#i'm making this post because i was just in the car looking out the window

[pensthoughts]

plus-one | v.p

part 3 of home turf pairing: adult!van palmer x reader summary: what starts as a rainy-day coffee date with van turns into sideline tension, stolen glances, and a big game that leaves your heart racing for more reasons than one. word count: 4k a/n: hi guys i'm alive!!! sorry for not posting in like ten years i've been super busy with lacrosse and school and just life in general. i think of home turf basically every day of my life so after a lot of hoping for free time, i decided to not study for a final so that i could write this because tbh i care about this a lot more and studying is overrated anyways. also!!! i did not proofread this yet so please don't mind typos bc there definitely are a few in here lol

it starts with a gray sky and the smell of rain on pavement. that kind of drizzle that barely counts, soft enough to ignore but persistent enough to hang in the air, humid and clinging. you're staring out the front window, arms crossed, a tiny knot of nerves forming in your stomach. not from the weather, obviously. from her.

you've changed shirts three times.

and now you're standing barefoot in your sister's hallway, tugging gently at the hem of the one you finally settled on—light blue, casual enough to pass for effortless, even though there's nothing effortless about the way your heart keeps racing.

you pull your hair up. then down. then half-up. then sigh and start over.

it's just a coffee. a cup of coffee with your niece's soccer coach. the one with the quick wit and even quicker smile, who keeps looking at you like she knows somethign you don't. the one who asked you out in your own kitchen.

you smooth your hands over your jeans and catch your reflection in the hallway mirror. "get it together," you whisper, then immediately cringe.

the house is quiet. sophia's already out—some team thing at one of the other girls' houses before the game, leaving you alone to spiral.

you drift into the kitchen and start fidgeting with the fridge magnets. you open the freezer, close it again. you think about texting someone, then remember you don't really have anyone here to text.

the clock on the microwave blinks. you've got maybe ten minutes before she shows up.

you reach for your jacket. then stop. then reach again.

you're pulling it on when you hear a car engine outside—low and distinct—and your heart skips.

you rush to the window like you're not already waiting. then pause, tug the curtain back an inch.

she's here.

of course she is.

and of course she's driving the coolest car you've ever seen.

you open the front door too fast and regret it, like maybe you should've waited a few seconds, made her knock, done something cooler. but then she looks up from where she's leaning against the side of her car—hands in her jacket pockets, head tilted—and grins like you've just made her day by stepping outside.

and honestly? that grin makes your stomach flutter.

"hey," she says, pushing off the car with one sneakered foot.

"hey," you echo, then freeze. "sorry, i didn't—um. you didn't have to get out."

"i didn't," van says, "just wanted to lean dramatically. like in a movie."

you blink. "did it work?"

she smirks. "well, you're here, aren't you?"

you try not to smile, but it's already happening. she opens the passenger door for you and waits, one eyebrow raised, like she's daring you to comment on the car.

you do. "okay, wait. this is yours?"

"it's an '87 trans am," she says, like it's obvious. "got her for cheap and fixed her up myself. be honest—are you impressed or intimidated?"

you pause, "honestly? a little bit of both."

van's eyes flash. "noted."

you slide into the seat and immediately notice how the interior smells faintly like cinnamon and leather. there's a mixtape playing really softly—real cassette, not just a playlist—with mazzy star humming low in the background.

when she gets in on the driver's side, you pretend to look out the window instead of watching the way she tugs her sleeves up and adjusts the rearview mirror like she's done it a thousand times before.

"you good?" she asks, starting the car.

"yeah," you say. "you?"

van shrugs. "can't complain. taking a pretty girl to get coffee. got a game in a few hours. feeling kind of lucky."

you blink. "you always say stuff like that?"

"only when i mean it."

you're quiet for a second, staring at your hands in your lap, fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve.

"you don't have to be nervous," she says, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

"i'm not nervous," you lie.

she smiles without calling you out. "okay."

the rain's eased up by the time you hit the main road, just misty now, making the streets shine. van drives like someone who doesn't rush unless she has to—careful, one hand on the wheel, the other draped loosely over the gearshift. every once in a while, she hums along to the music like she forgot you were there, and honestly, you don't mind it. it's oddly comforting.

"so," you say, breaking the quiet. "you always take your dates out before games?"

van glances at you. "you think this is a date?"

you freeze. "isn't it?"

she grins. "i was hoping you'd say that."

