. “I know I was mean but I was mad,” he defends himself, dismissing it like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “you might as well have left a hickey on my neck, it gave the same impression.”

you let a small breath of air puff out from your nostrils, a mix between a scoff and a laugh, unable to believe the words coming from his mouth. “mean?” you sneer. “you think you were just mean? you yelled at me in front of everybody, called me a whore, called me exhausting, said nobody would ever deal with me, you said I was stupid and that I ruin everything, but you think you were just mean? chris, there’s been days that I lay in bed half the day because all I can think about is if what you said is true or not.” you’re unaware of the way the tip of your nose starts turning red and your cheeks turn blotchy, a clear indicator that you’re about to start crying, only realizing it once you see chris’s expression change and the way he shifts uncomfortably between his feet. that’s when your nose starts to burn and your eyes start to flood with tears.

“I didn’t mean it, I was just mad,” chris tries to console, taking a step closer to you again, but you back away to keep the same distance. “listen, we say rude shit to each other all the the time, what’s the difference now?”

“the fucking difference is you did it in front of twenty people!” you yell, a fat tear sliding down your cheek. “I can handle you being mean, don’t think I can’t, but you berating me like that just proves how awful of a person you really are!” chris is stunned into silence, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, but only for a few moments as he’s never been too good at keeping his mouth shut. “berating is a little much, don’t you think?” he starts, already starting to feel himself get annoyed by your accusations. “sure, I was mad, but you left fucking lip gloss on my neck! I mean, how do you think she felt knowing I dragged you off to talk and then I come back with shit all over my neck?!”

“how do you think I felt?!” you yell back, not caring about the fact that your neighbors could definitely hear you. “who gives a fuck what she felt, she’s a fucking nobody! what about me?! why do you never stop to fucking think about the way your words affect me?!” you’re fully sobbing now, cheeks covered in thick tears, voice cracking as you choke out your words. “i’m supposed to be your friend over everything. fuck the sex, fuck the weed, fuck the stupid little bitches you bring around that you let get between us, you’re supposed to be my friend before all of that and you showed me that you care more about some attention from a prude than the feelings of somebody you’re meant to care about.”

chris reaches his hands up to his face and rubs it harshly, groaning into his palms as he processes what you’re saying. “can you stop with all these jealous little comments? she wasn’t just a prude or some girl that got between us, she was nice and funny and pretty and she didn’t care about fucking me or smoking my shit. she didn’t care about what I had, she just listened to me and liked being around me. she saw me.” his hands drop back to his sides and as his eyes refocus on you, he can’t help the twinge of sadness that pangs in his chest as he sees your expression, sees how distraught you really were. he even considered cutting this conversation short to pull you into his arms and apologize until your tears had dried. chris was a little bit too much of an asshole for this, though.

“she saw you?” you laugh wetly, running an anxious hand through your hair. “what exactly did she see? did she see the way you play with your lips when you get nervous? did she see how you always place your phone face down when you’re with people so it doesn’t distract you from the moment?” you take a couple steps closer to him, close enough to reach out and touch him if you wanted to. “did she see how you always eat your fries before your burger even though that’s fucking weird and wrong? did she see the way you flinch every time someone says they love you, even if it’s your fucking brothers, because you can’t even grasp the concept of love existing when it involves you? I bet she didn’t see any of that shit, because she doesn’t care about you.” you pick your arm up before you can stop yourself, sniffling loudly as you jab your finger into his chest, staring at it as you made contact to avoid his eyes that watched you intently. “not… not like I do.”

chris furrows his brows together at your words, head tilting down to glance at your finger pointed into his shirt, then brought it back up slightly to look at you again. “like you do? is that a joke?” he asks, voice quieter than before. you groan and slam your palm into his chest, pushing him away again before turning around and starting to pace in your living room. your heart was beating so loud you could feel it in your ears, the sound rushing through in a rhythmic boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom. “listen, i’m sorry that I yelled at you, but she actually meant something to me whether you believe it or not. she actually wanted to be around me and spend time together.”

chris tries to reach out to stop your pacing, but you only shoved his hands away as they came closer to you. “so what are you doing here, then?” you snark, looking up at him as you walked a straight line, then stopped and turned around to walk it back. “shouldn’t you be with her, your perfect princess?”

he groans at your attitude, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. “oh my fucking god,” chris mumbles under his breath, almost like he was speaking with the omnipotent being for the strength to deal with you. “i’m not interested anymore,” he tells you finally, bringing his head back to look at you. “I told you. you were right, her and I aren’t compatible no matter how much attention she gives me.”

your feet stop on your carpeted floor, turning to face the man in front of you. “so what, you wanna go back to just fucking all the time? is that what you’re here for?” you ask him, crossing your arms over your chest. chris shrugs his shoulders awkwardly. “I miss the sex yeah,” he starts slowly. “but I also miss… the other stuff.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him, not appreciating his vagueness. “other stuff?” you question, and chris nods. “like… going for drives together, or watching movies and eating leftovers. listening to you ramble on about shit I don’t care about. I think I miss just being around you. i’m not sure, though, i’ve never really felt that with anybody else.”

your heart felt like it couldn’t beat any faster without risking the chance of it actually beating out of your chest, pounding so hard now you were sure chris could see it under your ribcage. “you actually just miss me?” you ask in disbelief. he nods again, nervously playing with his fingers. “yes,” he admits. “can you just forgive me and we move on?”

you narrow your eyes at him, mulling over his words carefully. “no,” you say flatly. “what?!” chris sputtered, holding his hands out in annoyance. “what else do you fucking want?! I was wrong, i’m standing here in front of you admitting my faults, I don’t know what the fuck else you could actually want from me!” he’s beyond frustrated now, ready to give up and walk out.

you tilt your head, keeping eye contact with him as a small smirk appears on your lips.

“I want you to admit you’re in love with me.”

chris’s chin tucks into his chest, head shaking as he processes what you just said. “you what?” he questioned, taken aback by your request.

“you heard me,” you respond sassily. “there is no way the only reason you’re here is because you miss me. you said it yourself, you want all the little things back. when was the last time you just wanted to be around a girl?” you take a step closer to chris, your eyes locked on each other’s as you reduced the space between your bodies.

“I don’t fucking know,” chris responds defensively, bumping into the coffee table as he tries to back away. “i’m not-“

“don’t even,” you interrupt. “i’m not in love with you!” chris shouts. “you think i’d be dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that would never love me back? I took a step away for a fucking reason and tried to put my energy in somebody that would actually return my feelings.”

“maybe if you fucking told me what your feelings were I could tell you if I returned them or not,” you groaned, infuriated by his dumb boy-ness and lack of awareness. “don’t,” chris sighs out, his fingers itching to reach out for you. “you don’t get to say shit like that and get my hopes up.”

you reach out and sling your arms around chris’s neck, stepping up so your bodies are pressed against one another. “chris, please let your guard down for fucking once and be honest with me,” you say in a soft tone, staring up into his eyes that are starting to soften, his hard exterior damaged under your gaze. “I can’t,” chris chokes out, his own hands coming up to rest on your waist, pulling you closer. “yes you can,” you coax, threading your fingers gently through the hair on the back of his head.

chris licks his lips slowly and stares down at you, drawing in deep breath after deep breath to try and ground himself, feeling like his heart was going to crawl up his throat. “i’m sorry,” he says softly, shaking his head a bit. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” you sigh and drop your head forward to rest on his chest, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment. “i’m right here,” you tell him. “just let me in, chris.”

he lets out a shaky breath and brings his left hand around to your back, sliding it up under your shirt to feel your skin under his own, his right hand sliding up to your jaw to tilt your head back, allowing him to lean down and press your lips together again, slower this time, like he was trying to savor it.

you relaxed into the kiss, feeling the familiarity seeping back in as your chests pressed together and his hands held you close. “tell me,” you beg quietly against his lips, feeling him pull you closer as you spoke. chris slid his hand around to the back of your head, holding you firmer against him. “shut up,” he breathes, moving his mouth over your cheek and to your jaw, leaving gentle kisses in its wake. “chris, there’s no way i’m the only one feeling like this.”

“you already know how I feel, why do I have to say it out loud?” chris asks, teeth dragging along your skin carefully. “because if you know that I love you, I want you to tell me you love me, too.”

chris pauses his movements, pulling his head away to stare down at you. your head is tilted up to look at him and his hand still rests on the back of your head, gently holding you in place. “you what?”

you swallow thickly, realizing that there’s no backtracking now. you’ve already crossed an irreversible line and had to double down on your words. your next words were whispered softly, but it felt like the sound reverberated through your whole apartment.

“I love you, chris.”

“don’t mess with me, please, I can’t-“

“i’m serious,” you stop him, seeing the look on his face. it was one of pure desperation, almost begging for you to be telling the truth. “i’m in love with you.”

chris releases a shaky breath, one full of nerves and adrenaline. “fuck,” he whispers, leaning back down to slam your lips together again, this kiss full of passion and desire. “say it again,” he begs, voice muffled against your mouth.

“I love you,” you soothe, sliding your hand that didn’t rest in his hair up his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm. “i’m right here.”

chris snakes his own hands down your body until they reach the backs of your thighs, scooping you up into his arms so your legs wrap around his waist, a small squeal leaving your lips at the sudden movement. he started walking towards your room, using your back to push the door open before taking a few steps to your bed, leaning forward to lay you against it, then keeping his place between your legs to settle above you.

“are you serious?” he asks, needing reassurance more than anything. “because if you’re fucking with me, I swear to god i’ll-“

“can you stop freaking out?” you ask, reaching a hand up to cover his mouth. “do you want me to be in love with you or not?” you raise your eyebrows up at him, your expression clearly saying ‘well?’

“yes,” chris rasps, nodding his head and pulling away a bit more to take in more of your figure. “yeah, more than anything.” you nod in response, reaching up to grab his shoulders to pull him back down towards you. “okay, well then if you can’t say it back, at least fuck me like you love me.”

“yeah, okay. I can do that.”

you’re laying under the covers, body pressed up against chris in every way possible; your head on his shoulder, arm over his stomach, leg draped over his, both of you relaxing into your post sex bliss. you didn’t even know how long you’ve been in your bedroom, too exhausted to keep track of time.

“chris?” you say softly, breaking the silence. he hums quietly to let you know he’s listening as his fingers trail up and down your back gently. “why are you so against relationships?”

chris pauses his movements for a split second, not expecting you to ask a question so deep. “uhh,” he starts awkwardly. “I don’t know.” you push yourself up on your elbow at his answer, staring down at him inquisitively. he reaches forward and gently moves some hair off of your shoulder, eyes trailing over your naked frame in admiration. “you definitely know,” you push.

he sighs and meets your gaze again, knowing that you weren’t going to drop the subject. “of course I know, but… it’s not exactly the most fun conversation to have in bed with the hottest girl i’ve ever met.” you shake your head and gently tap his nose. “you’re not getting out of this with compliments!” you tell him determinedly.

“alright, alright,” chris caves, shifting a bit underneath the covers. “my parents got divorced when I was really young and it really messed with my brothers and I but especially me. I was so dependent on being around my brothers at that time and my parents couldn’t even be in the same room without arguing so they never had a set schedule for who would have which kid and when. there would be days at a time that I would only see matt or nick while I was at school because they were at my dad’s house and I was at my mom’s. I hated being separated from them and I always blamed my parents. I blamed their relationship and their lack of commitment and lack of trying. in our eyes, it looked like they just gave up one day. when you’re a kid and you see love seemingly just disappear overnight, it doesn’t put the best taste in your mouth, so, I was like… eight years old when I decided I never wanted to love anybody.”

as chris speaks, you run your hand over his body gently, wherever you could reach; his chest, his collarbones, over his cheek, pushing hair out of his face gently, gazing down at him attentively to let him know you were listening. “that’s a big commitment when you’re that young,” you say gently, and he nods, pursing his lips and avoiding your gaze. “yeah, but… it’s worked.”

“has it?” you question hopefully, tilting his head towards you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours apprehensively. “can we not talk about my feelings?” chris asks, turning on his side to face you, his arm wrapping around your waist tightly. “it’s bad enough talking about my shitty upbringing, I just want to lay here and look at your pretty face.”

your cheeks burn red as his body pushes you onto your back again, hair splayed out on your pillow as he hovers above you. “i’m so lucky,” chris hums, dipping his face down to latch his lips to your chest, pressing gentle kisses on your skin as he moves the blanket off of you. “you’re not lucky yet, chris. you haven’t locked anything down,” you tease, trying to ignore the goosebumps forming on your skin. “shut the fuck up, you’re mine and you know it.” chris grumbles, tightening his grip on your waist.

“yeah, yeah, whatever, bitch. why don’t you put that mouth to better use and eat me out?” chris pulls his head away from your body to stare down at you with wide eyes. “you’re lucky you’re hot or I would smack your bitch ass,” he tells you, but despite his words starts moving down the bed, settling himself between your spread legs. “good boy,” you tease, patting his head gently.

chris grips your thighs tightly and pushes them further apart, sinking his teeth into the fleshy skin, eliciting a small whine from you.

“ouch!” you pout, grabbing onto his hair and trying to pull him away, but he stays put, sucking a dark, purple mark into your thigh. when he’s done, he pulls away and smiles at his work, then looks back up at you where you’re watching him with a longing expression. “see?” he says proudly.

“all mine.”

a/n: don’t get excited and think this is over, yall. they are toxic after all.

fwb!chris masterlist

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @rafesapprentice @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbratt333 @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44 @colorthecosmos444

[blondie11067]

My take on AI is only two things/ types of people:

- People who dont have x skill

- Lazy/ cheap people

And you dont have to be either, because more often than note - from my experience - they're both.

All things ART related (i. e. Any form of writing, drawing, design, publicity, videos, comics, etc.) all of it comes from SKILLs. And what's the thing with skills? They take TIME!

It takes TIME and tons of PRACTICE to perfect a skill. So learming color theory, types of brush, vocabulary (technical or from a specific area/genre), phycology behind colors and words, what programs are best for what and how to use them, go from 2 days editing to only 3-5h a video, or coming up with slogans and creating a marketing campaign... All of that takes MINIMUM (and this really is saying you're like a god who learns and perfect things wayyy too quickly) MONTHS to perfect.

This is why, people who don't possess this abilities, this skills, are LAZY. Because they're NOT WILLING TO LEARN. Op pointed it out best, most shit already exists. You look up a template, analyse the one that fits best for what you need and edit a few things and that is it! It really isn't that hard other than you using 5-10min more than you would Ctrl+C + Ctrl+V whatever the bot gave you. It's a tiny bit of extra time and, oh yeah, using YOUR BRAIN. If you can't come up with a simple "oh, template says 'Dear, Mr. Smith' but my client is a woman. Hmm. Maybe I can change it to 'Dear, Mrs. Logan'?" you are in trouble. And by that i mean, how in God's name did you finish school???

Critical thinking, problem solving, these are skills needed to EXIST. It's not just work but you apply this bs everywhere. You talking with friends and family and you use this, in your own house, when out shopping. You gotta use this skills!!

If you're too lazy for this then... Remember the folks in Wall-E. We cannot become this fucking lazy, people.

The only "excuse" (and I use this with a slight wince) is people lacking in money.

(NOT cheap people, cuz that's just part of being lazy and greedy and unwilling to aim for better quality so long as you save a few bucks.)

If you're poor or economically disadvantaged, you probably cannot afford 1) to pay for good quality programs/tools to do this type of work (the artsy, creative type) and 2) you cannot afford someone who possess these skills / expertise since that's what they specialize in.

Hence, you'd try to go for the cheapest, fastest way to get what you need and that's where AI comes in.

I think a lot of what pro-AI people are really wanting is stuff that already exists but they don't know it's out there like

can't format a work email? templates

don't know how to write a resume? templates

writing a thank you card or a condolences card or a wedding invitation? templates templates templates

not sure how to format your citations in MLA or whatever format? citationmachine.net

summary of something you're reading for school/work? cliffnotes.com

recipe based on ingredients in your fridge? whatsintherefrigerator.com

there's a million more like, guys, we don't need AI, we never needed generative AI

[mariasont]

HEAR ME OUT!

post prison Spencer and shy!reader bonding over being total nerds. Books, shows... you name it

Bookstore Physics - S.R

summary: spencer suggests you should compare moral biases more often. you think he's making a philosophical point. he thinks he just asked you on a date

pairings: post!prison spencer reid x shy!medialiaison!reader

warnings: fluff, second hand embarrassment im sure, philosophical debates that are probably wrong bc i had to google and i know hardly knowing about mr kant, existential crisis but make it romantic, post prison reid, shy reader, prolonged eye contact

wc: 1.6k

a/n: thanks for requesting my lovely! happy superbowl to those who celebrate! go birds!

You were so close. Just one more inch, and your fingertips would finally graze the spine of the book that had been taunting you from its impossibly high perch. 

Rising to your tiptoes, you reached with all the reckless confidence of someone who had severely underestimated basic physics. The shelf wobbled under your grip, your shoes squeaking against the polished floor, and in that split second, you were faced with a terrifying possibility that you were about to take out the entire bookshelf, along with your dignity.

Something grabbed ahold of you, steadying you before you could faceplant directly into a pile of literary fiction. 

You went completely rigid. Because that wasn't just something. That was a Spencer Reid hand, long fingers, warm palm, and a freakishly strong grip for a man who treated physical exertion like a concept rather than a practice.

"Oh. Hi, Dr. Reid," you blurted, the words tumbling out clumsy and unpolished, as if your tongue had forgotten how to function. You winced instantly. "What are you doing here?"

Spencer didn't answer right away. His grip on your arm slackened, but he didn't step away, didn't even give you an inch of space, like he had no intention of letting you breathe properly.

Oh, that's fine. Air is overrated anyway.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated as if he were genuinely considering the question, but you knew better.

His expression hovered somewhere between pity and uncontained glee, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

Your lips parted, but your mind refused to cooperate, stuck on an endless loop of oh my god, did you actually just say that?

To Spencer Reid. The same Spencer who had, on multiple occasions, resorted to scribbling entire paragraphs on the back of receipts and once, when truly desperate, his own wrist. Spencer, who physically flinched at the sound of a cracked spine and once spent seventeen uninterrupted minutes explaining the significance of marginalia. Spencer who read like breathing and talked about prose like it was something alive.

And you, a person allegedly with working cognitive abilities, had just asked him what he was doing in a bookstore.

You opened your mouth, whether to correct yourself or just inhale enough oxygen to function again, you weren't sure, but before you could, Spencer, with precisely zero struggle, reached up and plucked the book from the shelf like it had been placed there specifically for him. 

"You should've asked for help," he murmured, and oh, that was definitely amusement in his voice.

"I-I had it under control."

One brow arched, unimpressed.

"Sure you did," he mused, lips twitching like they couldn’t quite decide whether to commit to a smirk. "Although, considering that 20% of bookstore-related injuries stem from ill-advised attempts at reaching high shelves, you were probably just one statistic away from a minor concussion."

You narrowed your eyes. "That's not—there's no way that's a real statistic."

Spencer barely reacted, flipping open the book with the same casual disinterest of someone checking the sky for clouds, except this wasn't a change in barometric pressure, and you were positive your entire nervous system had just gone into meltdown mode.

Your face burned, heat creeping up your spine and flooding through you veins at an alarming speed, and—oh, no—you had officially run out of places to look that weren't him.

And he (unfortunately) made such an easy focal point.

His shirt was rumpled like he'd spent the whole day forgetting to sit properly and a barely-there ink smudge kissed the edge of his palm, the kind only noticeable if you were close. His hair was at war with itself, some strands curling forward rebelliously against the collar of his cardigan, others falling forward, brushing the edge of his cheek.

He didn't glance up as he murmured, "Philosophy?"

The words barely had time to settle before your brain supplied an immediate translation: he was about to analyze you.

You could practically hear the gears turning, the internal mechanisms of his brain whirring at a speed that actually did defy physics. If you concentrated hard enough, you might've been able to hear the faint whir of neurons firing, piecing together a framework of analysis that was surely seconds away from being spoken into existence. He was surely already forming a hypothesis, already constructing some impossibly insightful revelation about what this particular title said about you, your worldview, your subconscious motivations.

"Well—yeah, that one," you said quickly, the words tripping over each other. “I mean, it’s not real philosophy—well, obviously, it is, but not in the way you would define foundational philosophy, but it still presents some really interesting moral dilemmas, and the writing is surprisingly digestible considering the subject matter is so—”

You clamped your mouth shut so fast it was a wonder your teeth didn’t rattle.

What were you even saying?

"Um—yeah. Philosophy. Or... something like that."