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling. you can't help it.

a minute later, she pulls into a spot in front of a little brick-walled café with a painted wooden sign and fairy lights still twinkling under the awning, even in daylight.

"here we are," van says, cutting the engine. "the finest slightly pretentious coffee shop this side of the county line."

you lean back in your seat and look out at the café. "looks cute."

van unbuckles her seatbelt and opens her door, then pauses and looks at you again. "hey."

you look over. "yeah?"

her voice softens just slightly. "thanks for saying yes."

your heart does a weird little thing in your chest, a twist you weren't expecting.

"thanks for asking," you say, and this time you mean it.

the bell over the door chimes softly as you step into the little coffee shop, the sound swallowed up by the low hum of conversation and the indie playlist spilling from an old speaker in the corner. rain dots your jacket and clings to your sleeves, the damp smell of the sidewalk following you in. van's hand brushes your lower back as she steps in behind you, a warm, brief touch that she doesn't comment on.

she looks around once, taking in the mismatched chairs, the tiny potted plants on the windowsills, and the art student paintings tacked crookedly to the walls.

"this place is so you," she says, already grinning.

you raise an eyebrow. "how would you know what's 'so me'?"

van gestures vaguely. "i mean, come on. indie playlists? handmade mugs? this screams 'i went to school in a city and had a mental breakdown sophomore year.'"

you snort. "i'll have you know, my breakdown happened senior year, and i'm very emotionally mature now."

"ah," she says, "that explains the iced matcha obsession."

"it's not an obsession," you protest, stepping up to the counter. "it's a personality trait."

van squints up at the menu behind the counter. "alright, hit me. what's the move?"

you already know what you're getting. "iced matcha latte. oat milk. no sweetener."

she looks at you like you just said you eat soap.

"no sweetener?"

"i like to taste the grass," you say, sarcastic.

that makes her laugh, and she steps up when it's her turn. "i'll have one too," she tells the barista. "exactly what she's having."

you blink. "wait, really?"

van shrugs. "i wanna know what the fuss is about. plus..." she leans a little closer, voice lower. "you looked cute ordering it."

you look down suddenly, your fingers twisting the strap of your bag as the warmth rises to your cheeks. "it's just a drink."

"mhm," she says, lips twitching like she knows exactly what she's doing. "so, what makes it so good? or am i about to hate my life for the next twenty minutes?"

you smirk. "it's earthy. subtle. also good for your brain." she pretends to take notes. "earthy, subtle, green sludge. got it."

you both grab your drinks and find a table near the window, where the rain has tapered into a soft mist. you stir your drink with the straw as van sits opposite you and gives her cup a suspicious glance.

she lifts it to her lips and sips slowly. pauses. looks down. sips again.

"well?" you ask, watching her.

"it tastes like..." she makes a face. "someone put oat milk in a garden."

you try not to laugh. "you're ridiculous."

"you're drinking pond water on purpose," she says. "i'm allowed to judge."

"you grew up in jersey," you shoot back. "your opinion on taste is invalid."

van gasps, mock offended. "wow. anti-jersey bias. typical new yorker."

you smirk. "guilty. i've been judging diners and bagels since birth."

van grins, "yeah, i remember. didn't your kindergarten have a french teacher and yoga twice a week?"

"don't forget fencing," you add, sipping your drink.

van puts a hand over her heart. "god forbid."

"i was an upper west side menace," you say, almost proud.

"oh, i can tell. you definitely wore a headband with your name on it and got in trouble for correcting your teachers."

"i did not—" you pause. "okay. maybe once. but it was mr. goldman and he mispronounced degas."

van fake gasps. "tragic."

you lean back in your chair, laughing. "you're just jealous your elementary school didn't have a gluten-free bake sale."

"oh, totally. meanwhile, i was eating cafeteria pizza off a paper towel."

you smile at her over the rim of your cup. "explains so much."

van lifts her cup in a mock toast. "to matcha, mental stability, and girls who peak in tiny coffee shops."

you clink your plastic lid against hers. "cheers."

there's a pause, but it's easy. comfortable, even with the electricity himming between you. you sip your drink and watch the rain mist the outside world into a watercolor blur.

"thanks for picking me up, by the way," you say after a beat. "i know you didn't have to."

"i wanted to," she says, watching you over her cup. "besides, it gave me an excuse to see you before the chaos."

you smile. "still. appreciate it."

"you say that now," van says. "but you do know i can't drive you to the game, right?

you frown. "wait. what?"

she tilts her head. "i have to ride the bus with the team. like, legally. school policy."

your eyes go wide. "hold on. i have to go on the bus?"

van grins. "you thought i was your personal chauffer for the night?"