Spencer's lips twitched, and then, in a move so profoundly unsettling, he smiled.

Not just any smile, either. A real one. The kind that didn't just curve his mouth but softened him entirely, the corners tugging upward, a barely there dimple surfacing at his cheek. 

It hit you like a perfectly aimed dart—sharp, direct, and entirely crushing. Something fluttered wildly in your chest, light enough to feel stupid, but heavy enough to be a problem.

Then, still smiling, he tilted his head, leaning in just enough to invade your space, his voice dipping like he was handing you something fragile.

"I didn't take you for the existentialist type."

Your first instinct is to argue, to insist that you're far too well-rounded, too multifaceted, too impossible to be pinned down by a single school of thought. But before you can even begin to string words together, Spencer tilts his head just a little more, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that feels dangerously close to that same expression of analyzing once again.

And suddenly, you need to redirect this conversation, desperately, urgently, before your body betrays you, before you start visibly sweating or keel over like a fainting goat. Neither feels like an optimal outcome.

"I—I mean... I could say the same about you."

His lips quirk. "Interesting. And why's that?"

"I don't know. I always assumed you'd be more of a rationalist? Like, Descartes' methodical doubt feels like something you'd respect, and even Kant's categorical imperative, although that's more deontological ethics than strict rationalism, kind of aligns with the way you view morality and decision-making, and—"

You stop. Blink.

Oh no. You’re heavily invested in this man’s philosophical alignment.

You purse your lips, clearing your throat like that’ll erase the absurd level of thought you’ve just admitted to having.

"I mean, I'm probably way off."

Spencer flips the book closed, considering.

"I supposed you could argue I lean toward rationalism," he allows. "But morality is messy. Kant insists on universal law, and let's be real, most people abandon objectivity the second emotions get involved."

He glances at you then, a shift so small it shouldn't feel significant, but somehow, it does.

“For instance, we all make exceptions. We justify things we probably shouldn’t. Sometimes we prioritize people in ways that defy reason.”

His lips twitch. 

"Hypothetically speaking, of course."

“Well, yeah,” you say, caught up in the current of the conversation before you even realize you’ve been swept away. “People make emotional calculations constantly. Even when they claim objectivity, their decisions are shaped by personal attachments.”

The thought unspools too easily, words tumbling forward, carried by momentum.

“And it’s not just morality—it’s cognition in general. Have you read Jonathan Haidt’s work on moral intuitionism? He argues that people make moral judgments first based on instinct, and then rationalize them after the fact.”

You glance up, expecting a rapid-fire counterargument, some impossibly well-structured debate. But Spencer is just watching you.

"So what about you?" he asks suddenly. "Would you say you make exceptions?"

You pause.

"I mean… yeah? I guess I do. Everyone does, right? If someone I care about does something morally questionable, I’d probably be more inclined to defend them than if it were a stranger. I mean, that’s just human nature."

Then shrug. 

"But that doesn’t mean I’m being hypocritical," you add quickly, as if you just realized how that sounded. "I think there’s a difference between conscious favoritism and subconscious moral bias. It’s not like I have a specific person I’d automatically justify no matter what."

Spencer exhales. "I think you're more consistent than you realize."

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, lifting the book in his hands, fingers drumming idly against the cover. “You try so hard to rationalize your emotions. But I think, if it came down to it, you’d make an exception for someone. Just one.”

Your stomach knots, and it's humiliating how obvious you must be. You can feel your pulse everywhere, in your throat, your wrists, your temples, like your entire body is broadcasting, Hey, Spencer Reid is making you malfunction because he somehow sees right through you, somebody send help.

“I—well, I mean—”

“Relax, it’s just a theory.”

But something about the way he says it makes you not relax at all. And before you can scramble for some kind of coherent response, he nods toward your book.

“You should get that one,” he says lightly, handing you back the book. “I’d love to hear your take on it next time.”

You freeze. Next time?

Oh. Oh no. The words settle over you like an ill-timed realization, and your brain is running the math like you're about to file a report on your own social incompetence. Next time implies... a prior time, a recurring time, a pattern of times. Next time implies he assumes there will be a next time. 

And you assume that he assumes that you are the kind of person who could logically expect another bookstore trip with Spencer Reid as if that's just a thing that happens in your life. Which is absurd.

Your fingers tighten around the book, like holding onto an overpriced paperback will somehow restore balance to your rapidly deteriorating world. Your pulse is a problem and your ability to think critically is a casualty. 

You scramble for something, anything, to say, but before your brain can reboot, Spencer is already moving. 

Then just as he disappears into the next aisle, he tosses one final parting shot of his shoulder—

"See you soon, then."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Rain, But No Thunder

Part four of The Rain series

Synopsis: The word gets out about The Prefect's condition after Ramshackle collapsed + Malleus visits The Prefect in the infirmary

TW: Aftermath of The Prefect getting caught under a collapsing Ramshackle, Malleus Cries, Discussions of Death

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (here), Part 5 (coming soon)

The story of what happened was kept relatively under wraps until about a week after when the staff finally had to explain to the students what had hapened.

The newly hired school counselor was swamped after that.

The staff had explained the collapse of Ramshackle, the condition you were in (vaguely as not to cause a panic), and that Professor Crewel would be taking on the role of Acting Headmage for the time being. He'd still be teaching his classes of course, he'd just have to do all the work Crowley had been letting pile up as well (with the help of the rest of the staff, of course).

Despite the attempts made to keep the campus calm, mayhem broke loose. Some of your friends tried to break into the blocked off hallway leading to the old infirmary (they kept you in that one so you could have a calmer environment in which to heal), but were ultimately stopped by Crewel and, surprisingly, Leona.

"D'ya think they'll be able to rest with all of you herbivores making a ruckus in there?"

It took a bit of convincing (and some force), but the mob was quelled.

The campus continued to be a bit more rowdy than usual for a few days, but after those days passed, and the news had time to set in, the campus went silent. Even those who hadn't liked The Prefect shut up in fear of getting pummeled by their many friends and supporters.

The news, of course, leaked outside of the campus after the students were informed. You began receiving gift baskets and flowers not only from your friends at NRC, but also those you'd met from RSA, your friends' families, and so many more people you had met in your time here.

The media found out about the incident pretty quickly as well, but they were barred from entering the school. Any letters they sent you were promptly thrown away or responded to in a manner that told the senders (rather passive aggressively) to leave you alone.

On the 3rd week it was announced that Crowley had officially been fired.

"Hey, Pup." a familiar voice called to you from the doorway.

You could tell by his tone that he was nervous. "I heard the news"

Professor Crewel pales at your scratchy admission. "I-. . .I see."

He crosses the room to sit next to your bed. "Look-"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at all upset, but I think I'm okay."

A moment of silence stretches out between you.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

You no longer need to focus on the ticking of the clock to keep your mind off the pain. It hasn't completely gone away, but you've gotten used to what pain you currently endure.

"I. . .I know you probably saw him as your only way home. . ."

The man trails off, unsure of what to say next and you make no move to alleviate the awkward silence.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

When you do finally speak it's in a soft, barely audible tone "--------------------"

On week 4, you're finally allowed visitors. You're given a list of all the people who signed up saying they wanted to see you and told to sift through it to decide who you do and don't feel up to seeing (the ones you don't, the staff make an excuse on your behalf to avoid hurt feelings). From there, the order they get to see you is decided by the order in which they signed up (you were given an option to pick an order, but you had no real bias).

You were rather surprised by your first visitor. In the doorway to your room loomed none other than Malleus Draconia. The man who was never clued in on events, somehow managed to get his name on your visit sheet first. Needless to say, you were astonished.

"May I enter, Child of Man?" The usually regal and sometimes smug sounding Malleus sounded almost meek when he spoke.

You nodded as a way to tell him to come in and he did so, rather unsteadily. When he got to your bed, he just stood there watching you.

A nod to the chair didn't seem to do anything so you opened your mouth to tell him he could sit down but he stopped you in your tracks when he sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't say a word, and neither did you.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

The whole time he was sitting there all he did was stare. His gaze roamed over your body, but not in a way that was distasteful. He looked at you in a way that made it obvious he was simply assessing and trying to process the state you were in.

"We fae live long lives." he began. "I do expect that I'll have to watch you leave this world and return to your own or see you die someday, but I will not accept it being so soon."

"Nobody can dictate when I'll die-" Not the right thing to say! Not the right thing to say at all!

Clouds rolled in outside and the sky became unnaturally dark. You had seen this before when Malleus got mad, and any moment now, your eardrums would quake at a boom of thunder.

But. . .the thunder never came. The clouds poured buckets of rain, but there was no lightning in sight.

You glanced away from the window and up at Malleus. He was crying.

"I. . .I do not wish to lose you so soon."

That cold feeling you felt a few weeks back returned to your body and you shivered. "Tsuna-. . .Malleus. I don't want to die anytime soon either, but it may very well happen." The sound of rain pelting against the window got a bit louder. "When that day does come, whether it be soon or in the distant future, I don't want you to be sad."

Malleus took one of your bandaged covered hands in his before he spoke "You know I value your happiness dearly, but I'm afraid you may be asking too much of me, Child of Man."

"I guess so. . ." your gruff voice tickled at your throat. You had been speaking too much. However, you put that aside for the time being, "But I would at least like to ask that even when I die, you continue to remember me fondly, and not let my death taint the time we've spent together as friends. I don't like the idea of nobody wanting to remember me. . .but I guess that's kind of selfish-"

"I promise, Child of Man" Malleus cuts you off.

"Thank you."

Tick Tick Tick Tick

"May we please change the subject." Malleus asks softly as we wipes his tears with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

You nod. "So, uh. . .you managed to get your name on the list 1st, huh?"

He gives you a quizzical look as he hands you a glass of water. Guess you weren't doing a very good job at hiding the worsening rasp in your voice. "No. There were many other names on the list when I signed mine. I just wrote mine above all of theirs."

You listen to him talk until the sun has set. He insists you not say another word as not to hurt your throat, so you don't get a chance to ask him about the severe storm that started the day the Staff informed everyone about what happened and raged on for that entire week.

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[fisherrprince]

friends, countrymen. if you feel the urge to go to the chiropractor because your body aches, you do not want a chiropractor, you want a massage.

“but fish” you may say. “that sounds. scary” it’s not. if you really have an aversion to people touching you, at all, ever, maybe this isn’t for you. but a chiropractor isn’t for you either, because they also touch you a lot. In the case that you think you’d be chill with it for an hour, im going to describe in detail more or less what to expect at a massage appointment.

-

why not a chiropractor?

we’re not going to get into it, but a chiropractor tries to put your bones back in alignment. This is functionally useless if your tight muscles are pulling on your bones in the first place! They’ll just go back to being achy and out of alignment within the week. You need to be addressing the root of the problem. a massage may not fix it (sorry. it takes work on your part), but it may help your muscles relax so you can train them to chill out and sit in their correct spots. plus it feels nice. if you feel like you need something more intense, go for a deep pressure therapy massage. it digs into your sore muscles without the danger of a chiropractor.

what does the room look like?

in most cases, when a massage parlor has an official building, the massage room is a small dim-ish room with one massage table, maybe a chair, and some cubbies or cabinets either for the masseuse's tools or for your clothes. there may be decorations, candles, fake candles, little speakers, a mirror, or pillows. the massage table looks like a little twin mattress with a donut pillow sticking out the top and blankets covering the mattress. The table is also usually heated, and you can adjust the heat by asking for it.

what stuff is also there?

smells there are smells in there, usually woody, floral, or natural scents like cedar, eucalyptus, lavender, chamomile, or peppermint. sometimes you get to choose your smells. if there's a smell you don't like (eg lavender, which makes me sneeze), politely ask not to use that one. very few massage parlors have no smells at all, but I've found that most places aren't nearly as overwhelming as, say, a bath and body works, which sucks to be in.

music or nature sounds. think stereotypical soft spa music. I've never encountered a situation where the music bothered me, but you can also request to change it.

lotions and/or oils they go on your body, because rubbing your hands against your skin for a long time without a buffer irritates your skin! they are where most of the smells comes from, if there's not a diffuser in the room. again, if a smell is bad, politely request to not use that smell. the oils may also get in your hair or on your underclothes, if you keep them on.

warm things sometimes the masseuse will use warm things, like warm towels or warm rocks, on you. they're usually nice in the same way a hot tub is nice - a little hot at first, and then warm. if they use a warm towel, it's probably going on your feet or back or neck. warm rocks will usually go on your back. I've never encountered warm rocks but they're in the promo pictures so, i suppose you'd need to do something other than a deep pressure therapy massage to get warm rocks.

some talking at the beginning, the masseuse may instruct you to take some deep breaths and relax, like the beginning of a meditation. she will usually not keep talking the entire time unless you're talkative. I often fall asleep.

what am I expected to do?

you'll enter the room, the masseuse will ask you what you want her to focus on, and she'll leave for a few minutes to let you undress. You can undress to your comfort level, but I usually at least decide to go topless, because it helps them reach my back better and my upper back hurts. once you're as comfortable as you can be, slide in under the blankets (both blankets if there's two) on the table and leave only your head poking out. if she doesn't tell you to start on your back or stomach, pick one, doesn't often matter.

you are fully expected to let her know at the beginning if there are areas you don't want her touching, and you're expected to let her know if she's going too hard or too gentle on your muscles. her goal is your comfort and relief!

then what happens?

chillax for a while. the masseuse will move around the table, addressing your muscles bit by bit. usually, they'll start with a scalp massage, and then move down. aside from massaging you, she will often move your limbs around, tuck the blanket around you, or put things like rolled towels or pillows under you at times. you are just supposed to lay there, relax, and let her do so.

good massage feels like anywhere from a nice backrub to that good sore you feel poking a bruise or moving after working out real hard. it should not actively hurt -- let him know it hurts if it does.

what do I do after?

when she leaves the room to let you redress, do that, and then go meet her in the lobby to pay her (if you haven't already) or for a brief touch base. if this is like, a fancy resort massage, they'll have a whole dressing room you're supposed to go back to, so you won't see your masseuse again. he's probably washing up.

drink water! often they'll give you some water afterwards. It's because loosening your tight muscles opens them up to water your body wants to give them anyways, so you might get a little dehydrated.

eat a snack with vitamins in it, like nuts or fruit. if you had a massage that really beat you up (I asked for this a few times while recovering from an injury), take an advil too. Normally, you won't need pain reliever even a little bit.

if it was nice, leave a little tip.

miscellaneous tips

if this is your first time, go for the shortest option so you can see if you like it or not. often, they'll have a first time client discount.

don't be afraid to fall asleep or snore or anything. they don't care.

they also shouldn't care about your body type. To be polite, take a shower at least the night before going in, but I guarantee they couldn't care less about what you look like, only that your muscles are stiff.

don't be too annoyed if you asked for neck and shoulders and the masseuse is hanging out at your feet. remember to specify exactly what you want at the beginning, but your muscles are all connected, and your legs are probably tight too.

try to find an independent company. massage envy might be good for a first attempt if you're worried about them pushing too hard, but they aren't as good or personalized as some guy who's been doing this for 40 years.

when you lay on your stomach, stick your face in the donut pillow in a way that lets your face stick out the hole, but try not to line the middle of your neck up with the edge of the bed. it's a little uncomfy.

you are fully within your rights to wear a mask during your massage.

please tell them your allergies! especially if it's to coconut oil!

[divineturtle]

Bothers me when I'm reading a fanfic and they make Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy just like. A mean asshole? MY Doctor McCoy introduced Spock to baby talk. MY Doctor McCoy bounces on his toes and has a smile bright as the sun. MY Doctor McCoy knocked Kirk *and* Spock out with a hypo to sacrifice himself for them even though the aliens said he was almost for sure going to die, and the other two would probably live. MY Doctor McCoy was like, hey, sure Spock committed mutiny, but do we really gotta arrest him? Yeah he's grumpy sometimes, but have you considered the fact that he's stuck on a ship in Space with two assholes that literally never listen?

I just watched the Abraham Lincoln episode and I stg it's a miracle McCoy isn't actually a huge asshole, because wym "this planet WAS deadly but Abraham Lincoln says it's cool so we're going" "hey, don't do that, you could beam down into lava and literally DIE" "Ugh shut UP McCoy we're following Abraham Lincoln onto the Lava Planet That WAS ENTIRELY LAVA until two minutes ago" dude I'd be swinging at a mfer. Especially if I was their doctor knowing it was going to be my job to sew them back together. They're absolute menaces to him and he still loves them and is willing to die for them every other episode.

And I don't ever want to see another "ahh he hates Spock" when he so obviously does not. In the last episode, he wasn't even sure that Kirk and Janice had swapped bodies and yet again, he was ready to commit mutiny with Spock and Scotty (why does Spock love mutiny? 🤨) He does like to rib Spock and get reactions out of him, but Spock likes to do it to McCoy just as much. He's been around humans his ENTIRE life, his mom is a human, he's half human, "I have no idea what you mean, Doctor, I'm just a simple little logic machine," you cannot convince me it's not a game.

And every time I feel like McCoy is being hurtful for actually no reason, the next scene is Spock taking action because of whatever McCoy had said and allowing himself to tap into that human part of him. He has a way of speaking Spock. It's not always nice but it's a way that gets through. Do you think asking Spock to use his Vulcan powers to permanently alter his friend and captain's memory so he forgets his grief over this chick he fell desperately for and then also she died in the span of like four hours is a great idea? No, he'd probably have some moral or logical issues with that. but just speech at him about love and feelings and stuff, throw something in there about how great it'd be if he could just forget, and he'll do it himself.

ANOTHER THING. When he's an asshole, he apologizes. He's not an asshole often, but when he is, he apologizes. Leonard McCoy is a lot of things, but he's not really a dick.

I think he deserves to be represented for the guy he is. He has SO many nice and good moments, he's just subtle about them. Remember when Kirk was like, "Bones, why didn't you tell me she was blind?" And he was like, "Idk Jim maybe because that'd be rude? Have you considered it's not your business?" REAL. Honestly, real.

This is a much longer rant than I meant for it to be and somehow I still have more I could say so imma cut myself off right here ❤️ If you read all that, thanks, you're just as weird as I am, even if you don't agree with my lil character analysis. If you didn't read all that, then you're not reading this ✨️

[mattybsgroupie]

— talking matt through his first orgasm over the phone

★ requested by anon ★

“matt? are you there?” you asked when you noticed matt had suddenly gotten quiet, his hums and nods no longer being heard. “uh, yes yes i’m listening” he mumbled, but his voice sounded further away, as if he had placed his phone somewhere else. you could hear him shuffling around the sheets, his breath getting heavier as he expected you to continue talking.

“what are you doing?” you said in a low tone, hearing matt coughing. “n-nothing, i’m just— i’m getting ready to sleep, that’s all” matt answered, lowering his head against the pillow, trying to get more comfortable as he placed the phone on his own chest. you knew exactly what he was doing — but you needed to hear it from him. “are you touching yourself, matt?” you ask and he suddenly chokes, coughing in discomfort.

“answer. me.” you demand. he never heard you like that before, your voice still soft while spitting mean words. this only made his cock twitch inside his fist, a muffled moan coming from his parted lips. “you’re a naughty, naughty boy”

“‘m sorry!” matt managed to speak, raising his forearm and putting it across his face in a way to hide his lewd expression. he covered his eyes, thinking it was your hand wrapped around his cock, lazily stroking it. “i-i… i need you to keep talking, please”

“give me one good fucking reason, matt. one reason why i should keep talking while you jerk that tiny cock of yours” you hear a loud whine coming from the speaker, as if he was about to cry. you couldn’t help but chuckle at his desperation, wondering how flushed his cheeks would look. you knew he was dripping sweat, his long, slender fingers probably rubbing his slit as he pumped his length — and you were the only thing on his mind. “because” matt started, taking a deep breath. “because i never… never did this before”

“phone sex?” you ask, and he whines again. he was so frustrated. “no!” matt mumbled, a pout forming on his lips. “n-never… came”. you got startled at his confession, adjusting your position in bed, a smirk unwittingly forming on your lips. “you’ve never had an orgasm baby? is that what you’re telling me?”

you can’t see it, but matt nods. “call me that again, please” he pleads, small whimpers coming from the back of his throat. he wanted to be your baby. “aw, is that why you’re so whiny, baby? my little virgin boy never came? not even inside his pants?”

“h-have” he continues. you can now clearly hear the sound of his wetness taking over, the pre-cum oozing from his tip making his cock slippery. “but only… in dreams” matt confesses, causing you to smile at his innocence. “and then you wake up all sticky, baby?”

matt hums through the speaker, his whimpers turning into moans as he approached his high. “do you feel that thing on your tummy sweetie? that’s when you know you’re close” you instruct him, and matt instantly answers. “c-close” he says, not sure when to stop.

“so let it all out yeah?” you coo, feeling your own heat getting harder to ignore, the wetness from your pussy leaving a spot on your panties. “cum for me” was all you needed to say to hear matt’s cries, a loud groan taking over your earphones as he orgasmed for the first time. spams took over his body and his phone suddenly fell, his screen hitting against the wooden floor. you patiently waited as he recovered, chuckling when he got his phone back. “felt good?” you asked, knowing he was smiling on the other side. “you definitely gotta teach me more things”.

[justmeinadaze]

Curiosity (Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: When I tell you that this did things to me...omg.

I was going to do a one shot but there's a few stories to tell with this two (and I love them already so bleh!)

There is a small glimpse into future steddie activity ;)

I dedicate this to the older girlies looking for their own Eddie Munson <3

Warnings: Younger (Early 20s) Daddy (kinda camboy) Eddie & Older (early 30s) Plus Size Sub Fem Y/N, SMUT, SO MUCH dirty talk <3, daddy kink (cause I'm me), praise, semi-public (back of his van), big dick Eddie Munson, squirting, etc. FLUFF, these two work together and talk about being each others "work spouses".

ANGST, Y/N stumbles upon Eddie's "second job" on OnlyFans, struggles with the notion of telling him, reader (like myself) makes jokes about being older, weight doesn't play a factor in here and its barely mentioned. Eddie does say how beautiful and sexy he thinks her body is. I think that's it.

The main angst here is her stumbling onto his account and not telling him.

Word Count: 7874

Donate to Me <3

"Yeah, she's got those pretty eyes

But behind them lies

Thoughts of him at night she can't seem to fight

Feelings that she knows she's gonna have to feed"

You hated call center work but it paid alright and it was something you could do while you worked towards your goals of becoming something more. While the work and customers were tedious, the environment wasn’t too bad. Your manager was a sweet girl a little younger than you and the company did a bit more for its employees than the typical “You did well this quarter. Here’s a pizza party.”

Your head falls on to your desk as you hang up the phone after one of the rudest customer experiences in your life. 

A slight draw back was, like your manager, a lot of the coworkers around you were younger, ranging from just graduating high school to their mid-twenties. Listening to most of these kids talk made you feel old as hell which is part of the reason you connected to the boy on the opposite side of your cubicle. 

While Eddie Munson was in his early twenties, he had a slightly older soul. When he wasn’t talking to you or anyone else, he had hair metal playing in his headphones and even had that long, wild hair to match. He talked about things you remembered growing up with fondly as if he was born around the same time and when you questioned him about it, he just said he was “raised right.”

“Fun chat?”, he teased as he leaned back in his seat.

“Exciting!”, you mumbled into your arm that your head was resting on. 

Eddie’s warm laugh filled your ears as his palm extended out to rub your back. 

“I know, sweetheart. These fucking people can be real pricks sometimes.”

“Edward Munson.”

“Mrs. Angela.”

“Language. Just because you aren’t on the phone doesn’t mean people can’t hear you on the other end.”

You laughed as you sat up, meeting his radiate grin as he chuckles. 

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Angela. I apologize for the foul mouth I was born with.”

Your manager mumbles a soft mhmm and he continues to smile as he leans in closer to speak at a much softer volume. 

“Don’t let these people walk all over you. Remember, they need your help.”, he winks before lightly poking your nose. 

As the day came to a close and you both walked out together, you asked him what his plans were for the evening and he responded the same way he always did. 

“Um, probably going to put in some hours at my second job. I want to put in more recording time this weekend and the fucking manager at the studio is demanding we put down payments before we can use the equipment. It’s fucking stupid. I mean it’s not like we’re taking the stuff home.”

“One day, you’ll have to let me hear you play.”, you smile his way as you throw your things into your car. 

“And one day you’ll finally accept my invitation to come see us play on stage.”, he grins as he opens your car door and rests his chin on the top while he watches you put your things away. 

“I think I’m too old to be hanging out in a bar.”, you giggle. 

“Says who? Definitely not me because if I met a pretty lady like you at The Hideout she’d never go home alone again.”

Eddie’s smile widens and he sticks out his tongue through his teeth as you roll your eyes. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, weirdo.”

“Bye, babe.”

After he closed your door, your eyes followed him as he pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit the end on his way to his van. 

He really was a good man and utterly adorable. People in the office called him your work husband which gave you secondhand embarrassment till he himself began playing into the role. 

“Hey now Mrs. Angela, don’t talk to my work wife that way. Don’t worry, baby girl, I got your back.”, he joked with the manager as he slid his arm around your shoulders. 

Eddie made you laugh constantly and when you had a hard day, he was your sound board allowing you to vent. A part of you felt guilty because he seemed to know more about you than you did about him besides the fact that he wanted to be a rockstar. 

You genuinely did want to hang out with him outside of work but the insecure part of you couldn’t help but always wonder why he’d even want to spend his free time with someone your age when he could be giving his attention to any of the slimmer, more attractive women his own age. 

The sound of him slamming his car door brought you back into the moment as you pushed your gear into reverse and sped to your home. 

***

“Hey, can I use your laptop to watch a movie in bed?”, you ask your roommate as her heels click along the floor behind where you were sitting on the sofa. 

“Seriously? That’s what you’re doing with your Thursday night?”

“Relaxing after a long day at the office? Yes, Kelsey.”

“Why don’t you go out on a date or something?”

“So is that a yes or…?”

Your roommate sighs as she scurries somewhere before she wiggles the device in your peripherals and you thank her. 

“Don’t judge me when you open it. I was watching this sexy guy on Only Fans. Hot damn.”, she swooned making you laugh as she quickly hugged you and hurried towards the door. “I love you! Don’t wait up for me!”

Shaking your head, you take her laptop and throw yourself on your mattress as you flip it open. 

Images of cute people caught your attention and you couldn’t stop yourself as you nonchalantly began to browse. You had never signed up for one of these let alone really knew anything about the platform besides the obvious. You weren’t a prude by any means, you had just never gone down avenues like this.

There were probably millions of people on this site… so the chances of your eyes landing on a face you knew had to be astronomical.

Yet as you clicked a “featured” link, a face you very much recognized appeared front and center. 

Eddie or as the name read, EddietheBanished, was smirking up at the camera with his upper torso bare showing off all the muscle you were completely unaware he had.

You should have let it go; respected his boundaries and closed the browser but it was like autopilot moved you as you clicked his link.

There he was.

The metalhead was sitting at a desk in what you assumed was his bedroom with his head hanging and hair in front of his face as he strummed his guitar. Shaking his mane, his gorgeous eyes met the camera before that sexy smile painted his lips. 

“I see a lot of new ‘faces.’ Welcome. I’m a nice guy I swear. I’ll be getting started here in a minute so take your time, relax, get comfy.”

You immediately backed out and slammed the computer shut, powerwalking into your kitchen to get a glass of wine. 

“No, no Y/N. He’s your friend and your coworker. Don’t invade that boundary. Don’t…”

As you took a sip of your beverage, you glared at the device that felt like it was taunting you from your bed. 

“Maybe…I can make my own account and just…see what he does. Maybe he just plays guitar without his shirt on. People do that right?”

Sitting back down, you reopened the laptop and logged out of your roommates account, selecting to create your own. 

“Name…name…I need a name…”

Um CurvyCorporateMillennial.

“God that’s dumb.”, you sigh at your internal thought as you upload a picture of a random flower as your profile pic and search for his name after you set everything set up. 

“Alright, friends, you know the drill. You get an hour to ask me questions and tip if you wish. The private group session will begin after.”

Over the course of the hour, you listened to him talk about music and his instrument, strumming along to random songs you definitely recognized, making you smile as you watched his fingers moved. Eddie was incredibly charming, replying off every innuendo with something cute or sassy in return. You enjoyed the regular answers more than anything as he came out of his shell a bit differently than he did at work. 

“Yeah, a lot of these tattoos I got because I had the money and I wanted it.”, he chuckled. “But this one here… I got for Master of Puppets and that album. Do you guys know who sings that?”

“Metallica.”

“Damn…CurvyCorporateMillennial answered that quick. Good girl.”, he chuckles making you smirk before you internally panic. 

“Shit. How am I the only one who answered that, that fast?”

“My mom and my uncle really loved all kinds of music. Inspired me to learn to play…”, he sighed as his eyes went a bit glassy. 

Your heart broke for him as you listened to the sad tone in his voice, wondering if something happened there. He never talked about his parents but to be fair you also never asked. 

“You play very well.”

A soft smile spread across his lips as he winked at the camera causing you to bite your own lip at how fucking sexy the action genuinely was. 

“Alright, we’re nearing the end of this hour. It was nice talkin’ to you guys. To my special group, I will see you in about five minutes. I hope to see you there to, Millennial.”

With that he turned off his stream, leaving you dumbfounded as you stared at your screen. 

“No…there’s no way he was talking to me. There have to other people with Millennial in their name… Y/N, you’ve been here long enough and you even engaged. You need to back away now.”

The entire time you went on the hunt for your credit card, you had that debate with yourself, down to the last minute and point you hit enter. 

When the new room opened, he was smiling at the camera as if he had been waiting just for you before they flicked down to the monitor in front of him. Instead of having a guitar in his lap, the metalhead displayed his palm absently rubbing his crotch through his sweats.

“Hey, guys. Thank you for your time and money. This is where the conversation gets fun.”, Eddie chuckles. “Ask away.”

“I shouldn’t be here.”

You can’t see anything displayed on the screen but you can see the reflection of words glisten within his chocolate eyes. 

“Aha, no. No, Steve tonight. I did ask but he said he’s incredibly busy this week…Ok, JulieGirl, I’ll let him know you miss him. Shit, I miss him to. Man definitely knows how to leave me a mumbling mess… Yeah? You’d sit on Daddy’s cock?”

“F-Fuck me.”, you panted, completely frozen as you watched him reach into his pants and take out his dick to spit over his tip, stroking it along his shaft. 

You had never thought about Eddie intimately like that but seeing him wrap his large palm around his girth had your pussy clenching around nothing. 

“Fuck, no, wrong!”, you shout as you close the browser and slam the laptop closed. 

##################

“Hey, sweetheart.”, Eddie murmured while his hand rubbed along your back as he flopped down in his seat beside you. This was an action he did everyday which is why he was startled when you gasped and jumped in your chair. “Whoa! You alright, honey? Too much coffee?”, he joked, nervous when you didn’t laugh.

“I’m fine.”, you replied curtly, choosing to focus on your computer in front of you. 

For the rest of the day, you avoided his gaze and kept your head down to work. During your lunch you two would usually sit together but today when he asked if you wanted to go anywhere, you declined and gestured towards your monitor.  

As soon as he clocked out, you waited for him to exit the floor, clocking out as well before following. You hid when you noticed him waiting for the elevator, counting to 30 after he got on and the door closed before pressing the button to ride your own. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as you prayed you’d miss him coming back in, your eyes widening in surprise when the elevator door opened and Eddie was leaning against the opposite wall. 

“Hey, um, oh fuck. I forgot something—”

As the doors began to close again, the metalhead took long strides forward and his palm loudly smacked against the bumpers causing them to slowly open once more. 

“Did I do something to make you mad?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Did I say something or do something to offend you?”

“Pfft, Eddie, what are talking about?”, you reply as nonchalantly as possible while stepping around his broad frame and heading for the parking lot. 

“Oh, come off it, Y/N. You’ve barely said two words to me and now you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you—”

“Just tell me what I did wrong—!”, he shouts as he reaches for your bicep to get you to slow down but pauses when you abruptly turn and glare his way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…grab you… I just…I don’t like this…you treating me like most of the people in this fucking town.”

“Huh?”, you inquire, genuinely confused. 

“Shit. I forget you’re not from here sometimes. Um, let’s just say I don’t have many friends. I know we don’t really hang out outside of the building but I like talking to you. It would seriously break my heart if you never spoke to me again.”

Your own heart cracked hearing the sincerity in his voice as his gaze shifted to his feet like a nervous kid. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or anything. I’m just…I have a lot on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”, he asks. “As your work husband it’s my duty to hear about my work wife’s woos.” As you laugh at his joke, a sigh of relief leaves his chest. 

“No, I’ll be alright.”

“Ok…may I buy you lunch, my lady?”

***

You exhaled as you got home and threw yourself flat on your bed, exhausted from the day and your constant thoughts about what you had seen the night before. 

You considered just telling him what you saw but you didn’t want to embarrass him nor did you want to come off like some kind of pervert. You knew he had a “second job” but you never asked what it was mostly because you didn’t want to pry. 

He seemed so hurt today when you ignored him and it didn’t help that you were now pent up, needing a release after hearing him talk the way he had. 

Your phone dinged and originally you ignored it, thinking it was most likely your roommate who was letting you know that she got to work safely like she always did being that she worked a late-night shift at one of the restaurants nearby. 

When you finally looked at the screen, you were surprised to see a notification from the OnlyFans account. 

Your private session with EddietheBanished starts in five minutes.

“Huh? I didn’t…”

Once again you debated with you internal self as you got to your feet and headed to grab your roommate’s device. 

“I can log in and just tell him ‘Hey it’s Y/N. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have clicked on your thing…’ Yeah…Ok, Y/N.”

As soon as you opened the browser and signed in, you made sure the camera was off as you entered the session link sent to you. 

“Hey, Millennial.”, Eddie’s sultry voice cooed as he smiled at the screen. “I hope it’s alright. I scheduled this session here. I noticed you left the group thing before it really started and since you paid for it, I thought it only fair to do this so you don’t feel like you wasted your money.”

Your face softened at his kind confession as you sighed and began to type. 

“You didn’t have to do that. You seem very sweet. I wouldn’t have felt like I wasted my money at all.”

“Aw, thank you, sweetheart. I appreciate that. May I ask why you left so abruptly?”

“I…”

“It felt wrong.”

The metalhead blinked as he nodded and leaned back in his chair as his palm absently rubbed his tummy, the action in itself filling your own stomach with little butterflies. 

“You’re not an OnlyFans normal, are you, honey?”

“Not really no. I was borrowing my roommate’s laptop and when I opened it I saw your face. I got curious.”

“It’s alright to be curious. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I seem to be unintentionally doing that.”, he chuckles causing your head to tilt. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about my problems.”

“No, please. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just… I work at this boring ass job during the day but the only person that keeps me sane seemed upset at me today…kinda scared me. My coworkers call her my work wife.” 

“I’m sure she just had a lot on her mind.”

“Hm, that’s what she said but…she doesn’t really talk to me about her personal life. I hope everything is ok. I invite her out sometimes but she always declines…says she’s ‘too old’.”, he laughs as he shakes his head. 

The two of you casually talked for what felt like minutes before you glanced at your phone and realized it had actually been over four hours. Eddie opened up to you, talking about his family especially his uncle, his dreams of being a rock & roll legend, and things he enjoyed like D & D. 

“I know absolutely nothing about that game! Lol. I wish I did though. It seems like fun.”

“Oh, baby, it is. Maybe you’ll let me teach you one day…see that pretty face behind the flower…”

“Pfft, how do you know my face is pretty? Lol.”

“Because how can a gorgeous soul like yours not be gorgeous.”

Eddie’s words gave you pause as your breath caught in your throat. He had said it with so much confidence to that you couldn’t help but physically hide behind your hands.

“I hope I’m not being too forward. I don’t mean to make you nervous or anything.”

“No…you don’t make me nervous…I think you’re just wasting that charm on someone my age.”

“Hm, well, I may be younger but I can still be Daddy.”

As he winks at the camera and smiles your whole body comes to life. 

“Eddie…there’s something I should tell you…”

“Did I move to fast? I’m sorry. It’s so weird but I feel like I’ve known you for years, you know? Fuck, probably sounds like a line.”

His hair moves from side to side as he shakes him head in shame and laughs making you laugh along with him. 

“It does but that’s alright. I’ve never done anything like this before. Not just the whole online thing but…the Daddy thing… God, that sounds so stupid.”

“No, no, baby, you don’t sound stupid. May I ask, sweetheart…did you like it?”

“Like what?”

“Hearing me refer to myself that way; as Daddy.”

“Yes.”

Eddie’s smile stretches across his face as he bites his bottom lip and leans back in his seat. 

“I wish I could see you. I’m picturing you like blushing and being all giggly. Fuck, the thought of seeing you like that turns me on.”

Your breath shakes at his words as your thighs rub together. 

“You’ve spent so much time talking and getting to know me, baby, I’d like to return the favor.”

“How?”

Scooting his chair a bit closer to the camera, he adjusts his body so you can see more of his lap and chest. 

“How’s this, sweetheart? Got a good view?”

“I can’t see your face very well.”

You vaguely catch it as his cheeks turn a bright crimson and he smirks as he messes with the camera once more so you can see all his face a bit better. 

“Most people on here want to see my abs or my cock.”

“With partners, I like seeing their eyebrows scrunch together or their mouth fall open.”

“Hear that whimper most men try to hide under their heavy breaths.”

“Fuck me, honey. You definitely have a way with words. I like it. What, um, damn, you threw me a bit off my groove there.”, he chuckles as his palm rubs up his pec and over his opposite shoulder. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Maybe…we can talk next weekend. I can schedule the session myself this time. 

“Would it be too forward if I asked for your phone number? I’d love to talk with you through the week.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Eddie.”

“Sweet dreams, baby girl.”

####################

You tried so many times to tell him about finding his account and how you were the girl he spoke with that Friday night, you really did. But the longer you waited, the harder it became. 

When he came in that Monday morning, Eddie had a different glow about him as he lightly tugged your hair and said hello. 

The week went by like normal and you spent every day hyping yourself up, finally deciding you would tell him on Saturday after surprising him by seeing him play at The Hideout. You figured he’d be in such a good mood that you showed up to see him, maybe he wouldn’t be so angry after you told him the truth. 

When you opened the bar entrance door, you were met with loud blaring music and a lot of young voices chatting over the music. Mumbling small apologies, you pushed past people to find a table near the stage hoping you’d be able to catch his eyeline so Eddie knew you were there. 

Lucky for you, they were already on stage preparing their equipment so you hastily snuck to the corner and called his name. When his chocolate eyes met yours, he smiled wide before seeming to freeze as he took you in. 

You weren’t sure what was normal for bar attire so you went with a green spaghetti strap dress with matching heels and light make up to accentuate your features. 

“Hey! I hope I’m not distracting you. I just wanted you to know—”

“Hey, no. No, no. You’re not…distracting me…”, Eddie interrupted as he jumped down from the stage to give you a hug. 

Fuck, he smelled amazing.

“Wow, sweetheart, you look gorgeous. I’ve never seen you in a dress before.”

“I wasn’t sure what was normal or…”

“Pfft, fuck normal.” As his eyes continued to run along your face, you both seemed to realize he hadn’t taken his arms off your waist after your embrace. “Fuck…I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s been going on with me lately. Usually, I’m a lot smoother than this.”

“Are you?”, you tease causing his grin to reappear as he takes a step back and pokes your nose. 

“There’s my work wife I know and love. Alright, I have to finish getting ready but please stay afterward and let me buy you a drink, ok?”

***

“Eddie, oh my God, you were amazing! I didn’t know you could play like that!”, you continued to compliment as he laughed, chugging back another bottle of beer in his grasp.

“Thank you, baby. Now, if you could advocate for us to get more record time so we can actually get something out.”

“Whatever you need. Do you have a shirt or maybe I can get a tattoo on my forehead.”

You giggle as he laughs and shakes his head. 

“No, Y/N. Would be a shame to damage a gorgeous face like yours.”, Eddie smirks as you bite your lip. 

“So, did your mom teach you to play guitar like that or did your uncle?”

The metalhead blinks, slightly taken aback. 

“What would make you say that? My mom or my uncle and not like my dad?”

“Oh, um, we’ve talked about your uncle before and you’ve never really mentioned your father so I just assumed… I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry.”, he sighs as his gaze shifts to the table.  “My mom got me into music but my uncle taught me to play my guitar. My dad taught me other bullshit like how to hot wire a car and how to spend the rest of your life in prison.”

Your heart breaks for him and on impulse you lean your head on his shoulder as you place your palm over his.

“Yeah, this is why I don’t usually talk about myself.”

“You can always talk to me, Eddie.”

The man smiles softly as he lifts his arm to wrap around your shoulders and pull you closer to his side. 

“I’m glad you came, Y/N. It was nice seeing you out here bobbing your head and cheering for me.”

You laugh as he tilts his head against yours and his hand slides from your shoulder down your bicep. 