"i didn't think—i just assumed—"

she laughts so hard she nearly spills her drink. "oh no. this is even better than i imagined."

"van."

"yes?"

"i don't do buses."

"oh, you do now."

you groan and drop your head to the table. "this is actually hell."

"come on," she says, nudging your ankle with hers. "could be worse. you get a free drink, a spot next to me, and all the orange slices you can eat."

"i didn't realize i signed up for summer camp."

"hey, some of us take our chaperone roles very seriously."

you lok up at her, hair falling slightly in your face. "do you really?"

she meets your gaze and—just for a second—there's something quiet in her expression. something a little more serious.

"i do when it comes to you," she says.

you're quiet for a second too long. then you look away, flustered, fiddling with your straw again.

"okay," you say softly. "i'll brave the bus."

van grins and stands, stretching. "good. you'll live."

"barely," you mutter.

she holds the door open for you again, the wind catching the bottom of her jacket. as you step out into the drizzle together, she glances sideways at you and says, "for the record, i still think this drink tastes like lawn clippings."

"and yet," you say, sipping it proudly, "you finished it."

van pauses, then tosses the empty cup in the trash. "yeah, well. i'm full of surprises."

you glance up at her, rain misting in your lashes. "so am i."

she smirks. "good. that'll make this bus ride way more fun."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you pull into the school parking lot five minutes before call time, van drumming her fingers on the wheel to the beat of a pixies song playing low on the radio. she parks in her usual reserved spot by the athletic enterance and shuts off the ignition like it's any other day—but the glance she sends your way lingers.

the drizzle hasn't let up, but it's light now—just enough to mist the windshield. you can see the yellow bus already idling behind the gym, a cluster of girls dragging gear bags and kicking around a soccer ball like it's just another game day.

she glances at you. "ready for your chaperone debut?"

you snort. "is there a training manual?"

"i think it's mostly snacks and staying out of their way."

you smirk and unbuckle, grabbing your drink from the center console. the last of your matcha, mostly melted now, but still sweet and comforting. as you open the door, van waits a second like the wants to say something—then just grabs her keys and steps out too.

the second you round the back of her car, sophia spots you from the bus steps.

"well, well," she calls. "good afternoon, coach. good afternoon... guest."

you raise an eyebrow. "that's what i am?"

she grins, shrugging. "i dunno. coffee shop pal? coach's plus-one?"

you blink. "sophia."

"i'm kidding," she says, holding up her hands. "kind of."

van doesn't even flinch. "get on the bus."

sophia disappears with a laugh, and you shoot van a sideways look.

"she's bold."

van chuckles. "she's fifteen."

"fifteen with great comedic timing."

you both walk toward the bus in comfortable rhythm, close enough that your hands brush once by accident—and then not-so-accidentally again. van doesn't say anything, but she lets it happen.

the bus door creaks open as you climb up behind her, and a few heads turn when they realize you're not just dropping her off. you give a small wave—half "hi," half "yes, i know this is weird"—and slide into a seat in the front. van plops down beside you like it's the most casual thing in the world, one knee bouncing gently.

there's a low hum of conversation from the rest of the team, and even though no one says anything out loud, you can feel it—the curious glances, the slight uptick in whispering.

you lean toward van, voice quiet. "i think we're being observed."

she nods. "i'm aware."

"they're totally talking about us."

"they're teenagers. they talk about everything." she turns her head, gives you a small, private smile. "besides, we're not doing anything wrong."

your heart flips at the softness in her tone. "yeah," you say, staring straight ahead, willing your cheeks to cool down. "just two adults... on a bus."

van smirks. "you're so good at playing it cool."

you roll your eyes and take a long sip of your drink just to give your hands something to do. "okay, what if i told you you're the one making it hard to play it cool?"

her eyebrows lift slightly. "am i?'

"you know you are."

she leans back in the seat, smug. "interesting."

you kick her foot lightly and try not to smile too hard.

a few rows up, sophia glances over her shoulder, eyes sharp and amused. you catch her watching and quickly look out the window. van doesn't react—but her knee presses just slightly closer to yours.

the rest of the ride is smooth. there's music from someone's speaker playing low, some rhythmic tapping of cleats against seats, and murmured reminders about plays and formations. but mostly, you and van just sit there, side by side, not saying much but not needing to.

it feels like the kind of quiet that means something.

by the time the bus pulls into the school lot, the rain has gone from a lazy mist to something steadier. nothing dramatic, just enough to dampen the air and make the field look darker around the edges. the players are already pulling up their hoods, tugging drawstrings tight. chatter getting sharper with nerves. you step off behind van, your sneakers hitting the pavement with that soft wet slap that says fall has offically arrived.

the girls scatter—some heading straight for the locker room, some toward the field to check the turf. you start veering toward the bleachers out of habit, tugging your hoodie tighter around you.

but van catches your sleeve.