“I’m your wife. I thought it was about time to come see my husband play his loud records for the youngens.”

Eddie’s throat vibrates as he chuckles through his teeth but you barely notice as you nuzzle your nose into his neck and inhale the smell of his cologne. 

“You always talk like you were born in 1943 or something.”

“Psh, my body makes me feel that way sometimes.”

“Now why do I doubt that? With a body like yours, honey, I bet you feel better than any of these other girls.”

Leaning your head back, your eyes lock with his as your hand comes up to rest on his cheek so your thumb can caress his bottom lip. 

Just as his mouth is about to press to yours, you gasp as you push away from him. 

“Oh my God…Eddie…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

As he watches you panic, confusion floods his face and freezes him in place until you hurriedly push out the front door. Before you make it to your car, a ringed palm grabs your arm, pushing your back against an adjacent van as he crashes his lips to yours. 

It was a messy kiss but fuck did it taste fucking good. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he allowed you both a moment to catch your breath as his tall, broad frame kept you boxed in.

“Please, Y/N. I want this…I want you…I want to feel you…”, Eddie whispered as his mouth ghosted your neck to your ear and your eyes rolled shut at the sound. “I want to taste you and hear all the noises you make, baby.”

“F-Fuck…Daddy…”

“Uh my God.”, he breathily panted as his hand absently reached for the door handle and opened the back. “It’s ok…this is mine…I promise.”

The metalhead didn’t even wait for a response as he lifted you by your waist and placed you inside, shutting the door behind him. 

As you crawled backwards further into the back of his van, he hastily climbed up your body to attach his mouth to yours again. Placing his knee between your legs, you took advantage desperate for friction to relieve the ache making you dizzy with need. 

“That’s it, baby girl, use Daddy’s leg. Fuck, I can feel how wet you are.”

Your fists grabbed at his shirt as you moaned against his lips. 

“Are you gonna cum, sweetheart? What a desperate little thing.”

The rhythm of your hips hastened as your grip on him tightened and your back arched as the coil snapped. 

“Good, good girl. Fuck.”

As his mouth attached to your throat, your fingers reached between you two and sloppily fumbled with his belt as he reached back to help you pull his pants just below his ass. 

“Holy shit.”, he whispered as your palm took hold of his incredibly hard cock and moved the cotton blocking your core to the side to allow him entry. “Fuck, baby.”

Your arms came around to cling to his shoulders as his head fell into your nook and he set a steady pace.

“Oh my God, Eddie…your dick is so big…” He grunted at your words as he rolled his hips, pushing his length as deep as your pussy would allow and then some. “I’ve never…I’ve had anyone so… fuck…”

“Tell me, honey, please.” When you don’t immediately respond, he lifts his head to kiss you. “You can do it, beautiful.”

“I-I’ve never had anyone so deep.”

“Fuck, baby girl. Tell Daddy how you want me to make you cum again. Do you want it slow?”, he asks as he gradually pulls all the way back till it’s just his tip before thrusting back into you. “Or do you want it fast and hard?”

“Faster, please.”, you beg as you wrap your legs around his waist.

Eddie does what you ask, his head falling again as he roughly pounds into your cunt. Your fingers tangle in his hair and his own palm slides behind your back, holding you to him as your body trembles and your pussy squeezes him like a vice as you cum. 

“Shit…good, baby. Fuck, you choke my dick when you cum…so fucking tight…where do you want my cum, honey.”

“In-Inside, Eddie, please.”

He started to lift his head to make sure you were sure, but your hand kept him against your throat as you rolled your hips to meet his eliciting a loud grunt from him as his mouth fell open.

His whole frame collapsed on top of you as his pace faltered and you felt his release paint your walls. The strangled groan followed by his heavy pants were the sexiest things you had ever heard and as you lazily turned to look at his face his mouth was waiting. 

Compared to his other kisses, this one was much more tender. 

A soft kiss between two people who had known each other and been friends for a long time. When he pulled back, his chocolate eyes met your irises as his fingers caressed your cheek. 

After a few moments, he silently pulled out of you, kissing your forehead when you winced before crawling towards his glove box and rifling through it. 

“Shit. I thought I had tissues… Ok, um, let me grab some napkins real quick from inside and then…if you’re up to it…maybe we can go to the diner and have some dinner…talk?”

You nod, smiling as he fumbles with his own pants and belt while almost falling out of his van before catching himself on the door. 

“Fucking shit! Uh, I swear I’m more, uh, graceful than that…ok, I’ll be right back.”

################

Eddie was an absolute gentleman that night; taking you to dinner where you got to know him a bit better. Afterward, he drove you home and walked you to your door with a smile that you returned with a soft kiss. 

After closing your door, you looked through the peephole to find him beaming wide before throwing his hands in the air in victory and heading back to this car. 

You dreamt about his arms around you and thought about him all morning, the subtle soreness between your legs a constant reminder. 

“Hey. Just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you and I hope you’re feeling ok. I have to work tonight for a bit but maybe after I can call and we can talk?”

You smiled at his text before the realization hit you that his “work” was the website and he still had no idea you were one of the accounts he was talking to. As if to emphasis that a point, a notification flashed on your screen reminding you that you had a session scheduled with Eddie the Banished later that evening. 

Opening the computer, you sat there preparing your speech and apology, ready to tell him everything but when his face illuminated your screen it gave you pause. Before when you saw him online, he usual had on just sweats or boxers but this time he was wearing a long sleeve shirt with a Dio album on the front. 

Still donning black sweats, he had his hair pulled up and out of his face making you smile. 

“Hey, sweetheart. I hope it’s ok but I need your advice.”

“You want my advice?”

“Yeah. You seem incredibly smart and with our last conversation I know you’re easy to talk to.”

As Eddie grinned nervously, you couldn’t help but blush as your fingers flew along the keyboard.

“How can I help?”

“Ok, so I was playing my show last night and this girl…woman…I work with finally showed up to see me. I’ve been asking her for months to come and each time she said she couldn’t for one reason or another. Usually because she said she was ‘to old’.”, he laughs, rolling his eyes. “She’s not. She’s probably the same age as you since she’s a Millennial to but anyway… I loved seeing her come out of her shell, you know? She danced in her seat and headbanged; it was so fucking cute.”

As his smile grew at the thought you bit your bottom lip at the sight. 

“After the show, things got…intimate… and, um, so I guess my question is…how do I tell her about this?”, he asks as he gestures towards his computer and camera. “I don’t want her to think I’m like…a whore or something. I do this for the money because call centers pay their fucking employees jack shit. Add in the fact that I still kind of need to do it because my band and I are SO close to finishing this record but I don’t want her to be uncomfortable or feel like I’m cheating or something. I’m not my dad… I don’t fucking know…”

“Honey.”, you type as he covers his face with his palms. “Breathe. It’s ok. The fact that you’re even thinking of all this I’m sure will mean a lot to her. Eddie, I have to tell you something.”

“I just don’t want to lose her. No one has ever made me feel the way she does. At work I get a glimpse of what a relationship with her would be like and I love it. She’s so funny and sweet. Whenever she’s frustrated, her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk and she sighs like she wants to throw her computer out the window. When she smiles, the entire room lights up. She’s so beautiful, you have no idea.”

“Have you told her any of this?”

“Before last night I didn’t think I stood a chance. In my hometown, people don’t exactly like me. The Munson name carries a lot of weight because of my dad. He conned so many people here and add in the fact that I grew up in a trailer… they see me as trash. It would kill me if she saw me the same way. 

“No, Eddie. She would never think that.”

“Then she makes jokes a lot about her age and sometimes I get worried that she’d see me as like a kid or something. I’m highly aware that a man her own age could probably give her way more than I ever could but… I don’t know. Maybe if she can call me Daddy like she did…she can see me as someone who can take care of her because I will, honey. I don’t care what I have to do.”

“Sounds like you already know what you have to do :). Just talk to her, baby. She… she may surprise you herself.”

“She surprised the hell out of me last night. When she called me Daddy, I almost fucking came in my jeans. I’m sorry. Don’t mean to be crude.”, he grins as he sticks out his tongue towards the camera. 

“It’s ok lol So it was good? The intimacy?”

Eddie’s gaze shifts off camera as his teeth drag along his bottom lip. 

“We’re friends right?”

“Of course.”

“It was the best I’ve ever had, Millennial. Fuck, her lips tasted amazing. I can only imagine what her pussy tastes like. Shit… It happened so fast I wasn’t able to take my time with her but next time… I’m going take her on a date Friday if she says yes. I want to take her to dinner and really make her feel special. She deserves that. Then I’m going to explore her gorgeous body till she’s begging me to stop.”

 Your thighs rubbed together at his words as that similar ache between your legs lit a fire in your belly. 

Without thinking about it, you grabbed your phone and texted his number. 

“Eddie when will you be free??”

Instantly, you heard vibration on his side of the stream and watched as he leaned forward to grab his device. As he smiled down at the screen, you felt your need for him rise as you watched his long, thick fingers fly along the phone’s keyboard. 

What is it about this man that has you feeling like this?

“I can be free now. Why? Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…”

“Do you think you could come over?”

“Hey, uh, Millennial, I have to go but I’ll keep you updated. Maybe next time you can give me your number and we can keep in touch. I may need more advice!”

Your brain is too foggy to register how that will be a problem later as you type out your goodbyes and he signs off. A moment later, another text from him comes through to your phone. 

“Yeah, I can be there in ten minutes. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I need Daddy.”

The three dots flash on you screen for a millisecond before he replies, “I’m on my way, baby.”

***

Eddie’s fist barely has a chance to knock before you’re opening your apartment door and tugging him inside by his collar, roughly bringing his lips to yours. 

“Ro-Roommate?”, he asks as his eyes briefly notice the two bedrooms. 

“Work…works…overnight…”, you answer between passionate kiss as you tug off his leather jacket and he lifts up your shirt tossing it aside. “Need you…please…”

“I got you, sweetheart. Daddy can take care of you.”

You practically melt into his embrace, backing him into the living room wall and yanking off his shirt so you could drag your lips down his chest as you start to descend to your knees before he grabs your arm.

“No, no, honey. I said Daddy is taking care of you.” With one swift turn he spun you around, placing his palm beside your head to steady himself. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Can I taste you, baby? 

Eddie smirks when you emphatically nod and places a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“Can you say it?”, he whispers. “Tell me what you want.”

His eyes stay on yours as he slowly falls to his knees and his palms reach up to pull down your underwear till you were completely naked. While his lips gently pecked along your belly, your own hand reached out to pet his head. 

“I want you to feel your t-tongue in my pussy.”

As his smile grows, Eddie abruptly lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and dives into your cunt, doing what you requested. With every flick of the muscle between his teeth, you felt yourself falling deeper into euphoria. This metalhead definitely knew what he was doing and reveled in it as his tongue roamed. 

“Oh…Oh my God, Eddie. Just like that…” 

Your fingers pressed him harder against you and his moan vibrated through you at the sensation. As he picked up his pace, his mouth overwhelmed you as he sucked and made out with your clit till he felt your body quiver as you came. 

Rising to his feet, you circled your arms around his neck as he slid his middle and ring fingers inside of you trying to elongate your high. 

“I knew it. I knew you tasted like fucking heaven. Fuck, such a good girl.”

After pushing down his sweats, you licked your palm and wrapped it around his girth, his glassy eyes fluttering at the feeling. 

Eddie’s free hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head so he could see your face. 

“Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you, pretty girl. I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard on my cock. Goddamn, I keep thinking about how tight your little pussy gets when she cums. Fuck, baby, you drive me crazy.”

You suddenly let him go as your hand flew down to grab his wrist trying to push him away as you whined.

“No, no, sweetheart. Don’t run from it. Daddy’s got you. Give in to it. I’m right here.” At his murmured words, you continued to cling to him as your hips rolled against his fingers. “Atta girl. I know, I know. Cum again for Daddy, baby.”

A string of uhs left your lips as his eyes remained glued to your face and your nails dug into his skin as the coil snapped. 

“Goddamn, you are so fucking sexy.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle as his mouth latched onto your neck and you carefully guided him to your bedroom while tried to stumble out of his pants. 

“Motherfuck—I swear I can walk.”, he jokes as you both fall naked onto your bed. 

“Well, only if your pants are on correctly.”

Eddie laughs as he pushes up on his forearms to look down at your beaming features. Your index finger gradually extends to caress his cheek and along his chin, grazing the light stubble that clung to his skin. 

“You’re handsome.”

At your compliment, his jaw flexes as he tries to contain the obnoxiously huge smile that wants to stretch from ear to ear at your adorable tone. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I mean it. I always thought you were.”

“Yeah?” You nod, biting your bottom lip to contain your own smile. “You want to know a secret?”

“Hm?”

Eddie crawls a bit further up your frame, gently kissing your jawline till he finds the shell of your ear. 

“I always thought you were beautiful to, baby.”

Utilizing his knee, he pushes your legs further apart as he grinds his cock between your dripping pussy lips but before he could guide himself inside of you, your hand lightly pushed on his hip as you gently pulled his hair. 

His face flooded with concern as his eyes scanned you over. 

“I want to see your face this time, Daddy…Please…”

A relieved chuckle left him; thankful you were ok. 

“You’re going to kill me, honey.”

Licking his lips, you watch as Eddie’s eyes momentarily shifted to the void as he reached between your bodies and pressed his mushroom tip to your entrance. When his irises found yours again, he brought his arm back around and tenderly petted your head as he slowly thrust his cock inch by inch. 

“You’re doing good, baby girl…taking me so he well.”, he praised when he noticed your eyebrows twitch in what appeared to be pain. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Do you need me to go slower?”

“No…No, Daddy. You’re… you’re just…”

“Yeah? Just what, princess?”

“You’re so big.”

“I know, baby, I know but you’re doing so good. I’m almost all the way in.”

“Y-You can…you can go harder…you d-don’t have to be so—fuck—gentle.”

Eddie stops moving for a moment as he smirks down at you before suddenly smacking his hips into yours eliciting a loud moan from deep within you. 

“Like that?”, he teases as he pounds into you again. “I told you…Daddy’s got you.”

Finding a faster rhythm, he kept his intensity as he repeatedly abuses that sensitive, spongy spot deep within you that has your mind reeling. 

Pushing upright onto his knees, the metalhead pressed your thighs flat into the mattress as he watched himself disappear inside your cunt. 

“Shit—your pussy feels too fucking good. Cum again, Y/N. Cum on Daddy’s dick, baby.”

“Something…something’s different…”

Eddie slows for a fraction of a second before he realizes what’s about to happen. 

He sees it all over you scrunched face. 

Licking his thumb, he presses it to your clit as he keeps a steady pace. Again, your hand tries to grab at his wrist but he’s much stronger than you as your movements don’t deter him. 

“It’s ok, sweetheart. Daddy’s right here, baby. Just let it happen.”

A wave of pleasure stronger than you had ever experienced before washes over you as the ball in your tummy drops and you scream his name. 

“Atta girl! Fuck, Y/N.”, he groans, his thrusts faltering as he pumps his release deep inside you. “Fuck…it’s ok…you’re ok.”, he pants. “I’ve…I’ve never made a girl squirt before.”

It took him a moment but it was only then that he realized you were crying. 

“Hey. Hey, hey, what’s wrong, baby. Talk to me.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you hug him and he continues to try and comfort you. “Everything’s alright, Y/N.”

“I-I-I’ve never done that before. I…ruined the moment…”

“Oh, honey, no. No, you didn’t ruin anything.”, Eddie cooed as he moved back to allow you to sit up and he could wipe your eyes with his thumbs. “What just happened was incredibly fucking hot.”

“It was?”

“Yeah, beautiful girl, it was. I’m honored to be the first guy to make you cum hard like that. I mean…of course being your husband only IIII can do that…”

At his joke, you laugh as you reach out to lightly hit his bicep as he giggles along with you. 

“How about this? Let’s get you into a bath and all clean, then I can change the sheets and get you in some nice comfy pajamas.”

“Will…will you lay with me after?”

Caressing your cheek, he leans towards you to gently kiss your lips. 

“Of course.”

After your bath, Eddie gave you some alone time to complete any needs you felt you needed to complete before bed and as soon as you were done, you stepped out of your bathroom to find him just finishing making the bed.

“I hope this is alright. I found these sheets in a closet in the hallway.”

“These are actually my roommates.”

“Oh… well…sheet.”, he jests, smiling when you breathy laugh. “Sorry, bad joke.”

“I like it.”

Stepping towards him, you grab his arm and push him under the covers so you could curl up into his side. Lifting his arm, he circles it around your shoulder and you pleasantly sigh as he plays with your hair. 

“At some point, sweetheart, we’re going to have to talk about this…us…”

“Is that bad?”

“No, fuck, I made it sound like it was going to be. I just…there’s some things I need you to know…about me…my life—”

Your palm cuts him off as your eyes meet his. 

“Later. Tonight, I just want to be close to you like this.”

“Yeah…”, he sighs before craning his neck to kiss your forehead. “Me to.”

###################

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @twirls827 @micheledawn1975 @chelebelletx @hardladyheart @spiderxbatty @twirls827

[kigieri]

This started horribly. I feel so bad for her! I just want to hold her and show her love, but thankfully Max is going to do just that. That's such bad luck in boyfriends I don't even know what to say, but sadly not something completely unrealistic. Martin is so unintentionally funny, I love him to pieces. He's curious and wants to know more, and she just wants to strangle him. He's also very supportive, which I, in turn, support. I like how Max just works with her. It seems very easy and nice. Her taking initiative, after his prompting, is healthy, and I like it. It will be good for her. I don't take Max for someone that drunk drives, he seems too responsible, but he's also an F1 driver that was driving a racecar before he drove a normal one, so we may never know. Her being able to handle that car without a problem is just right, she's Fernando's daughter. 

I was not anticipating skinny-dipping, but I like it. This night gets crazier with every new paragraph. It's good that the grapes worked, and that Martin has good instincts. Getting your clothes wet and taking his shirt feels like a cliché, even though I haven't seen it before, but the flirting and banter is just top-notch. Crashing in your dad's apartment with his coworker does not seem like the smartest idea, just saying. Them getting drunk and all lovey-dovey is beautiful, and I'm very sure Fernando was not anticipating coming home to that. I understand Fernando's concern for his daughter, and he was probably very much not prepared. He's a bit harsh, but I like how earnest Max is and how, understandably, scandalized Reader is. I think that was a more or less realistic portrayal of how that would go, and I may have found it funnier than I should have. Her eating the grapes with Max and them making a tradition out of it, even though it already was one, is cute. "Leave room for Fernando." will now become part of my vocabulary. I think you wrote a brilliant, funny and cute story, and this is some of the best Fernando Alonso portrayal I have ever seen. Thank you for this one!💖

Stroke of Midnight

Max Verstappen x Alonso!Reader

Summary: New Year’s Eve sees you crouched under a table, shoving grapes into your mouth as the seconds tick by in a desperate attempt to find love in 2025 … but it just so happens that love finds you a whole lot sooner than you expect

Note: Happy (almost) New Year! Wishing everyone a sweet and fulfilling 2025 ❤️

The club is too loud, too crowded, too much. Somewhere near the DJ booth, your father is probably breaking it down to the worst remix of an already bad pop song.

You don’t want to know what’s happening. You don’t even want to be here, except here is Monaco on New Year’s Eve, and it’s supposed to be magical. That’s what the internet said when you Googled it this morning. But so far, the magic feels more like sweat and regret.

And desperation. There’s no use pretending otherwise anymore.

Your legs cramp as you shift under the table, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid the sharp heel of a passing stranger. The white tablecloth is a flimsy barrier between you and the chaos outside — limbs, perfume, champagne flutes tipped at precarious angles.

You check your phone. Eleven fifty-seven.

“God,” you whisper to yourself, clutching the little plastic bag in your hand. “This is rock bottom.”

But is it? The thought stops you short. You could argue there’ve been worse moments.

There was your first boyfriend, for starters. The trust fund baby who somehow thought being wealthy made cheating excusable. “It’s not like I need you,” he had said when you caught him. Yeah, no kidding.

Then came the mechanic. Charming, sweet, and exactly what you thought you needed — until you overheard him laughing with his friends about how he only asked you out on a bet. The details are blurry now, but the humiliation is crystal clear.

And, of course, the summer of horror: introducing your third boyfriend to your dad, only to walk in on him rummaging through your father’s underwear drawer. “I just wanted to see what greatness looks like,” he had explained with a sheepish grin, clutching a pair of Fernando Alonso’s boxer briefs like they were relics from the Vatican.

Three strikes. You’re out.

“Not this year,” you mutter, shaking your head. This year, you’re taking things into your own hands.