"where do you think you're going, city girl?"

you blink at her, then glance toward the stands. "to sit?"

"wrong." she grins, knowing the effect she has on you. "you're on sideline duty today."

your eyebrows lift. "oh, i am?"

"unless you want to look useless in front of a bunch of teenage girls. didn't you almost go D1?"

you scoff, bumping her shoulder. "wow. so you do keep tabs."

"i keep receipts," she says, smug. "and i need someone who can read a press without panicking. like an assistant coach."

you glance toward the bench. "so you're just using me."

"obviously." van's eyes flick up and down your frame. "i mean, you already look like a soaked varsity captain. you're halfway there."

you roll your eyes but follow her anyway, past the rusted fencing along the edge of the field. the team is huddling now, cleats clacking against wet turf, the pregame energy thick with nerves and excitement. it's the kind of buzz you used to live for—that moment when the world narrows to ninety minutes and white lines and the ache in your calves. you hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

van tosses you a spare windbreaker from the team bag. it's a little big, smells like turf and detergent, but it's a good swap for your soaked jacket. she's already moving into coach mode—adjusting the roster sheet, scanning the other team's warmup. but she doesn't miss a beat when she says:

"you good with the midfielders?"

you glance up, surprised. "you trust me with the middle line?"

"i trust you not to screw it up. or at least to look hot while doing it."

you snort. "so professional."

van shrugs. "we can't all be preppy new york prodigies."

you raise an eyebrow. "will you ever let go of that?"

van just laughs. "bet your team had a private trainer."

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling now. "grew up in the city doesn't mean i was in a vogue spread, you know."

"didn't say it was a bad thing," she says, softer. "you just carry yourself different. confident. or maybe just used to pretending to be."

you glance at her, caught off guard. but before you can say anything, the whistle blows to call the girls in.

pregame huddle.

van pulls her cap down tighter and steps up beside them, voice raised and steady.

"alright—heads in. this team isn't gonna hand you the win. you have to work for every play. i want communication, tight spacing, and no hero ball. we play smart, we play together."

she gives the floor the the captain, a senior named harper who says something about pride and grit, and you hang back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the starting lineup. you can already tell where the holes are—the left back is too shaky, too hesitant, and the forwards are too close together.

you lean over to van. "if they keep bunching like that, they're gonna lose the lanes. you want me to say something?"

van doesn't even look up from her clipboard. "why do you think you're here?" the rain is picking up again. not heavy, but colder. a reminder that summer's over for good. you step closer to the field, the smell of wet turf curling in your lungs, and suddenly it's like you're sixteen again—not hurt, not haunted by what could've been. just here. with cleats underfoot and sky overhead and the pulse of a game about to begin.

van gives a short whistle. "positions!"

you watch as the girls jog into place, their ponytails whipping, their voices overlapping in last-second calls.

you don't say it out loud, but you feel it as the ball rolls into play:

you missed this.

and maybe—just maybe—van knew that all along.

once the game starts, the first goal comes fast.

barely ten minutes into the game, harper makes a clean steal at midfield and sends a pass spiraling down the right wing. sophia takes off like she's weightless, a blur of yellow cleats and sharp instincts. one touch, two, and then she cuts inside—sells the defender with a feint so smooth is almost cruel. a perfect finish. back of the net.

van throws her fist up in triumph, grinning as she turns toward you. "that's my girl."

you can't help it—you cheer, heart pounding like you just scored. "she's incredible."

"try coaching her," van says, half-laughing, already watching the field again. "you tell her one thing and she turns it into five."

sophia jogs back to the huddle, soaked from the rain but glowing under the lights. the team's electric. the yellowjackets settle into a rhythm, each pass sharper than the last, energy buzzing through every sideline shout. the field belongs to them.

until it doesn't.

the shift is so fast you don't see it coming. sophia's cutting inside again—same footwork, same burst—but the defender this time is late a clumsy. sophia plants too hard and slips. you hear the impact before you see it.

that sound—cleats scraping, a sharp thud, the short cry that escapes her—slices through you.

your stomach turns.

she doesn't get up.

van's already moving. you don't think; your feet are carring you before your mind catches up, the pounding rain suddenly deafening.

sophia's gripping her ankle, face pale, blinking hard. "i'm fine," she says too quickly. "coach, i'm fine."

but you're already kneeling beside her. and your heart is racing.

because what if it's not just a sprain.

you know that motion. that angle. that twist.

it's exactly how it happened to you.

your hands go cold.

you feel like you're seventeen again, lying on the turf, everything slowing down while the future you thought was guaranteed slips right out from under you.

van's voice is steady beside you. "you're not fine. you're out. let me see."

sophia protests, of course she does. because that's what you did too. pretended. pushed through. tried.

you know how dangerous that is now.

she lets them help her off the field. van jogs alongside her, jaw clenched, rain streaking down her neck. you stay where you are for a second longer, watching the spot where sophia fell.

you breathe in. out. again.

then you follow.

back on the sideline, it's like the energy drained from the field with her.

you call instructions, help with formations, try to anchor the midfield with your voice—but everything's off now. they're scattered. the momentum's gone.

and when the other team scores—clean, efficient, bottoms corner—you're not surprised.

1-1.

van mutters something under her breath and throws her cap off in frustration.

you glance toward sophia on the bench. her cleat's off, ankle wrapped, lips tight like she's trying not to cry.

van looks at you. "we need her back."

you hesitate.

"do we risk it?"

van watches you, really watches you. "you tell me."

you walk over and kneel in front of sophia. "hey. how's it feel?"

"tight. but stable."

"stable enough for ten minutes?"

sophia meets your eyes. "i've got five. five good ones."

you nod. "alright. let's make them count."

she jogs back on with under two minutes to go. the team roars. you and van stand side by side, barely breathing.

she takes the ball from midfield, slices through pressure, fakes one defender and slips past another. she's limping, but she's fighting.

the clock winds down.

five seconds.

sophia steps, plants—your stomach tightens—and fires.

it hits the back of the net just as the buzzer blares.

2-1.

van screams. you do too. the bench clears.

sophia collapses into her teammates. they lift her like she won the whole damn state.

you turn to van. she's soaked, beaming.

"told you," she says breathlessly.

you shake your head. "she's insane."

van's voice drops. "she's brave."

you watch the field, heart still hammering, something thick behind your ribs.

so is she, you think.

so were you.

van glances at you sideways. "you okay?"

you nod, slow. "yeah. just...took me back."

she bumps her shoulder into yours, gentle. "thanks for getting her back in."

you look down at the wet turf, then up again.

"she reminded me why i loved this."

van's eyes soften. "then don't walk away from it again."

💌 taglist: @taurtel, @nothoughtsonlyvan, @callsignwidow, @freakyjorker, @imlike-so-gaydude, @yellowjacketsslvt69, @moonwateraura, @gracynparsons, @casualclamturkey, @crainalley0227, @auroraseddie, @brielease

[anonmousegosqueak]

Happy Mother's Day to 1) my wonderful mother who I love so much, and 2) MRS. SANDERSON!!!

(and mama MacTavish but she's not in this post)

Thank you to the wonderful, amazing, perfect @kiokijin for Mrs. Sanderson, I love her so much.

It's honestly a miracle Gary got the day off.

He hadn't been begging exactly, he knows better than that, but it was pretty obvious he wanted to visit his mom for mother's day. She'd been reaching out quite often as well, not exactly making Price's job any easier. And after that shit-show of a mission...?

That's exactly why he's currently vibrating in his seat, happy chirping sounds coming from behind the mask. His antennae had been bopping to the radio for the past hour and Nik can't help but to laugh every time Gary got distracted by something out of the window. He was clearly excited, barely staying in his seat.

Nikolai was the designated driver, having nowhere else to go. "I'm free to take ошибка to see his mother. It's not exactly like I have my own, no?" He had said one night. This was even before Price had signed off on the vacation, before Laswell had even caught wind of the idea. So sure enough, he'd packed his bags and drove without a second thought.

Johnny was in the back seat, snoring slightly and almost definitely drooling all over the nice upholstery. Nik would be mad if it wasn't so cute.

Finally, to round out this little team, Simon was to meet them there.