You dig into the bag, spilling green grapes into your lap. Twelve of them. One for each second before midnight, each representing a wish for the year ahead. You glance at the clock again — eleven fifty-eight now. Two minutes to go.

Someone shifts the table above you, and you nearly choke on your gasp. The tablecloth lifts slightly, and a pair of curious eyes meet yours.

“What the hell?”

It’s a man — dark-haired, stubble-jawed, vaguely familiar, though everyone in Monaco looks like they could be a movie star. He’s crouched, trying to see past the shadows. You stare back, frozen.

“Are you hiding?” He asks, tilting his head. His accent is clipped and Dutch, which somehow makes this all worse.

“Uh — no,” you stammer, holding up a grape like it’s evidence in court. “I’m … I’m doing something. It’s a tradition.”

“Under a table?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause. He blinks at you, then ducks his head fully under the tablecloth. “Alright, I’ll bite. What kind of tradition involves grapes and hiding under furniture?”

“It’s Spanish.” You’re not sure why you feel defensive, but you do. “You eat twelve grapes, one for each second before midnight, for good luck in the new year.”

“Good luck.” He glances pointedly at the table legs surrounding you. “How’s that working out?”

You scowl. “It’s not midnight yet.”

He snorts. “Fair enough. Carry on.” He starts to retreat, but something stops him. “Wait. Why under the table?”

“Because …” You hesitate, not wanting to explain that part of the superstition involves being in a confined space to focus your intentions. It sounds ridiculous out loud, even to you. “Because it’s quieter down here.”

“Right.” His tone is skeptical, but mercifully, he leaves it at that. “Good luck, grape girl.” He’s gone before you can respond.

The clock ticks closer to midnight. Eleven fifty-nine. You clutch the grapes tighter, willing yourself to focus.

“Okay,” you whisper, heart pounding. “This is it. Love. Luck. Anything but whatever the hell the last three years were.”

You pop the first grape into your mouth as the countdown begins, the music fading just enough for the crowd to yell, Twelve!

It’s sour, but you swallow it quickly, reaching for the next. Eleven!

The third grape is sweeter. Ten!

Someone bumps the table above you, but you keep going. Nine!

The fifth grape tastes like possibility. Eight!

You’re halfway through the sixth when the tablecloth lifts again.

“Sorry, but I just-” It’s him again, the Dutch guy. He ducks under the table fully this time, looking half-apologetic, half-curious. “I couldn’t help it. What happens if you don’t finish in time?”

You glare at him, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. “Whuh ah oo doin’?”

“Trying to understand the stakes here,” he says, crouching beside you. “It’s fascinating.”

“Go ‘way!” You manage, scrambling for the eighth grape. Five!

“Is this, like, a universal Spanish thing? Or just your family?”

You shove the ninth grape in your mouth, ignoring him. Four!

“You’re really committed,” he notes, watching you chew furiously. “I respect that.”

You jab a finger toward the edge of the tablecloth, signaling him to leave.

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands up in surrender. “Good luck, truly. I hope it works.”

He disappears just as the countdown hits Three!

The eleventh grape is a struggle, but you manage. Two!

You grab the last one, cramming it in just as the crowd roars, One! Happy New Year!

It’s chaos — cheering, champagne popping, music surging back to full volume. You sit there under the table, sticky with grape juice and feeling utterly ridiculous.

“Happy New Year to me,” you mutter, wiping your hands on your dress.

Above you, the tablecloth shifts again.

“I had a feeling you’d make it,” the Dutch guy says, grinning. He’s holding two glasses of champagne. “Figured you might need this.”

You stare at him, utterly baffled. “Do you always bother strangers under tables?”

“Only the ones who look like they’re about to choke on tradition.”

You take the glass hesitantly, unsure whether to thank him or tell him to leave you alone. He raises his own in a toast.

“To luck,” he says simply, his smile oddly sincere.

You sigh, clinking your glass against his. “To luck.”

And for the first time in years, you think it might actually work.

***

The Dutch guy, whose name you still don’t know, doesn’t leave. You expect him to. After all, who bothers someone under a table, offers them champagne, and then sticks around? But here he is, leaning casually against the table, like this is his New Year’s Eve tradition too.

“So,” he says, studying you over the rim of his glass, “how do you know it worked?”

“What worked?”

“The grapes. Your luck in love.”

“It’s not instant,” you reply dryly. “I don’t think someone’s going to walk up and propose to me tonight.”

“Shame,” he says, smirking. “Would’ve been a great story.”

You roll your eyes, standing up carefully to avoid smacking your head on the table. The club is still throbbing with music, the crowd a drunken sea of sequins and suits. Your father is nowhere to be seen, probably charming half the room with drunken stories from his glory days.

The Dutch guy follows you, holding his champagne like it’s an extension of himself.

“So, do I get a name?” He asks.

“Do I get a name?” You counter.

He laughs, setting his glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “Martin. Martin Garrix.”

It clicks immediately. The Martin Garrix. You’ve seen him on magazine covers, his face plastered on Spotify playlists, his name on Coachella lineups.

“Oh,” you say, a little surprised. “You’re that Martin Garrix.”

“Depends,” he says with a grin. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He laughs again, an easy sound that somehow cuts through the noise around you.

“And you are?”

You hesitate. The last thing you want is to be recognized as Fernando Alonso’s daughter tonight. “Just … me,” you say, shrugging.

“Alright, Just Me,” he teases. “What’s the plan now? Back to the dance floor?”

“I don’t really have a plan.” You glance toward the bar, but it’s swamped. The thought of pushing through that crowd makes your skin crawl.

Martin tilts his head, considering you. “You know,” he says after a moment, “I’ve got to play a set in a bit. But before that, I could introduce you to someone.”

Your brow furrows. “Introduce me?”

“Yeah. A friend of mine. You’ll like him.”

You cross your arms. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me?”

“Not at all,” he says, grinning. “But if you’re looking for luck, he’s got plenty of it.”

Before you can argue, he’s already motioning for you to follow him.

Martin weaves through the crowd effortlessly, stopping just long enough to charm security guards and exchange handshakes with people who look vaguely important. You trail behind, clutching your champagne glass like a lifeline.

“VIP,” he explains over his shoulder, as if that answers anything.

“I was in VIP,” you mutter. “Then I left to crawl under a table.”

“Your loss,” he quips.

The VIP section is smaller than you remember, cordoned off with velvet ropes and guarded by men in black suits. Martin flashes a wristband, and the guard steps aside.

You’re led to a booth tucked in the farthest corner, hidden from most of the chaos. Someone is slouched in the corner seat, a drink dangling from his fingers. His head tilts up when Martin approaches, and your stomach flips.

Max Verstappen.

You stop dead in your tracks, heat rushing to your face. Of all the people — of course it’s him.

Max looks at you, then at Martin, then back at you. His brow furrows in confusion, his normally sharp blue eyes a little unfocused.

“Martin,” he says, voice thick with alcohol, “who’s this?”

Martin grins, gesturing toward you. “Stray kitten I found under a table. Thought you might want company.”

You gape at him. “I am not a stray kitten.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Martin says, completely unbothered.

Max blinks, then sets his drink on the table. “Wait. I know you.”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, “I know you too.”

It’s a terrible response, but you’re too flustered to think straight. Max Verstappen, reigning Formula 1 world champion, is sitting in front of you, looking unfairly handsome even in his clearly drunk state.

Martin claps Max on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t scare her off, mate.”

“Wait, what-” You start to protest, but Martin is already disappearing into the crowd.

You’re left standing there awkwardly, clutching your glass like it’s a shield. Max watches you, his expression softening into something unreadable.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

You hesitate, then slide into the booth, leaving just enough space between you that it doesn’t feel too intimate.

“So,” he says, leaning back. “What’s this about a table?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “It’s a Spanish tradition. You eat twelve grapes at midnight for good luck in the new year. I was under the table to-”

“Focus your intentions,” he finishes, surprising you.

Your eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

“Carlos told me about it once back when we were teammates,” he says with a small smile. “He thought it was funny.”

You relax slightly. “Well, it’s not funny. It’s practical.”

“Under a table, though?” His smile widens.

“It’s quieter!”

He laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes your heart twist in your chest. You’ve always found Max intimidating — cool, calm, untouchable. But right now, with his hair slightly messy and his guard down, he seems … human.

“You’re drunk,” you blurt out.

He nods, unabashed. “A little.”

“A lot,” you correct.

“Fair.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But what about you? You’re here on New Year’s Night, eating grapes under tables. What’s that about?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Bad luck. Bad … everything, really. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze steady despite the alcohol. “Bad everything?”

“Love life,” you admit, looking away. “It’s been a disaster.”

“Join the club,” he mutters, taking a sip of his drink.

You glance at him, surprised. “What do you mean? You’re-” You stop yourself, realizing how stupid it sounds. He’s Max Verstappen. He could have anyone.

“Exactly,” he says, reading your expression. “And that’s the problem. No one takes me seriously. They just see the driver, the fame, the money.”

You soften. “That sounds lonely.”

“It is.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken words.

“You know,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, “I always wondered what it’d be like to talk to you.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“In the paddock. You’re always with your dad, or with someone else. I never knew how to …” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you say quickly, surprising yourself. “I always wondered too.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, the noise of the club fades into the background.

“Yeah?” He asks softly.

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Maybe Martin was right.”

“About what?”

“Luck.”

You laugh, the sound light and unexpected. “Maybe.”

He leans back, the tension in his shoulders easing. “So, what now? Are you going to wait for the grapes to work, or are we going to make our own luck?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And how do we do that?”

“Well,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “we could start by getting out of here.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” he says, standing up and holding out his hand.

You stare at his hand, then take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Alright,” you say, your heart pounding. “Let’s see where this luck takes us.”

***

The valet pulls up with the car, and it’s … a Ferrari Monza SP2. Of course it is. Sleek, black, and absurdly expensive, it looks like something out of a Bond movie. The kind of car you don’t just drive; you wear it, command it.

Max grins at you as the valet hands him the keys, his drunken sway almost imperceptible — almost. He heads straight for the driver’s side, but you grab his arm before he can open the door.

“Are you serious?” You ask, wide-eyed.

“What?” His expression is equal parts innocence and mischief.

“You’ve been drinking.”

He glances at the keys in his hand, then back at you, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I’ve had worse nights.”

“Max,” you say firmly, your voice cutting through the noise of passing cars and drunken revelers spilling out onto the Monaco streets. “You’re not driving.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “So, what? You’re offering?”

You blink, caught off guard. “I-I didn’t mean-”

But he’s already opening the driver’s side door and stepping aside, holding it open for you with a dramatic flourish. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

Your first instinct is to argue, to remind him that this is his car and you’re not exactly in the habit of taking over Ferraris from Formula 1 champions unless they’re your father. But the glint in his eye dares you to say yes.

“Fine,” you mutter, slipping past him and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The leather feels luxurious under your fingers, the steering wheel practically begging to be gripped. You know Ferraris — you grew up around them, after all — but this one feels different. It feels … alive.

Max climbs into the passenger seat with surprising agility for someone who’s had more than a few drinks. He looks entirely too pleased with himself, leaning back like he owns not just the car, but the world.

“Where to?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant as you adjust the seat and mirrors.

He shrugs, a lazy smile on his face. “Surprise me.”

The car roars to life under your hands, the engine purring with a deep, satisfying growl. You pull out of the valet lane and into the Monaco streets, the city lights sparkling like they’ve been sprinkled with diamonds.

You have no plan, no destination in mind. So, you let the roads guide you. Past the harbor, where yachts bob gently against their moorings, and out onto the open road leading away from Monaco.

Max watches you drive, his gaze heavy but not uncomfortable. “You’re good at this,” he says, his voice cutting through the low hum of the engine.

You glance at him, one hand on the wheel. “I should be. My dad made sure I could handle cars before I could even ride a bike.”

He chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

The road begins to curve as you head toward Nice, the city’s glow fading behind you. The winding asphalt hugs the coastline, offering glimpses of the dark sea shimmering under the moonlight.

Max leans his head back against the seat, his eyes half-closed. “This is nice,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You smile, focusing on the road. “It is.”

The stretch of beach comes out of nowhere, a small, deserted slice of sand tucked between rocky cliffs. You might have driven past it without a second thought, but Max suddenly sits up, pointing wildly.

“Stop!” He yells.

You react instinctively, slamming on the brakes. The tires screech against the pavement, and the car comes to a jarring halt.

“Jesus, Max!” You exclaim, turning to glare at him. “What is wrong with you?”

He’s already unbuckling his seatbelt, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’re going skinny dipping.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He grins like a kid who just discovered a hidden jar of candy. “Come on. The water’s right there.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” He pushes open the door and climbs out, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s New Year’s. Perfect time to do something stupid.”

“Skinny dipping isn’t just stupid, Max. It’s-” You gesture vaguely, your cheeks heating. “It’s ridiculous.”

He leans down, resting his arms on the open car door. “Exactly. That’s the point. Live a little.”

You hesitate, glancing toward the beach. The moonlight glints off the waves, the sound of the surf mingling with the gentle rustle of wind through the grass. There’s no one else around.

“Max,” you start, your voice uncertain.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Hey. It’s just water. I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stalling.” He steps back, holding his arms out as if to say, what’s the worst that could happen?

You sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt. “If I freeze to death, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.”

The sand is cool under your feet as you follow Max toward the water. He’s already pulled off his shirt and pants, tossing them carelessly onto the beach. The moonlight catches on his skin, highlighting the lean muscles of his back.

You hesitate at the water’s edge, the waves lapping at your toes.

“This is crazy,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“That’s the point,” Max calls over his shoulder, already wading into the surf.

You bite your lip, glancing around one last time to make sure you’re alone. Then, with a deep breath, you pull off your dress, leaving it in a heap beside Max’s clothes.

The water is shockingly cold as you step in, but it’s not unbearable. You wade in deeper, the waves swirling around your waist, then your chest.

Max is already floating on his back a few meters ahead, his arms stretched out like he’s completely at peace.

“See?” He says, his voice carrying over the water. “Not so bad.”

You tread water, glaring at him. “I hate that you’re right.”

He laughs, the sound echoing across the beach. “You’ll get used to it.”

For a while, neither of you says anything. The water is calm, the world around you eerily quiet except for the soft crash of waves.

“This is nice,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Told you,” he says, tilting his head to look at you. His expression is softer now, less playful. “Thanks for indulging me.”

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for trusting me with your car.”

He grins. “I figured it was in good hands.”

The silence stretches between you again, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels … easy. Like the two of you have always been here, floating in the moonlit water, sharing something unspoken.

“I’ve always liked you,” Max says suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. “What?”

He turns onto his side, treading water to face you. “I mean it. For years, I’ve … I don’t know. I never thought you’d feel the same, so I didn’t say anything. But tonight …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It felt like the right time.”

Your throat tightens, your mind racing. You’ve always thought Max was out of your league, untouchable. But here he is, confessing in the most Max way possible — honest, straightforward, no games.

“I’ve always liked you too,” you admit, your voice trembling.

His eyes widen, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs, the sound full of relief and joy. “Well, I guess the grapes worked after all.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Never,” he says, his voice soft.

It feels like a promise.

***

When you and Max finally stumble out of the water, shivering and laughing, you head straight to the spot where you’d left your clothes. Only, when you get there, the beach doesn’t look quite the same.

Your dress isn’t where you left it.

“Oh no,” you mutter, scanning the dark sand.

“What?” Max asks, standing next to you, his arms crossed against the cold.

“My clothes.” You point at the waterline, which has crept much closer during your impromptu swim. “The waves must’ve gotten to them.”

Max glances down and then back at you with a smirk. “You mean those clothes?”

You follow his gaze to a small, soggy heap half-buried in the sand.

“Oh, for the love of-” You dart toward them, scooping up your dress and underwear, which are completely soaked and dripping.

Max doesn’t even try to suppress his laugh. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Don’t,” you warn, glaring at him.

“I didn’t say anything!” He holds up his hands defensively, still grinning.

You groan, holding up your dress, which now feels about ten pounds heavier with seawater. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t wear this.”

Max tilts his head, considering. “Guess you’ll have to drive back naked.”

“Max!”

“Kidding, kidding!” He steps closer, tugging his own damp shirt over his head and holding it out to you. “Here. Problem solved.”

You hesitate, eyeing the shirt. “What about you?”

“I’ll live,” he says with a shrug, clearly unbothered by the chilly night air. “Take it.”

You sigh, knowing you don’t have much of a choice. “Fine. Turn around.”

Max smirks but obeys, turning his back to you.

You quickly pull the oversized shirt over your head, the fabric still warm from his body. It smells like him, too — a mix of salt, sweat, and something distinctly Max. You tug it down as far as it will go, grateful that it’s long enough to cover everything important.

“Okay,” you say.

Max turns back around, and his grin is immediate and wide. “Wow.”

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says, his voice dropping slightly.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn at the way he’s looking at you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he counters, his tone light but earnest.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you shake your head, muttering, “Let’s just go.”

Max doesn’t argue, but his grin lingers as the two of you make your way back to the car.

“Where are we going?” Max asks as you slide back into the driver’s seat, the leather cool against your bare thighs.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you say, adjusting the mirrors again.

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “We could go back to my place.”

You snort. “Why does that sound like the setup to a bad pickup line?”

“Hey,” he protests, mock-offended. “I’m a gentleman.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you, though?”

“Sometimes,” he says, grinning. “Depends on the company.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, as much as I’d love to see your undoubtedly bachelor-esque apartment, I have a better idea.”

“Oh?”

“My dad’s place,” you say, pulling onto the road.

Max raises an eyebrow. “Fernando’s?”

“He’s not there,” you assure him quickly. “He’s probably still at the club, or passed out somewhere. And I happen to know he stocked the apartment with some really good champagne.”

Max hums, considering. “Fancy champagne, empty apartment … I like the sound of this.”

You smile, turning onto the highway. “I thought you might.”

The drive back to Monaco feels different this time. The adrenaline from the beach has faded, replaced by a quiet comfort. Max sits beside you, his head tilted back against the seat, humming softly to himself.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You’re not falling asleep, are you?”

He shakes his head, reaching for the radio. “Nope. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you tease.

He laughs, fiddling with the dial until he lands on a station playing 80s hits. The familiar opening chords of Take On Me by A-ha fill the car, and Max immediately starts singing along.

“Talking away,” he belts out, completely off-key but fully committed.

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh my God, Max.”

“What?” He says, grinning at you. “You don’t like my singing?”

“I’m just saying, maybe stick to driving cars.”

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”

The chorus kicks in, and Max leans closer to you, practically shouting the lyrics. “I’ll be gone, in a day or twoooooo!”

You’re laughing so hard you can barely keep your hands steady on the wheel. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he says, winking.

You roll your eyes, but the truth is, you kind of do. There’s something about the way Max is so unapologetically himself, even when he’s being completely ridiculous. It’s endearing in a way you didn’t expect.

The next song comes on — Africa by Toto (not that Toto, the other one) — and Max doesn’t miss a beat, launching into another impromptu performance.

“I bless the rains down in AfricAAAA!”

“Please stop,” you beg, though your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Never,” he says, grinning at you like this is the most fun he’s had in ages.

And as the lights of Monaco come back into view, you realize you’ve never felt more at ease with someone. Max’s off-tune singing, the salty breeze still clinging to your hair, and the warmth of his shirt against your skin — it all feels like something out of a dream.

“Hey,” Max says suddenly, his voice softer now.

“Yeah?” You glance at him, and for once, he’s not smiling. His expression is thoughtful, almost serious.

“I’m glad it was you tonight,” he says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “Me too.”

He turns back to the radio, cranking up the volume as another song starts. And as you drive toward the city, the two of you singing along to the music, it feels like the beginning of something you’re not quite ready to name — but it feels right all the same.

***

The apartment is just as you left it — sleek, minimalist, and undoubtedly your father’s. Clean lines, muted colors, and an expansive view of Monaco’s twinkling lights spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Max whistles low as he steps inside, running a hand through his damp hair. “Your dad has good taste.”

You scoff, kicking off your shoes by the door. “He has a good interior designer. There’s a difference.”

Max chuckles, padding after you as you head straight for the kitchen. “Where’s this fancy champagne you promised?”

You open the fridge, scanning its contents. Sure enough, five bottles of Dom Pérignon are lined up like soldiers, condensation clinging to their dark glass.

“Here,” you say, pulling one out and setting it on the marble countertop. “But don’t complain if it ruins you for whatever it is that Formula 1 uses on podiums these days.”

Max grabs two flutes from the cabinet you pointed to and shrugs. “I think I’ll survive.”

You pop the cork with a satisfying pop, pouring the sparkling liquid into the glasses he offers.

“To questionable life choices,” Max says, raising his glass.

You laugh, clinking yours against his. “To new beginnings.”

The first sip is crisp and effervescent, the kind of taste that makes you close your eyes for a second to savor it. Max seems equally impressed, letting out a low hum of approval.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says, taking another sip. “This is good.”

“Only the best for Fernando Alonso,” you say, rolling your eyes.

The two of you settle on the couch, the city lights casting a soft glow over the room. Conversation flows easily, the champagne loosening whatever walls you might have had left after the events of the night.

By the second bottle, you’re both leaning into each other, laughing at stories you’ve never told anyone else.

“So, wait,” Max says, his voice slightly slurred. “You actually punched him?”

“I didn’t punch him,” you correct, giggling. “I just … shoved him. Hard. With my fist.”

Max snorts. “That’s literally a punch.”

“Semantics.” You wave him off, taking another sip of champagne. “He deserved it.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Max says, shaking his head with a grin.

By the time you open the third bottle, everything is a blur of laughter, shared glances, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

You’re halfway through another story when Max interrupts, leaning closer. “You’ve got …” He gestures vaguely at your face.

“What?” You ask, frowning.

“Hold on.” He reaches out, brushing the corner of your mouth with his thumb. The touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“There,” he says softly, his thumb lingering a second too long before he pulls back.

The room feels suddenly smaller, quieter. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, without thinking, you lean in.

The kiss is messy, fueled by champagne and years of unspoken tension. Max’s lips are soft but insistent, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer.

You barely register the sound of your glass clattering onto the coffee table as you climb onto his lap, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and ragged.

You nod, your hands already tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “More than okay.”

His hands slide under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — his palms warm against your skin. The touch makes you shiver, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or something else entirely.

“You look so good in this,” he whispers, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Stop talking,” you mutter, pulling him back up for another kiss.

He laughs softly but obeys, his hands roaming freely now, exploring every curve like he’s trying to memorize you.

You lose track of time, of where you end and he begins. The champagne bubbles in your veins, making everything feel hazy and light.

Somehow, you both end up half-naked on the leather sectional, your legs tangled together. Max’s hands stay under the shirt, resting against your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

Your hand drifts lower, brushing against the waistband of his briefs. He lets out a low groan, his head falling back against the couch.

“Careful,” he says, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and warning.

You smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw. “You’re the one who said to live a little.”

He laughs, pulling you back down into another kiss.

Eventually, exhaustion gets the better of both of you. The kisses slow, turning softer, lazier, until you’re both too tired to do anything but collapse against each other.

Max’s arms wrap around you, his body warm and solid beneath you.

“Don’t let me fall asleep like this,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Too late,” he replies, his voice already heavy with sleep.

And as your eyes flutter closed, you can’t help but think that this might be the best questionable life choice you’ve ever made.

***

The first hint of dawn spills into the apartment, a soft, golden hue creeping through the glass walls. The city below comes to life slowly, but up here, in the quiet sanctuary of your father’s apartment, everything feels frozen in time.

You’re vaguely aware of the early morning light as you stir, still half-asleep, tangled in the warmth of Max’s arms. His hands are still under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — resting against your bare waist. Your head rests on his chest, his steady heartbeat like a metronome beneath your ear.

You should feel embarrassed, maybe even regretful. Instead, you feel … safe. Content.

The sound of keys jingling outside the door doesn’t register immediately.

Then, the lock turns, and the door creaks open.

“Ah, mierda.”

The low curse comes from the entryway. The unmistakable, groggy voice of your father.

You jolt upright, your blood turning ice-cold as the realization sinks in.

Max stirs beside you, groaning softly. “What’s going on?”

You don’t have time to answer before Fernando appears in the living room doorway, his hair disheveled, his jacket slung over one shoulder, and the beginnings of a hangover etched across his face.

His gaze lands on the two of you — your bare legs, Max’s shirt haphazardly covering you, and the obvious fact that both your pants are nowhere to be seen.

There’s a long, excruciating silence.

“Papá,” you manage to squeak, your voice higher than you intended.

Fernando blinks once, twice. Then his eyes narrow. “What is this?”

Max freezes, his brain clearly struggling to catch up. “Uh …”

You scramble for words, any words, but your mind is a complete blank.

Fernando steps closer, his voice sharp. “You. Verstappen. What are you doing here?”

Max raises a hand, as though he’s trying to surrender. “I can explain-”

“Oh, you better,” Fernando interrupts, his tone dark. “Because from where I’m standing, this looks like …” He gestures vaguely at the two of you, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury. “… a very bad decision.”

You hastily pull a throw pillow over your lap, trying to muster some semblance of dignity. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Fernando arches a brow. “It looks like I came home to find my daughter and Max Verstappen half-naked on my couch.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a little what it looks like,” you admit, cringing.

Max finally seems to snap out of his stupor. He sits up, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Listen, Fernando, I-”

“You don’t get to call me Fernando,” your father snaps. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” Max backtracks quickly, holding up his hands. “Look, this isn’t her fault. It’s on me.”

You turn to him, frowning. “Max-”

“No, it’s true,” he continues, his voice steady despite the situation. “I shouldn’t have let things get … out of hand.”

Fernando crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing further. “Out of hand?”

“I mean-” Max stumbles over his words, clearly realizing he’s digging himself deeper. “It’s not like we planned for this to happen.”

Fernando’s gaze flicks to you, his expression unreadable. “Is that true?”

You open your mouth, then close it, your cheeks burning. “Well … yes. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“It’s complicated!” You blurt out, throwing your hands up in frustration.

Fernando pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that you’re pretty sure isn’t complimentary.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he says after a moment, his voice tight. “You-” He points at Max. “Why are you even here?”

“We were … celebrating,” Max says hesitantly.

“Celebrating,” Fernando repeats flatly. “By taking your pants off on my couch?”

“Okay, that part was-” Max starts, but you cut him off.

“Can we not talk about pants right now?” You plead, your face hot enough to fry an egg.

Fernando gives you a look that could melt steel. “No, we’re absolutely going to talk about it. What were you thinking?”

“Maybe we weren’t thinking,” you admit quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“That much is obvious,” he mutters.

“Papá, please,” you say, your voice softening. “It’s not like we meant to disrespect you or your home.”

Fernando sighs, the anger in his expression giving way to something else — disappointment. It stings more than you care to admit.

Max shifts uncomfortably beside you, breaking the silence. “I know this looks bad-”

“It is bad,” Fernando interrupts. “Do you have any idea what this could do to your reputation? To hers?”

Max frowns, his jaw tightening. “With all due respect, I care more about her than my reputation.”

Your breath catches at his words, but Fernando doesn’t seem impressed.

“Convenient to say that now,” he mutters, crossing his arms again.

Max’s expression hardens. “It’s the truth.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, the silence stretching out until you can’t take it anymore.

“Can we just … take a minute?” You say, looking between them. “Please?”

Fernando stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a fraction. “Fine. One minute.”

He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath yet again as he storms toward the kitchen.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you let out a shaky breath, turning to Max.

“This is a disaster,” you whisper.

Max reaches for your hand, his touch grounding. “We’ll figure it out.”

“How?” You ask, your voice tinged with panic.

He squeezes your hand gently. “Together.”

Despite everything, his confidence is reassuring. You take another deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Together.”

Fernando’s voice cuts through the moment from the kitchen. “You better be decent when I come back.”

Max lets out a low chuckle, and you can’t help but smile despite the situation.

“Let’s just survive the next five minutes,” you murmur, standing to pull on your still-damp jeans.

Max grins up at you, his eyes warm. “I like our odds.”

You glance toward the kitchen, where your father is undoubtedly fuming, and pray he’s right.

***

The tension in the room is suffocating as your father storms back from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand and a sharp glare aimed squarely at Max. You sit on the edge of the couch, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Max, to his credit, doesn’t flinch under the weight of Fernando’s gaze, though his posture is tense, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for impact.

Fernando takes a long sip of his coffee before setting the cup down on the counter with a decisive clink. “Alright,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s talk.”

Max leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “I-”

Fernando holds up a hand, cutting him off. “No. I’ll talk first. You’ll listen.”

Max glances at you briefly, then nods. “Okay.”

Your father steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “So. Verstappen. Tell me — were you trying to sleep with my daughter under my own roof?”

The bluntness of the question makes you choke on air. “Papá!”

“Stay out of this,” Fernando says sharply, not even sparing you a glance. His eyes are locked on Max, who blinks in surprise before straightening in his seat.

“No!” Max says quickly, his voice firm. “Of course not.”

Fernando tilts his head, his lips twitching as though he’s fighting back a smirk. “Oh, so she’s not attractive enough for you to want to sleep with?”

“What?” You gasp, standing up. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sit down,” Fernando says over his shoulder, though there’s an unmistakable gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Max looks like he’s been thrown into the deep end of a pool without warning. “That’s not — what? No!”

Fernando raises an eyebrow. “No, she’s not attractive, or no, you weren’t trying to sleep with her?”

Max glares at him, his jaw tightening. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Am I?” Fernando says, taking another slow sip of his coffee.

“Yes!” Max snaps, then seems to catch himself. He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I wasn’t trying to disrespect you or your home. I swear.”

Fernando steps closer, looming over Max. “You swear, huh?”

“Yes,” Max says firmly.

“And yet,” Fernando says, gesturing at the couch with a dramatic wave of his hand, “I walked in on this. My daughter, half-naked, tangled up with you.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, stop.”

Fernando ignores you. “Explain that, Verstappen.”

Max meets his gaze, unflinching. “I care about her. That’s the truth.”

Fernando’s eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t respond immediately. He paces a few steps, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup as though mulling over his next move.

Finally, he stops, turning back to Max. “You care about her,” he repeats, his tone skeptical.

“Yes,” Max says, his voice unwavering.

Fernando tilts his head again, studying Max like he’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Alright. Let’s test that.”

Max frowns. “Test what?”

“Your commitment,” Fernando says simply.

You groan again, standing up. “Papá, this isn’t some kind of-”

“Sit,” Fernando says, pointing at the couch.

“Stop telling me to sit!” You snap, but you drop back down anyway, crossing your arms over your chest.

Fernando turns back to Max, a small, mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “So. Verstappen. If you care about her, you won’t mind answering a few questions.”

Max hesitates but nods. “Alright.”

Fernando sets his coffee cup down again, cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect. “First question. Do you even know her middle name?”

Max’s eyes flick to you, then back to Fernando. “Of course I do. It’s-” He pauses, frowning. “Wait. Do you have one?”

Fernando lets out a bark of laughter. “Strike one.”

You roll your eyes. “Max, I don’t have a middle name. Don’t listen to him.”

Max glares at Fernando. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Fernando says with a shrug. “Next question. What’s her favorite color?”

Max’s frown deepens. “Pink?”

Fernando shakes his head. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” Max turns to you. “It’s not pink?”

“It’s not pink,” you confirm, biting back a smile.

Fernando smirks. “Strike two.”

Max leans back, exhaling slowly. “Alright. What is it, then?”

Fernando opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “It’s burgundy.”

“Burgundy,” Max repeats, nodding to himself. “Got it.”

“Too late,” Fernando says, waving him off. “You’re already failing.”

“Papá,” you say, your tone a warning.

Fernando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. One last question.”

Max leans forward again, his expression determined. “Go ahead.”

Fernando’s smirk returns. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun.

Max doesn’t flinch. He meets Fernando’s gaze head-on and says, “I don’t know yet.”

You blink in surprise, as does your father.

Max continues, his voice steady. “But I know I want to figure it out. I care about her, and I want to spend more time with her. That’s all I can say right now.”

Fernando studies him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, to your astonishment, he nods. “Fair enough.”

“Fair enough?” You echo, staring at him in disbelief.

Fernando shrugs, picking up his coffee cup again. “At least he’s honest.”

Max lets out a breath he probably didn’t realize he was holding, and you shake your head, still trying to process what just happened.

“Just one thing,” Fernando adds, turning back to Max with a pointed look.

“What’s that?” Max asks cautiously.

Fernando leans in slightly, his voice low but firm. “If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Max doesn’t hesitate. “Understood.”

Fernando nods once, then steps back, his demeanor relaxing slightly. “Good. Now, get dressed. Both of you.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands again. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Max says, nudging you gently.

You glare at him, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

Fernando smirks, heading toward his bedroom. “You’ve got ten minutes before I come back with more questions.”

“Papá!” You call after him, but he’s already gone.

Max chuckles softly, leaning back on the couch. “That went well, all things considered.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You think that went well?”

He grins, shrugging. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you like me anyway,” he says, his grin widening.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue.

***

One Year Later

The club is just as loud and chaotic as it was a year ago, but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the crowd, maybe it’s the glow of the New Year’s lights, or maybe it’s the fact that Max’s hand hasn’t left yours all night.

You’re back where it all started, tucked into the VIP section of the Monaco club where you had once crouched under a table eating grapes in a last-ditch attempt to find love. That night had been nothing short of chaotic, but looking back, it had been the beginning of something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Is it how you remembered it?” Max asks, leaning in close to be heard over the music.

You glance around at the glittering lights and pulsing crowd, then back at him. “It’s definitely less embarrassing this time around.”

Max grins, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t know. You were pretty cute in your desperation.”

You groan, nudging him with your shoulder. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“Not a chance,” he says, laughing. “It’s one of my favorite stories to tell.”

“Great. Glad my suffering is so entertaining for you,” you tease, though you can’t help but smile.

Max tugs you closer, his voice softer now. “You know, I’m really glad you ate those grapes.”

You look up at him, your heart fluttering at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Me too.”

The DJ announces that it’s nearly midnight, and the crowd buzzes with excitement. Max pulls you to your feet, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“Ready to count down?” He asks, his voice warm and low.

“With you? Always,” you say, grinning.

The countdown begins, and the energy in the room spikes. You can feel the excitement in the air, the anticipation of a new year, a fresh start.

“Ten!” The crowd shouts.

Max’s hands tighten slightly on your waist, and you lean into him, your pulse racing.

“Nine!”

You look up at him, your eyes locking.

“Eight!”

His gaze softens, his smile turning gentle.

“Seven!”

You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Six!”

Max leans down, his forehead brushing against yours.

“Five!”

Your breath catches as the noise of the crowd fades into the background.

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

You close your eyes, tilting your head up.

“One!”

Midnight strikes, and Max’s lips meet yours, soft and certain. The room erupts in cheers and confetti, but all you can focus on is the way he’s holding you, like you’re the only person in the world.

The kiss deepens, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you closer. You smile against his lips, your heart full and light-

Only to be rudely interrupted by someone literally wedging themselves between you.

“Alright, break it up!”

You stumble back a step, blinking in surprise. Max looks just as stunned, his hands still midair where they’d been resting on your waist.

Fernando stands between you, his arms crossed and a deeply unimpressed look on his face. “Leave room for Jesus.”

You gape at him, your cheeks burning. “Papá! What the hell are you doing?”

“I think the better question,” he says, looking pointedly at Max, “is what you two were doing.”

Max stares at him, then throws his hands up. “We were kissing. It’s New Year’s!”

Fernando raises an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t do that with a little more … decorum?”

“You’re not even religious!” You protest, exasperated.

Fernando smirks, clearly enjoying himself. “And that’s why, by Jesus, I mean me.”

Max blinks. “You mean … you?”

You stare at your father, your frustration warring with the urge to laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Completely,” Fernando says, deadpan. “Now, why don’t we all take a nice step back, breathe, and reflect on the fact that I’m allowing this relationship to exist at all.”

“Allowing?” Max echoes, crossing his arms. “With all due respect, I don’t think you get to allow anything anymore.”

Fernando turns to him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes,” Max says firmly. “We’re adults. And we’re together. Whether you approve or not.”

Fernando looks at him for a long moment, then lets out a low chuckle. “Well, at least you’ve got guts.”

“More than that,” you interject, stepping between them. “He’s good to me. Better than anyone else ever has been. And I love him.”

Fernando’s smirk fades, replaced by something softer. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, then nods slowly. “I know.”

“You know?” You ask, surprised.

He shrugs. “Of course I know. I’m your father.”

Max exchanges a glance with you, clearly just as confused. “So … what’s with all the drama, then?”

Fernando grins, stepping back. “Because it’s fun.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands again. “I can’t believe this.”

Max laughs, pulling you into his side. “I can.”

Fernando claps Max on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Happy New Year, Verstappen. Don’t screw it up.”

Max meets his gaze, his expression serious. “I won’t.”

Fernando nods, then turns to you. “And you — try to keep him out of trouble, will you?”

You smile, leaning into Max. “I’ll do my best.”

Fernando waves you off, disappearing back into the crowd with a casual, “Don’t make me come back over here.”

Max watches him go, then turns to you, shaking his head. “Your dad’s insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” you say, laughing.

He grins, leaning down to kiss you again. This time, no one interrupts.

[matchpointfaist]

a love like religion ˚₊‧꒰ა♡໒꒱ ‧₊˚

sheltered! art x flirty reader pt iii

the third time he saw you, art couldn’t decide between happy and horrified. he’d been doing his best to stay focused on his studies, his faith, and his training; on anything but you. his thoughts drifted, sure, but for the most part he thought he was doing pretty well. an entire week passed, and he managed to avoid you on campus, ignoring his fleeting thoughts of wishing to see you, even for just a moment.

he knew, in the back of his mind, that attending his teammates birthday party was a mistake. he knew you were in the same social circle, that you’d probably be there, all gorgeous and flirty and drunk and- it was just best if he didn’t see you.

he told himself he wasn’t taking extra care in his appearance for you; he just wanted to look good, that’s all. a birthday party is a big deal. so he got dressed in a button up and jeans, made sure his hair was perfect and his cologne wasn’t too strong, and tried to keep his head high as he entered the already too loud party.

almost immediately, his eyes fell to you. everyone’s did, though, he couldn’t blame himself. you were a vision of pink and silver shimmer, your hair falling down the dangerously low back of your dress. his breath quickened, his mind racing with excuses on how to get out of here before you noticed- and then, your sharp eyes were on his, a dangerous little smile on your glossy lips.

“donaldson!” your voice carried over the music like a melody, like some sort of siren call crafted just for him, rendering him helpless, “cmere!” and he practically floated to your side, a nervous smile on his lip, “uh, hi, hey. i didn’t know you’d be here,” he managed, biting the inside of his cheek and hoping he didn’t think too stupid.

“course id be here,” you grinned, “what’re you drinkin? i can get you a refill,” he shook his head, “no, i don’t drink, i can just get a water,” “you don’t drink?” you laughed, like it was the most insane thing in the world, “cmon, artie. come with me,”

so he followed you to the kitchen, let you pour him a cup of stale beer even though he knew it was wrong, it was stupid, it was a sin. “it’s cheap shit, but it’s fine,” you sounded almost apologetic as he sniffed it, trying to keep his nose from scrunching, taking a shy sip. “you look pretty,” he said after a moment, choking down the beer with what he hoped was only a slight grimace.

“you too,” you smiled, and for just a brief second, it seemed real. not like that fake, mocking smile you gave everyone else. in a flash, though, it was gone, replaced by the coyness you showed the rest of the world, “nice shirt. green looks good on you,” you trailed your fingers over the collar of his shirt, and he almost lost it right there in the crowded kitchen, his head swimming. “my grandma got it for me,” his cheeks flushed, acutely aware that was not the right thing to say, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“cute,” you just smiled, “here, finish that and i’ll make you another, kay?” he shook his head, already regretting the first round, “no, i really can’t, i’m sorry,” he rambled, “i have class tomorrow and i don’t drink anyway and-“ “don’t worry about it,” you rested a hand on his shoulder, “it’s fine, artie. we’ll have fun anyway, yeah? you can just watch me drink,” you teased. and oh, he did watch you. all night, you practically dragged him around the party, inches from you at all times.

he watched you laugh, watched you dance, watched you drink and smoke and all the things he’d always be too afraid to do. he watched you in rare moments of your true form as you interacted with your girl friends, watched you shut down the guys that tried to dance too close to you. he watched so intently he felt like he had learned who you really were in just a few short hours, like he’d cracked some sort of code he must have missed before.

at 11, he debated leaving without even saying goodbye, just leaving you to your dancing and talking. but as he turned to leave, you were calling his name, a little pout on your lips that sent him reeling. “i’ll walk you home,” you offered, and he took note of your heels in your hand, your bare feet on the floor. “no, that’s alright,” he smiled slightly, “thank you, though. that’s kind of you,”

“let me,” you pressed, “at least let me walk you out, art,” so he did, of course, like he did everything else you asked of him. you walked with him to his dorm, and when you asked to come in, he let you do that, too. even when his head was screaming at him to stop, that this wouldn’t end well, that temptation was the gateway to sin.

you just looked so fucking pretty, sitting there on his bed, your heels tossed in the floor and the skirt of your dress on his comforter. he wished he could memorize the moment, bottle it up and save it for when this night ended. surely you’d never be back there, he told himself, this was just one time. a lapse in judgment, on both your parts.

but then he was sitting beside you, and your perfume was so sweet, and your words were even sweeter when you asked him about his hometown and his family and the pictures on his bookcase. you sounded like you really cared, like you thought he was interesting. you, of all people.