He obviously hadn't wanted to go, not just because he wasn't in the mood for a vacation. Family was a... Touchy subject. Especially mothers. It's not like he didn't like Mrs. Sanderson! Quite the opposite- she was a lovely woman who gave him more treats than he could ever eat. She was kind and understanding and never pushed, Simon genuinely loved gossiping with her the last time they visited, but... It was still hard.

That's exactly why Price didn't give him a choice.

He basically said "Pack your bags, if I see you on base I'm putting a bullet in your skull", gave him a pat on the shoulder, and then sent him off. Gentle words and subtly wasn't really their thing.

The car had barely even pulled up before Gary was opening the door and darting out. He practically ran to Mrs. Sanderson (who was working on her garden), the poor woman didn't have a chance to look up before he was tackling her in a hug.

"Mamma!"

"Gary-bear!"

He faintly recognized the sound of a certain Scottish bastard laughing, but he didn't care. The nickname might have been embarrassing, but it was his.

Nikolai watched as Gary quickly dropped to his knees, helping with whatever flowers Mrs. Sanderson was planting. One hand to sign, the other clawing at the dirt dispite shovel right next to him. Mrs. Sanderson shoots him a small smile and nod before turning back to her son who was currently telling her about the drive. She didn't protest when Johnny came over, sitting right next to Soap (pushing the shovel out of the way), and helping dig.

Idiots, both of them, but it makes Mrs. Sanderson even more happy. Her boy and his boyfriends, visiting her, helping with her garden...

She swears she sees Nikolai laugh to himself when a familiar truck pulls up, Johnny quickly running over to drag Simon to come help (aka play in the dirt with) the others.

One of the best mother's days she's had in a while.

[mysterypigeon]

i don't think i'm ever going to be normal about the sky (tags)

[mcmansionhell]

namesake mcmansion

Howdy folks! Today's McMansion is very special because a) we're returning to Maryland after a long time and b) because the street this McMansion is on is the same as my name. (It was not named after me.) Hence, it is my personal McMansion, which I guess is somewhat like when people used to by the name rights to stars even though it was pretty much a scam. (Shout out btw to my patron Andros who submitted this house to be roasted live on the McMansion Hell Patreon Livestream)

As far as namesake McMansions go, this one is pretty good in the sense that it is high up there on the ol' McMansion scale. Built in 2011, this psuedo-Georgian bad boy boasts 6 bedrooms and 9.5 baths, all totaling around 12,000 square feet. It'll run you 2.5 million which, safe to say, is exponentially larger than its namesake's net worth.

Now, 2011 was an anonymous year for home design, lingering in the dead period between the 2008 black hole and 2013 when the market started to actually, finally, steadily recover. As a result a lot of houses from this time basically look like 2000s McMansions but slightly less outrageous in order to quell recession-era shame.

I'm going to be so serious here and say that the crown molding in this room is a crime against architecture, a crime against what humankind is able to accomplish with mass produced millwork, and also a general affront to common sense. I hate it so much that the more I look at it the more angry I become and that's really not healthy for me so, moving on.

Actually, aside from the fake 2010s distressed polyester rug the rest of this room is literally, basically Windows 98 themed.

I feel like the era of massive, hefty sets of coordinated furniture are over. However, we're the one's actually missing out by not wanting this stuff because we will never see furniture made with real wood instead of various shades of MDF or particleboard ever again.

This is a top 10 on the scale of "least logical kitchen I've ever seen." It's as though the designers engineered this kitchen so that whoever's cooking has to take the most steps humanly possible.

Do you ever see a window configuration so obviously made up by window companies in the 1980s that you almost have to hand it to them? You're literally letting all that warmth from the fire just disappear. But whatever I guess it's fine since we basically just LARP fire now.

Feminism win because women's spaces are prioritized in a shared area or feminism loss because this is basically the bathroom vanity version of women be shopping? (It's the latter.)

I couldn't get to all of this house because there were literally over a hundred photos in the listing but there are so many spaces in here that are basically just half-empty voids, and if not that then actually, literally unfinished. It's giving recession. Anyway, now for the best part:

Not only is this the NBA Backrooms but it's also just a nonsensical basketball court. Tile floors? No lines? Just free balling in the void?

Oh, well I bet the rear exterior is totally normal.

Not to be all sincere about it but much like yours truly who has waited until the literal last second to post this McMansion, this house really is the epitome of hubris all around. Except the house's hubris is specific to this moment in time, a time when gas was like $2/gallon. It's climate hubris. It's a testimony to just how much energy the top 1% of income earners make compared to the rest of us. I have a single window unit. This house has four air conditioning condensers. That's before we get to the monoculture, pesticide-dependent lawn or the three car garage or the asphalt driveway or the roof that'll cost almost as much as the house to replace. We really did think it would all be endless. Oops.

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[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[alanisstonedd]

shooters shoot

marine!rafe x black!reader → a date at the range has his 5% tint fogged up...

cw: nsfw 16+, established relationship, operation of a firearm, semi public sexual activities, consensual groping, p in v, ass play, cum play, cussing, car sexxxx

wc: 4,700 + proofread!! (yall this actually the longest shit i've ever written omg)

an: been marinating in this idea for whileee, here it is baddies!! yall can find an intro post to marine!rafe through my masterlist!! & plz all yall send me ur dirty thoughts about him asap. kisses!! xoxo

The brush of featherlight kisses on your shoulder wakes you up most mornings - this sunny wednesday morning no different. your boyfriend's arm, littered with intricate tattoos, peeking out from under the covers. his appearance, a stark contrast to the sweetness he showers you in. but nonetheless, having him snuggled up behind you every morning felt like having a personal safety blanket (weighted ofc) there to protect your beauty sleep.

"mornin bae.." he mumbled sleepily from the curve of your neck.

"goodmorning baby... are you thinking about breakfast yet?" you quip, eyes still closed, the morning sun melting you into drowsy bliss.

his tatted hand found your hip, caressing and gripping the plush skin there. "my breakfast is right here.." he whispers, smirk practically bursting out "hot and ready." the light nips of his teeth on your neck, while convincing, couldn't distract you from the nagging thought that one of you had somewhere to be this morning.

"boy, quit playinn" you giggle as his kisses become wet and hot, his ever wandering hand caressing your stomach. "don't you have somewhere to be rafe? i'm so serious" you smirk, turning around to face him, his morning fun making it increasingly harder for you to be the rational one here.

"when has that ever stopped me?" punctuated with a light kiss, right as your world turns with unnerving speed. you find yourself posted atop his tank of a body, both tatted hands now snaking their way under your tee. chilled fingertips brush your soft breasts as your head lulls back, your own fingertips resting on his warm chest.

"just a taste bae?" he pleads, with the most devilish grin you've seen from him since yesterday, large hands now urging you down toward his chest. "absolutely not." you chuckle against his peck with warm cheeks, knowing he's kinda fronting. he's never been a late man at all, always precisely on time or early. you knew he wouldn't jeopardize a obligation, even with his truly efficient abilities.

"fine, you're not off the hook though lil girl." one hand caressing the expanse of your back, the other taking gentle fistfuls of your ass. "that's fine, hold me to it - you still have to go though big daddy." you emphasize the nickname, his rumbling laughter shaking the both of you.

you lift your head up to him, his baby blues shining in the morning rays. he gazes at you with a boyish smile, his love shining through every part of his body. never afraid to revel in his true feelings for you. he actually prefers to openly adore you - it gives him this warm feeling in his body, almost like seeing you love him is lighting him on fire or something.

"im surprising you today, okay?" he blurts out, tracing your facial features like the work of art you are. "oh?" puzzled look on your face as you kiss whatever you can catch of his hand. "yup" he quips, popping the p. your world flipped once again as he plops you next to him, unfortunately leaving you lonely to shower.

"when thoughhhhh?" you whine from the bed, not ready to leave the only warm embrace you have left at the moment. "when i come back from base. and be ready for real, because i'm taking you straight there." he yells back, stripping and starting the water.

"tch," you suck your teeth, rolling your eyes "i can be on time too, sexy muh-fucker." turning your head towards the large windows of your condo, your eyes threatening to close again.

you peek one eye open before falling fully asleep, and snatch your phone off the nightstand. setting an alarm for an hour and a half from now, knowing he'll be done in about two-ish hours, you toss it somewhere into the sea of the california king and knock out.

you jolt directly up from the bed, as your alarm blares throughout the room, startling you awake. rubbing your eyes while fishing for your phone somewhere in the sheets, but somehow feeling 10x more rested than your first wake up - which truly felt like forever ago.

one glance at your phone, kicks you into lock-in mode. "FUCK", your alarm seems to have been going off for a good twenty minutes, and you have the lesser part of 15 to be "ready for real" before rafe gets back. you cannot - under any circumstance - let him catch you lacking because he'll never let that shit go.

you skip out of bed and directly into the shower, planning a casual but cute outfit as you wash and freshen up. you go minimal with hair and makeup, feeling a little scared because you honestly think the clock is speeding up just to spite you.

in his beautifully on-time fashion, you hear rafe busting through the front door as soon as your pants are up over your butt. "bae?" his strong voice cutting through the get-ready playlist you selfishly took two full minutes to put on. "hey boo, i'm ready" you breathe, rounding the corner to meet him. his smile when he sees you never disappoints, flashing all 32, subtle dimples popping just the way you love, immediately heating you up. you go in for a hug, breathing him in through his slightly damp shirt (even better), he's a sweat-er so you know its warm out.