“you can relax,” you told him, and his heart nearly stopped as you pressed your leg to his, scooting closer on his bed, “jesus, you’re so tense. i’m not gonna bite you, yknow. not unless you like that,” you winked again, and his cheeks were flushed, his mind working overtime to form words that just wouldn’t come.

“you shouldn’t be in here,” he finally blurted out, his eyes wide with fear of the way it sounded, like he didn’t want you there when that could not be further from the truth, “sorry- that came out wrong. i just- i can’t be with anyone, and you’re in my room and it’s late-“

“you can’t be with anyone?” you repeated, a laugh on your lips, “why not, hm? is the devil gonna getcha if you slip up?” and then your hand was back on his necklace like all those days before, touching it, burning into his skin, “live a little, art,”

and then you were kissing him, and oh god, oh god, oh god. it was heaven and hell and a mistake and bliss and burning and soothing and everything he’d been too afraid to admit he’d ever wanted. you tasted like vodka and cotton candy and sacrilege and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t hold back the sounds leaving him from the simple act of your kiss, couldn’t stop his hands from wandering and fuck, you were so warm and so soft and he could’ve died right there when you climbed into his lap, kissing him dizzy, tipping his jaw open with your fingers and dipping your tongue into his mouth.

he would’ve let you do anything in that moment, would’ve let you ruin the path he’d been on for so many years, would’ve let you dismantle all his plans and his faith and anything you wanted if you just kept grinding against him, kept kissing him so sweetly, so dangerously.

and then you sank to your knees off the bed, your hands pulling at his belt and your eyes shining as you blinked up at him, a sultry little smile on your swollen lips. “you’re so hard,” you hummed, sounding content as you pulled down his jeans, “has a girl ever touched you like this, hm?”

“no,” it came out like a whine, his hips bucking into your hand as you ghosted your fingers over his cock, “jesus- no, no one has,” you made a little noise, like you were pleased, and your eyes widened as you pulled down his boxers, taking him into your hand. “this is so- oh, this is so bad,” he hissed in half-pleasure, half-anguish as you pumped him slowly, your lips parting. “why’s it bad?” you asked, so innocently, so sweet, “just making you feel good, art. that’s all,”

“a sin,” he panted, eyes screwed shut, knowing full well if he looked at you he’d finish right there, just from your hand, “this is- sex before marriage is a sin and,” he trailed off, fucking into your hand despite himself, a little whine leaving his throat.

“oh, no,” you tsked, and when he dared to open his eyes, you were pouting up at him, “it’s okay, art. i’ll be good, yeah? i’ll make up for it,” he didn’t have time to question how before your tongue was on him, licking at the tip like a lollipop, and his eyes rolled back, his hands fisted in his sheets.

“forgive me father, for i have sinned,” you murmured, and he choked out a moan as you took him into your mouth fully, so warm and wet and close- fuck, he was so close. you pulled away with a pop!, “holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners,” and then his cock was down your throat, and you were humming around him and he was so fucking close- his hands were in your hair before he could think to stop himself, his hips bucking into your mouth, your name leaving his lips between moans and pleas.

he didn’t know what he was asking for, exactly. forgiveness, release, for you to slow down so this never stopped, but for you to make him cum down your throat like he’d imagined so many times before. one hand was in your hair, the other clutching his sheets as he came, panting and moaning and whining he opened his eyes in just enough time to see you licking your lips clean, wiping your chin with a grin, sucking your thumb into your mouth.

you leaned down, kissing him until all he could taste was salt and sweat and you, god, you, and then you were gone, his lips still hot. “amen,” you whispered against his ear, gathering your heels and pausing at the door, “see you around, art,”

and then, for the second time, you were gone. he looked down, and nearly fainted when he saw what was left in his floor. your pink lacy panties, complete with a little wet patch, bundled up just for him.

“forgive me father,” he mumbled to himself, picking up the lace and tucking it into his nightstand, not even bothering to clean himself up before curling up and drifting off, his mind busy with thoughts of you.

[5iyoomi]

Thangyu NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: poly!thangyu x fem!reader, they're probably so ooc here I'm so sorry, not proofread I'm posting this at 4 am, mentions of drugs & alcohol, implied dubcon/under-negotiated kink in one part, somnophilia, just general smut stuff A/N: FINALLY POSTING AFTER 20 YEARS LMAO. If this sucks don't @ me the last time I wrote was idek how long ago now

nsfw under the cut

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

☆ If we’re being real here aftercare with them heavily depends on how they’re feeling…. But either way it’s pretty minimal, especially considering one of them practically falls asleep immediately (Thanos). Nam-gyu will make sure you’re all cleaned up and run you a bath if he feels like dealing with the mess right after. 

Thanos on the other hand takes it upon himself to cuddle up to you, long limbs entangled with yours as he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek or forehead and murmurs sweet nothings you can’t make out half the time.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

☆ Both of them are tits men, it doesn’t matter if they’re big or small, they don’t give a shit. Even in a non-sexual manner, Thanos just likes to keep his hands under your shirt since he tends to run cold and it’s one of many excuses to be close to you. 

Nam-gyu isn’t as vocal about it but he doesn’t try to hide it. Whether it’s with an arm slung around your shoulder and his palm brushing your breasts, or full on touching you if he thinks another guy’s getting too close for comfort, you’ve gotten used to the constant feeling of hands on you.

On that note, Thanos’ favorite body part is his hands. He doesn’t necessarily get full on manicures, but he does take good care of them. He adores how big they are compared to yours and even Nam-gyu’s. The mere sight of his thick fingers wrapped around your smaller wrists never fails to make him dizzy.

If Nam-gyu had to choose, he’d say his hair. He likes when you tug at it while he eats you out because then he knows he’s doing something right. He gets greedy with it, guiding you to run your fingers through his hair just for the hell of it sometimes, or (not so) begrudgingly saying yes when you ask to braid it or put it in a ponytail.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

☆ Both of these freaks like to cum inside you and watch it spill out of you but especially Nam-gyu. There’s something about marking his territory that gets the raven-haired man off, because only he and Thanos get to fill you up to their heart's content. 

If there’s time for a quickie he’ll go about his day with a smug look on his face knowing you’re walking around dripping his and Thanos’ seed into your underwear. That if anyone were to flirt with you you’d be reminded that no one satisfies you like they do.

Thanos likes how it glistens on you after you blow him and let him cum on your face, using his thumb to further smear it on your skin until you’re whining in protest. It’s his way of staking his claim, in a way.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

☆ Thanos likes to make you come at least twice in your panties that way he has something to jerk himself off with when he knows you won’t be around for a while. He’ll inhale the scent of you with a tight fist around his cock, thinking about how cute you looked with his fingers pressing down on your puffy clit.

As much of a dominant streak as Nam-gyu has it’s almost laughably easy to flip the roles on him. Almost. You have to catch him when he has his guard down, which is usually right after you have sex or when he’s too high to realize what you’re trying to do. 

He doesn’t let it happen very often, and he won’t admit how much he likes it, but having you ride and praise/degrade him while Thanos watches is a guilty pleasure of his.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

☆ We all know both of them were up to some freaky shit in club pentagon like c’mon… And they can both be assholes but they’re hot and they know it, they 100% know how to please a girl. 

They aren’t the most experienced in serious relationships and romantic stuff, but they’ve had random hook-ups and one night stands before. You’re in good hands, literally and metaphorically.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

☆ If they’re in the mood to use you like a ragdoll, they’ll put you in doggy style with your hands tied behind your back so one of them can fuck you into the mattress while the other uses your throat. 

Otherwise their favorite is missionary. Not only can they watch every expression you pull while you’re blissed out and the way they sink into your warm heat with every thrust, but it’s easier to manhandle you like that, pushing your thighs up to your chest or pulling you into a needy kiss.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

☆ They’re more talkative and energetic when they’re high but I can’t see either of them cracking that many jokes during it in general. There might be a few here and there with both of them chuckling to each other, but they’re mostly serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

☆ I think it’d be absolutely hilarious if Thanos dyed his pubes purple but for the sake of discussion the carpet technically matches the drapes, it’s all natural color down there baby. He trims but still has a nice little happy trail that starts at his navel and leads down to his dick (he’s sensitive there, too. Do with that information what you will.)

Nam-gyu is more well groomed but he doesn’t care to fully shave, it’s less of a hassle that way.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

☆ They fuck you like they hate you but their actions give away how much they truly love you. Nam-gyu will tuck strands of hair behind your ear to keep it out of your face and trace comforting circles against your ankles while he has you bent over. 

A more sober, softer Thanos makes sure you’re okay when they’re being particularly rough. Either way, neither of them like being too far away from you for too long anyways, and you know they mean it when they say ‘I love you’ because they aren’t doing it just to say it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

☆ 90% of the time they don’t see the point because they have you, so what’s the point when they have a girlfriend that’s just as willing? On the rare occasion you’re not an option and they can’t get to each other they’ll scroll through the pictures and videos they’ve got of you and make it work.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

☆ This goes back to the hand thing but Thanos likes choking. He never puts too much pressure on you, his grip loose enough that you can usually push him off if you want or need to, but the power trip makes him impossibly harder. 

The veins in his hands bulge where they’re wrapped around your neck, and the slight sting of pain from your nails leaving moon-shaped indents on his forearms? He’s a goner.

Nam-gyu has a huge thing for somnophilia. It probably happens one night when he can’t sleep; he’s too lazy to get himself off but turned on enough that he can’t get back to sleep. 

Thanos is a deep sleeper, and he’s about to try to wake you up when he sees how peaceful you look: the soft rise and fall of your chest, lashes fluttering and the strap of your shirt falling off one of your shoulders. 

You groggily wake up to him pressed up behind your back, your panties pulled to the side as he uses your slick to slide his cock between your thighs.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

☆ Literally anywhere inside of your shared apartment but they’ll never do it in any public setting hands down. Both of them are possessive and jealous, they wouldn’t even risk someone else being able to see you at your most vulnerable. Screw the neighbors that have to listen to you scream every night.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

☆ Just you, really. You dressing up pretty in lingerie does wonders too, but they aren’t picky when it comes to you and they definitely don’t need anything special. Pray that YOU can keep up with THEIR libido, actually.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

☆ Seriously hurting you is a no-no. They’re up to trying anything once if you or either of them wanna try something new to spice it up in the bedroom, but there’s a certain line they won’t cross. 

If they choke or slap you in any way it’s because you asked for it, and they’ll make up some sort of safe word or action like tapping them three times if you need them to stop/slow down.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

☆ Service doms? Nah, they eat you out for their pleasure. They don’t care if you’re shaking and pushing them away from you because you’ve lost count of how much you’ve come, these two get drunk on the taste of your pussy. 

They both have long fingers that curl just right to hit your sweet spot dead on, and Thanos’ are thicker, too. That paired with their rings and they’ll have you crying for them. Don’t get them wrong, they won’t argue if you get on your knees and pull on the waistband of their pants instead.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

☆ They do both! They can fuck you so hard and fast you’re seeing stars afterwards or they can take their time with you, pouring all their desperation and want into making love to you. They’ll never call it that, though, but you know they’re secretly saps.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

☆ They’re always down. There will genuinely not be a time you ask them, even if you have to be somewhere within the next 5 minutes, that they say no. They might not happen often but if a quick session can sate all of you for long enough then running a little late is more than worth it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

☆ Back to them being disgustingly possessive they aren’t big risk takers in the sense of doing it anywhere semi-public or straight up public, but they’ll always experiment. In their mind, if they already know your body like the back of their own hands, why not play around with things that’ll enhance the experience? 

They start out simple with handcuffs, and if you’re up for it they might introduce toys too. They don’t mind stuff like anal either.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

☆ They could go all night if they wanted to, but Thanos doesn’t last very long with the amount of stimulation unless he’s purposefully trying to edge you or himself. Nam-gyu has a bit more stamina being younger than him, so if Thanos gets tired he’ll keep himself busy pleasuring you while Nam-gyu uses your cunt.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

☆ Not many, they have handcuffs and rope that they’ll use to restrain you sometimes. They have a paddle that they’ll break out to use on you if they’re feeling mean, but not crazy often.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

☆ Nam-gyu is the fucking KING of teasing you oh my god. He’ll finger you and ignore your clit for hours, stopping when you clench around him because he knows you’re close. 

He’ll hold your hips down so you can’t grind against him while you’re sitting on his lap and making out, signaling Thanos to run his hands up and down your sides and pressing feather-light kisses to the nape of your neck but nothing more.

Thanos likes to tease you from time to time, but usually it’s more torture for him to hold back from sliding into you than it is for you to feel him slipping the tip just past your tight walls before pulling back out.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

☆ In general neither of them are exactly loud, but they’re not quiet either. They’ll grunt and pant in your ear, deep, guttural moans that send shivers up your spine.

If you’re topping Nam-gyu (or Thanos) he’s more loud, but he’ll try to bite down on his tongue or bottom lip to contain his whines and whimpers. You’ll have to force a thumb between his teeth if you wanna hear him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

☆ They’ll occasionally smoke weed or drink before they fuck you because it’s a different kind of high from their usual drugs, and they won’t force you to do it but if you do wanna try they like to shotgun the smoke directly into your mouth and then kiss you. 

It usually starts with Nam-gyu teasing you about your apprehension, then being surprised when you climb onto his lap and ask for a hit. He’ll give Thanos that look, then pull you in by your chin and tell you to open. 

The simple but direct command has you clenching your thighs together, which doesn’t go unnoticed by either man.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

☆ Thanos is about average but he’s thick and veiny (and he’d be uncircumcised hear me out). His dick also curves slightly to the right. That’s ALL I’m saying about him otherwise I won’t shut up. Second more in-depth post later maybe.

Nam-gyu’s isn’t as thick but he’s longer than Thanos, reaching into the deepest parts of you and stretching you out with ease.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

☆ Let’s just say high. They’re both already always horny separately, but together you’ll be lucky to get any sleep.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

☆ Light sleeper Nam-gyu 🤝 Deep sleeper Thanos. Very much self explanatory but Thanos will be out like a light within minutes, meanwhile Nam-gyu likes to wait until you’re both asleep to really get comfortable anyway <3

[avaredava]

I think we can all agree Satoru is so nice usually. But I think I NEED mean Satoru. He absolutely makes fun of you when you inevitably can't take all the dick he gives you, especially if you're folded up into like, mating press. Just calling you dirty names.

I'm fucking drooling holy lord

IM TWEAKING THAT IS SO YUMMY ISTG

I fucking love your ideas ilysm 😩 btw this one is kinda short i'm still sick but if you want a longer version just ask i'll make one ( ˘ ³˘)♥

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

⯌ Sum

Mean Satoru Gojo (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

⯌ Wc

0.7k

it's really short but it's all mostly smut

⯌Warnings

Mean!Satoru, Fem!reader, Degradation, Humiliation. Overestimation, Edging, Bondage, Restraints, Impact Play (pussy spanking), Cervix bruising, bruising, brief mention of rope burn, Degradation & Humiliation, some aftercare, kinda kinky, breast playing, mating presses, eagle spread, vibrator that suctions, clit stim

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Satoru Gojo is one of the kindest and sweetest boyfriends you ever had. He would buy you everything you want and kiss you so gently it feels like an angel's kiss. One thing no one has ever expected was him to be so cruel when you both are having sex.

All your friends talked and gossiped about how "He'd just give you vanilla sex nothing that feels good.", "Orgasmless sex.", and "He's tall but probably a small dick." They chuckled and giggled about there own comments.

Little did you know when you joked about what they said about Satoru to him. He decided to prove them absolutely wrong.

_

"Toru! Fuck!" You whine as he slams his big cock inside you in the tightest mating press. His hips snapping wildly like he was so fucking desperate to make you and him cum he was about to cry from over stimulation but he doesn't fucking care.

You tried to move away from overstimulation since he's been edging you but his hips snapping and his hands gripping your shoulders making sure you can't move away.

All you can do is holler and squeal and beg for mercy. Obviously he doesn't. He pulled out for a second and you thought it was over so you let out a sigh of relief before you heard a buzz. Your eyes shot open and you squirm. He ties your wrists and legs bound to the bed post in a eagle spread.

Your nipples perked in the air with arousal your stomach moves up and down with harsh breaths. You let out a shaky breath as he puts the pink vibrator on your clit. It suctions with a click of a button and you yelp as the buzzing gets stronger and more stimulating.

"Your such a fucking slut. Talking about me with your friends, agreeing about these insults. One of those insults maybe being... orgasm-less sex hmm..?" He snarls at you raises the vibrations a notch.

"S-Satoru please I was joking!" You begged and hollered. You know there's no point. He's too pissed off to stop. "I don't fucking care Y/N. You're getting what you said I give you- or what i don't give you. Being a bad girl means no orgasms."

He shoves his fingers inside your pussy pushing against your sweet spot and you were on the brink before he takes the vibrator off while it was still suctioning so it caused a little sting and you whined.

He unties your legs but not your arms so you can't leave or stop him. Your legs shut close fast. "I swear to god Y/N stop closing your fucking legs. I undid them to put you in another position you slut. So keep your legs open." He snarls meanly at you but for some reason it got you more wet.

He put you into a mating press again, his dick hitting parts of you only he can hit. You holler and moan sweet music for his ears. He crushingly hits your cervix. It hurts so good you're at the brink of screaming. His hips snapped at this point both of your hips are bruised.

He grabs your tits aggressively. Tweaking your nipples. Your voice was hoarse from your screams so your moans were more quiet as fat tears dropped down your face. "Fucking slut."

He slapped your pussy, hard. He kept smacking as his thrusts got more bruising. Your cervix is at the point of bleeding. You do have a safe word but fuck it feels too good to stop.

"Y-Your so b-big 'Toru." You whine your eyes squeezed shut. "You can't take it? I thought you were my personal whore hm? My little slut can't even take my own dick." he grins meanly with an evil grin. He decides to take some mercy on you but with a price.

"I'll let you cum if you are a good girl and be quiet no moaning? Hm? Show how obedient you are?" He says wanting power over you. You nod frantically wanting him so bad you don't care what he says anymore.

His hips snap faster and you finally cum on his cock holding in your screams letting out cute noises as his hips don't stop moving crazy fast. He moves a hand down rubbing your clit prolonging your pain of trying to be quiet but the pleasure unknotting from your stomach your pussy feeling good with thrusts and rubs. It's so worth it.

He finally pulls out and unties your wrists kissing the rope burn marks gingerly pulling you close.

"Still gonna joke and make fun of me?"

Maybe you will, maybe just maybe, you want that all again.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Sorry ya'll it's kinda short 😖

[darkluminosity]

Crazy about Diluc and Eula rn so I wanted to do this... link behind the cut since it's a lot 🙃

1. Tough to say, they both do in my hc but I feel like she's more likely to initiate the hugs and he initiates the kisses 😉

2. I think they both do tbh lol. Maybe she does a bit more (at least in my current wip)

3. Eula would borrow Diluc's, I think he's more organized

4. I feel like she would for the reasons above, maybe if she was drinking and misplaced them?

5. Hm this is actually a bit tough because although he's rich and owns a winery, it was inherited so idk if he was taught money management, especially because he has others run it for him. But I feel both of them are fairly responsible.

6. Well, Diluc's parents... yeah they're not around anymore and idk about Eula's. I feel if anything she would take either extreme, either hiding it because she doesn't want to ruin his reputation by others knowing he's dating a Lawrence, or she would utilize their relationship to get back at her clan (and in part of my hcs, get rid of her association with her clan and break apart from them). But the latter would be after they talk it through and he assures her he doesn't care about it. I don't think he would want to hide it. If anything it would take him off of the bachelor market which I think he'd be happy about lol.

7. I actually think he'd be better in the kitchen overall (especially taking lessons from Adelinde if he is willing to learn) BUT as it stands his signature dish is literally a version of Pile 'Em Up which is throwing ingredients on top of each other? Compared to her signature dish, an upgraded version of Moon Pie, I think her signature dish beats his in terms of complexity. But for everyday cooking, probably him.

8. She gets more sleep but he needs more sleep lol 😂

9. They're both serious about their duties and work, but I feel he's a little more hardworking. Not that she isn't, but I think she knows her boundaries and limits more- he's constantly pushing his limits (and working as the Dark Night Hero doesn't exactly have a strict schedule if you know what I mean)

10. She has more empathy... I think 🤔 idk sometimes he can surprise others, it's just others find him hard to read. But I think he has the capacity for empathy too, he just doesn't communicate it openly very much.

11. A cat (hmm this gives me ideas) or she becomes attached to his falcon, they can write letters to each other and send them back and forth (aww 🥰)

12. Eula

13. His is acts of service and quality time, and hers is physical touch and quality time

14. I don't think they would keep secrets from each other intentionally, but there are certain things in Diluc's past that he probably wouldn't want to mention to her, and stuff he knows about Kaeya. Maybe if she asked him (about his past) but I don't think he would readily share it.

15. Neither, but I think as I alluded to in #6, Eula might not feel she deserves him so she might push him away and tell him he deserves better. At least in versions of hc where she has a lower self image and some insecurities. Who knows, he could even say the same to her because of his past if she ever found out 🤷🏻‍♀️

16. Diluc (lol my husband thinks Eula would be a terrible mom 🤐 he said it and he's the Eula main lol)

17. Eula (lol I did a short fic idea of this after chapter 18 of Fighting Winter but never posted it, where they talked after waking up and he's like why were you moaning in your sleep and making noises... and she's like uhh,I was? but she was thinking omg I want to run away in shame lol and instead tries to change the subject 🤣)

OTP questions:

Who initiates hugs?

Who wants to hold the hug longer?

Who borrows the other one’s phone charger?

Who loses their keys/wallet?

Who’s better with money?

Who tried to hide the relationship from their parents?

Who’s better in the kitchen?

Who needs/gets more sleep?

Who’s more laid back and who’s more hard working?

Who has more empathy?

If they were to adopt a pet together, what kind of pet would it be?

Who is more outgoing?

What is their love language?

Are they holding any secrets from each other?

Which one is more likely to cheat?

Which one first brings up the idea of having kids?

Who sleeptalks?

[hivemuthur]

Can I request childhood friends to lovers with Viktor where he takes reader to prom? I guess this is make up for the time I went to prom alone and just sat in the back uncomfortable cause I didn’t have friends and very socially anxious )):

Hi darling Anon! I went a bit overboard, but I hope you like it :x

Teenage Dirtbag

viktorxfemale!reader general audiences, Viktor asks Reader to prom and guess what, they go!

author’s note: I was hell-bent on making Viktor sound like a teenager here, when I finally decided that he was born with old speech curse. It's just my hc :v @rennethen beta read!

word count: 3,5K

—

You can hear around a fifth giggle this afternoon in the library, followed by an excited yes, and you huff under your nose, re-reading the sentence that got interrupted. Viktor throws you a glance.

“Everything alright?” he asks, whispering, and his breath fans your hand clutching the book. You wince at another distraction and mumble an annoyed yes, not looking up, but Viktor’s eyes are burning a hole in your forehead.

“Ugh, it’s noisy in here today, don’t you think?” you finally whisper back, and if your voice had a pitch, it would be high.

“Yes, well, the prom fever has begun, I believe,” Viktor muses, glancing over at yet another couple exchanging prom invitations and trying to suppress giggles and chatter. When you do only as much as grumble some incomprehensible curse, he presses further. “Are you against prom?”

“Are you not?” you whisper, louder, to the point where whispering actually stops making sense because probably everyone can hear you. “It’s a horrible patriarchal tradition meant to celebrate classic standards of beauty and popularity and alienate outsiders even further. And you have to pay for it.”

“So, am I understanding correctly that you do not intend to go?” Viktor asks, lifting his head to look at you. He studies you for a moment, then smiles—one of those smirks that suggests there will be a very clever follow-up question.

“Exactly.” You nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to physically shield yourself from what you expect to come next.

“Not even if someone has invited you?” His tone remains casual, but the way he tilts his head suggests something more calculated, and for a fleeting moment, it stings that Viktor would even hint at such a thing.

“Not even then, no.” You shake your head, trying to steady the slight waver in your voice, even though it’s still a whisper.

He hums and reaches into his bag. Before you can say anything, he’s waving two pieces of paper in front of your face, a merciless smirk tugging at his lips.

“I guess it’s very unfortunate that I have bought those tickets then?”

You blink, staring at him as your mind tries to process the words. “You what?” Your voice jumps in volume, drawing a couple of scolding glances and an exaggerated shh from a nearby table.

Viktor tilts his head, utterly unbothered. “I have acquired tickets. Two of them. One for me. One for you.”

“You—” Your mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “Viktor, why—? What—” you stutter as your brain spirals into synaptic failure.

“Will you go to the prom with me?” he asks smoothly, flashing you an honest, doe-eyed smile. “I know you enjoy complaining about things before inevitably having a good time, so I thought we could give it a try, no? As friends?”

Your jaw drops. “That is not true.” That is so not true. If you say yes, you are absolutely going to complain all the way through and make sure not to have a good time, just to prove your point. But then again, the gesture is so sweet that two conflicting parts of you battle in an unwinnable war. “Viktor, are you sure?”

“What is there to be unsure about? We’ll dress up, make fun of whoever gets illegally drunk, complain about the food, music, and decorations, and then I will walk you home and bid you good night. No casualties,” he says in one breath, as if trying to convince himself now, too. Your resistance has gone on long enough that even he is beginning to doubt the genius of his own plan.

“I… I don’t have a dress,” you say weakly, taking the ticket from his hand. Your fingers brush, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips.

“Well, you had better organise yourself then, yes? Unless you intend to die on that hill and say no?” Viktor teases, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets testing his luck so boldly.

Fortunately, you sigh and shake your head. “No, I don’t intend to die on that hill,” you huff, but your face beams despite yourself. “Fine. Let’s go to prom.”

And while Viktor might have preferred to hear I would love to go with you or one of those choked, excited yes sounds that have been echoing through your entire study session, he will take your fine as a first step toward something bigger. Maybe. He will see.

And you, uh. You are going to the prom. To the conceptually horrible party that celebrates bland, generic stereotypes and leaves no space for individuality or oddity (if that’s how you’d describe yourself). With your best friend. And the lie you told through your fucking teeth about not having a dress makes you blush with shame, but at least that’s out of the way. Now all you have to do is just… go.

When Viktor shows up on your doorstep on the night of the event, you don’t expect anything, even though something inside you gets all giddy when your mom calls you downstairs for the goddamn prom picture. You don’t expect him to react, to do anything out of the ordinary—so when he arrives with a tie that matches your dress perfectly and a complimentary corsage, you’d probably drop whatever you were holding, had your hands been occupied.

And Viktor does almost drop the corsage at the sight of you, his grip wobbling on his cane. His eyes stay locked on you as you rush clumsily down the stairs, still tucking in the last few pins into your hair, the dress flowing around you. And it’s, uh. A really good dress. He almost can’t believe that you’ve managed to find it in such a short time. It hugs you perfectly, and the colour brings out the features Viktor knew were there, but now they look just… perfect. And he notices how your face is actually close to perfect. With little bits of imperfections that make you even more pretty. But he can’t make this too weird, so he swallows down all his awe and greets you with a stupid, “Hi.”

“H-hey,” you stutter, feeling oddly scrutinized. But you do take notice of how neatly Viktor’s hair is combed, how the tie suits his eyes. And then the corsage. And then the strange lump of awkwardness in your throat when your mum urges you both to stand closer for the picture. You try to mask your blush by sticking out your tongue and making a silly face, earning an unimpressed huff from her.

The besotted awkwardness lingers all the way from your doorstep to school. Through the hallway, as you gain a few compliments from people whose names you can’t remember. When Viktor gets an odd “nicely done” from a classmate who’s blatantly eyeing you both. You exchange a glance and chuckle—awkwardly, of course.

By the time you finally sit at the table, the weirdness is too much. Mustering whatever courage is left in your overly pampered self, you lean in and say playfully, “Alright. We are at the prom. Entertain me, please.”

“Entertain you? Are you not entertained enough by the lovely décor and impeccable music?” Viktor smiles incredulously, turning in his chair to face you, grateful for the silence to be broken.

“Thoroughly. But I am hungry for more.” You shoot him a grin and lean in closer.

“Well, turn around then,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Turn around?”

“Go on.” His tone is coaxing, teasing.

So you do. You turn in your chair, facing the room, and almost spit out your drink when Viktor’s arm snakes around your neck, his palm resting on your bare shoulder, his torso pressing lightly against your back. His chin nestles into the crook of your neck as he lifts a hand, finger pointing toward two teachers in the corner of the room.

“Do you think they came drunk or that they got drunk here?” he asks, his voice low with amusement.

You barely register the question at first—too focused on the way his breath fans over your skin, warm and feather-light. Goosebumps prickle across your neck and shoulders, a shiver rolling down your spine before you can stop it.

“I—” You clear your throat, willing yourself to sound normal. “I think—uh, I think they definitely pregamed.” You tilt your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Viktor’s expression. He’s smirking. Of course he is.

“Mm. A strategic move,” he murmurs, not moving away. “Perhaps we should have considered it.”

You huff out a laugh, shifting under his arm in an attempt to ignore the way your pulse has suddenly decided to misbehave. “You do realise that if I came here drunk, I would be insufferable?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I find you insufferable even sober, so what difference would it make?”

You elbow him lightly in the ribs, earning a breathy chuckle. He still doesn’t move. And you don’t ask him to. His chin rests in the crook of your neck as he scans the room like a scientist observing an experiment in progress. His finger shifts, pointing toward the stage.

“The lead singer,” he murmurs, amusement curling in his voice. “Look closely.”

You squint, following his gaze. It takes a second, but then—oh. The guy isn’t singing. Not really. His mouth moves just a fraction too late, his lips barely forming the right shapes as the speakers blast out an overproduced ballad.

You gasp. “He’s—he’s lip-syncing?”

“Quite badly,” Viktor confirms, his tone as dry as ever.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, but Viktor’s shoulders shake with barely-contained mirth. He leans in a fraction more, his breath warming your ear. “Truly an artist at work,” he muses, eyes alight with mischief.

Your gaze drifts further across the room, taking in the scattered pockets of chaos—the swaying bodies on the dance floor, the clumps of students deep in scandalous conversation, and—

“The punch,” Viktor notes, and you follow his gesture toward a table where two students are very obviously spiking the communal bowl.

You snort. “Bold of them to think no one would notice.”

“Mm.” Viktor hums, tilting his head. “Seems like you can still change your mind about intoxication.”

You scoff, twisting just enough to give him a sceptical look. “Is there a particular reason you would like me to get drunk?” you challenge. “Am I truly this insufferable sober?”

Viktor exhales a sharp laugh, but then—he shifts just slightly closer, his voice dropping low as he leans in, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You asked me to entertain you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his accent thick and deliberate. “I am merely presenting you with the options.”

Heat flares in your cheeks so fast you’re convinced the entire room must see it. Your throat goes dry. Viktor is smug, you can feel it in the way his breath lingers, in the amused tilt of his head when he finally pulls back. And oh, you are not going to let him get away with that.

“I’ll do it if you do it,” you declare, lifting your chin in challenge.

Viktor barely hesitates. “Say no more.”

And that’s how you find yourself cradling a giant plastic cup of aggressively spiked punch, the harsh sting of cheap alcohol unmistakable beneath the artificial fruit flavour. Viktor, beside you, takes a sip and immediately winces.

“Whoever did this,” he coughs, shaking his head, “should be arrested.”

You laugh, swallowing past the burn. “And yet, here we are.”

“Deeply regretting our choices?”

You grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

But the regret fades fast as the night unfolds. You both keep up a steady stream of quiet, conspiratorial chatter, pointing out ridiculous dance moves, stolen kisses, and teachers who look like they’d rather be anywhere else. There’s warmth in it, a shared amusement that makes the room blur into the background.

And then—

A familiar melody hums through the speakers, soft and slow, cutting through the pop songs that came before. Without thinking, you blurt, “Dance with me.”

Viktor turns, eyebrows raised. “I don’t really dance,” he says, tapping his cane lightly against the floor.

Realisation sinks in, and your stomach twists. “Oh—I didn’t mean—”

But he’s already shaking his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Swaying,” he amends gently. “Swaying is a better word for what I’m capable of.”

You exhale, smiling. “I prefer swaying to dancing, anyway.”

So you stay close to your table, moving just enough to count as dancing but not enough to make a spectacle of yourselves. Your arms loop around Viktor’s shoulders, fingers brushing the hairline at the nape of his neck, while his hands find their place at the small of your back, fingers linking together.

At first, the awkwardness lingers. You make some quip about looking like a terrible prom cliché, and Viktor fires back that, statistically, you are. But then—his expression shifts, something softer taking over, something you’ve seen on his face before but never thought much of it.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, he leans in, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You freeze for half a second, caught between surprise and outright joy. The scent of him lingers close, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, and when you absently tangle your fingers into his hair, Viktor trembles. A full-body reaction barely contained, followed by a quiet, unsteady huff against your shoulder.

Your heart thuds.

His grip tightens, one hand shifting higher, fingers pressing firmly into the space between your shoulder blades as he pulls you closer. For a long moment, neither of you speak. You simply sway, pressed together, moving with the rhythm of the song.

And then, as the last few notes echo out and the moment threatens to end, Viktor shifts. His lips brush the shell of your ear, voice low, careful, asking—

“Would you like to go somewhere quieter?”

“I… I thought you’d never ask,” you murmur, voice weaker than you’d like. You swallow hard as Viktor takes your hand without a word, his grip warm and steady. With an effortless sweep, he hooks his cane off the chair, and then you’re moving—out of the too-bright, too-loud gym, into the cool air of the school corridors.

He leads with quiet confidence, and you follow, heartbeat pressing insistently against your ribs. The path is familiar even in the dim light, and it doesn’t take long before you recognise where he’s heading.

“The library?” you whisper as he guides you toward the building. “When you said quieter, I didn’t think you meant completely silent.”

Viktor smirks, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “Would you prefer the janitor’s closet? It is considerably less spacious.”

You scoff. “Not what I meant. Also—isn’t the library locked?”

His smirk deepens. “I know a door that’s never closed.”

And true enough, he leads you around the side, where an unassuming back door sits in shadow. With a practiced motion, he presses the handle, and it gives way with the softest click.

“You’ve done this before,” you accuse in a whisper.

He tilts his head in faux thoughtfulness. “I could neither confirm nor deny.”

Suppressing a grin, you slip inside after him, the familiar scent of books and dust immediately wrapping around you. The hush of the library feels different at night—more intimate, more secret.

You wander between the shelves, fingers trailing along the spines, exchanging glances through the gaps in the books. The flickering light from the streetlamps outside casts shadows between the rows, stretching and shifting as you move.

“So,” Viktor’s voice breaks the quiet, “how is your prom experience so far?”

You hesitate, considering. Then, with a small smile, you answer honestly, “Unexpected.”

Viktor hums, appearing between the books for just a second before disappearing again into another row. “Is that a good thing?”

You step forward, peering through the shelves, catching the flicker of his gaze as he does the same. “Yeah,” you say softly. “It’s nice.”

You keep this quiet game going, stealing glimpses of each other through gaps in the books, smiles tugging at your lips. The anticipation coils in your chest as you round the final shelf, and—

You meet at the end.

Viktor is already there, standing just a step away, watching you. His head tilts slightly, amusement flickering in his expression as he takes a measured step forward.

“And,” he murmurs, voice lower now, smooth and teasing. “Are you entertained?”

Your lips part, a heartbeat passing before you manage to answer. “Immensely.”

Viktor steps closer, the space between you shrinking with every slow, careful movement. His hand finds your waist, warm and sure, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your dress.

“And if I did this,” he murmurs, voice edged with amusement, “would you be more or less entertained?”

Your breath hitches at the closeness, heat blooming in your cheeks. But you refuse to falter, tilting your chin up just slightly. “More is… more likely.”

His lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. Then, with an unhurried grace, he lifts a hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

Your heart stumbles.

“And if, say, I did something like this?” he whispers, his mouth hovering achingly close to yours.

The warmth of him is dizzying, his breath fanning against your lips. Your mind struggles to keep up, to form words, to hold onto logic, but all you manage is a weak, “I think you have to be a little bit more specif—”

You don’t get to finish.

Because Viktor kisses you.

At first, it’s tentative—a soft press of lips, uncertain but intent, as if testing the waters of something fragile and new. His hand tightens at your waist, pulling you the barest bit closer, and you can’t help the soft, surprised sound that escapes you.

And then the hesitation melts.

The kiss deepens, slow but heady, and before you know it, your fingers are threading into his perfectly combed hair, tugging him closer. You feel him inhale sharply against your mouth, and then—

A low, barely-there noise escapes him as your fingers twist further, utterly ruining the neatness he’d so carefully maintained. His hand slides up your back, pressing against bare skin, and when you curl your fingers at the nape of his neck, Viktor shudders—actually shudders again—and lets out a soft, breathy huff against your lips.

Visibly flustered, Viktor pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, though the space between you remains minuscule. His breath is uneven, his carefully composed exterior slightly shaken, and the way his lips part—like he’s still chasing the remnants of the kiss—does nothing to help your own spiraling thoughts.

His fingers linger at your waist as if reluctant to let go, and then, in a quiet, almost sheepish voice, he asks, “So, um… Do you think I could keep entertaining you in a prom-unrelated environment in the near future?”

You blink, your mind catching up to his words, still dazed from the kiss, and then—

“Are you asking me out?”

The sheer wonder and hope in your voice nearly makes Viktor laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching. He exhales, shaking his head as if he can’t believe you can’t believe it.

“I—” He swallows, gaze flickering over your face, then exhales a soft chuckle. “Yes. Yes, I am asking you out.”

 “Yes, I would love for you to keep entertaining me then,” you say warmly.

A smile breaks across Viktor’s face, slow and triumphant, because in one fell swoop, he’s won both of what he wanted—an enthusiastic yes and a very eager I would love to.

And that’s all the permission he needs.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t second-guess it. He just leans in and kisses you again, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. This time, there’s no hesitation, no lingering question marks hanging between you—just warmth, want, and the giddy realisation that this is happening.

Your fingers tangle into his already-mussed hair, and Viktor makes a noise against your mouth that you swear you feel more than hear, something between a sigh and a laugh. His arms tighten around you as he deepens the kiss, as if anchoring himself to this moment, to you.

Somewhere between kisses, between the rustle of clothes and the muffled sound of your shared, breathless laughter, a book teeters off the shelf and lands with a soft thud on the floor beside you. You barely notice. Prom may have been the reason you ended up here, but right now, the only thing that matters is Viktor, his lips on yours, the feeling of his fingers pressing into the small of your back, and the quiet, thrilling promise of whatever comes next.

[maaikeatthefullmoon]

Who else is in the ‘they are speaking - mind-to-mind’ theory camp?

I’ve had to accept that I’m not going to have time to write the fanfic I have all planned out in my mind. Not if I want to Write Seriously™️ and be a functioning human.

I don’t even have the time to write a long-arse meta like I’d love to. I’d love to spend a whole day just delving into my thoughts but…not gonna happen. As it is I’ve got about 10 minutes until someone gets home and I’ll be expected to do useful things.

So.

I think Aziraphale taught Crowley a useful magic trick in 1941. Our Part 3. Which we see during The Kiss in the Final 15 - when Crowley passes something to Az. What does he pass? Dunno. But it’s got something to do with this new communication ability.

This isn’t Crowley realising his feelings. They have both known their feelings for long enough. This is him realising he needs to put plans into action. Spurred by Nina’s words, and other things. They’ve been too conspicuous. It’s too dangerous. He needs to protect his angel.

All of this - a lot of acting for those listening in, but probably also anger and devastation at Crowley for putting into action the emergency plan without Az’s consent? But rather than being angry, I think this “I forgive you” is genuinely meant. Az knows Crowley saw no other way out for them. I think there’s a degree of bodily autonomy this plan takes away, but Az wants him to know that’s ok. He forgives him.

And that means more than “I love you” to me.

So while Crowley drives, he’s (oooh, is it breaking the law? Is it like talking on the phone?? Demon!) talking to his angel. I believe, telling him he’ll be taking his place as the Grand Duke of Hell. Ready to fuck shit up.

As we have Aziraphale (and Michael Sheen, master of microexpressions) joining in the planning.

Ready to fuck shit up.

And so we have our players manoeuvred into place. Head of Staff of Heaven & Hell. Ostensibly.

Not speaking. Verbally.

But mentally…that’s a different story.