"you ready pretty?" he kisses your head, grin still plastered on his gorgeous face, hands planted firmly on your booty. a light squeeze to your lower cheeks earns him your "sexy grin", a dramatic eye roll, and a love slap to the chest. you lead him out the front door and to the passenger side of his big ol truck, which he opens for you and lifts you into by the waist.

the car ride to his "surprise" is filled with mindless chatter, spotify, and planning your next meal which is always a serious topic of conversation for you two. but you quickly notice he's not taking a route you recognize, "okay... do i already know what this is or is it a real surprise?" you ask, eyebrow cocked. he lets a loud chuckle escape, hand gripping your thigh across the console, thumb rubbing ever so slightly.

"yes, its a real surprise bae. you've never been here before" your uncocked eyebrow raises to meet the other, "shiiiiittt," you think for a second, then quietly question "am i gonna have to think, learn or sweat for this? or all of the above??" you sigh, realizing he might have you're ass doing some outdoor shit, which would probably present some complications with the outfit.

he laughs so hard he has to grip your thigh for purchase, "bae. what if i told you yes?" he snickers some more. "id tell you to turn this muh-fuckin car around. TUH" you fold your arms pointedly, just to show him you're deadass. at this point rafe's face is flushed from how much hes laughing, "nah bae, you just get to be your crash-out self. and be all up on me..." he manages to squeeze out in between laughs. and now you're confused, because, although you love those two things individually, you have no idea how they could possibly be combined. "now how the hell you finna combine those..." you mutter, sparing him a glance. "you gotta wait and see bae." with a full belly chuckle once again, his paw of a hand moves to cup your pussy through your pants and rub lightly like its affectionate or something. you look at him, unamused, but he simply flashes you a killer smirk with a squeeze to the coochie.

so you wait patiently, intrigued and a little nervous at what he has planned. when you arrive at what seems to be some sort of warehouse, he finally removes his hand from your pussy with a mean smack, "aye boy!" you whip your head over to him with a sharp look, now on edge from all the groping he's been doing for the remainder of the ride. but he's already out the damn truck, stalking around the front to open your door and help you out, by the waist, straight to the ground. you wouldn't sweat one droplet if it was up to him - except when y'all fuckin of course.

upon entering the mysterious warehouse, you immediately clock this is a gun range date. considering rafe has been yapping nonstop about teaching you how to protect yourself, how to use a gun just in case, and his plans to take you to the range routinely, you're actually not surprised at all.

hes grinning at you as you wait in the front desk line, his arm around your waist, rubbing absentmindedly. "so?? how surprised are you bae?" earning him yet another suck of the teeth, "how surprised you think i am? this is all you talk about rafe" you play with his fingers on your hip, as you both move up in line. "i knowwww bae, are you excited tho?", he grins more, gently pulling your head back and kissing your lips, "actually? i think i am a little excited lowkey... i don't really know what to expect, but... you got me right?". you breathe out, moving up to the desk, and you swear you can see him vibrating with happiness in your peripheral. "duh, of course i got you bae" he says from behind you, landing a fervent smack to your booty as he moves up after you.

the man at the desk literally daps up rafe and they starting chatting, his arm anchored to your waist without so much as a flinch. the man immediately starts grabbing various items, seemingly without a thought, and you start to realize... you're kinda like a celebrity by association in the military world? you chuckle at the fact that hundreds of thousands of men and boys around the world literally admire, look up to, and actually talk about your boyfriend - like out loud and in the media too. not that you don't do all of those things practically everyday - but to you, he's really just... your baby, rafe.

"listen son, they not payin' yo ass enough out there. you doin' big things, and not just what you doin' for this country. I mean, you really a weapon, boy." rafe quirks half his smile up, giving the man a nod.

"thank you sir, i just do my best. but i appreciate that, i really do. its my honor." rafe picks up the basket of goods, with another nod to the man. "anytime son. you a hero, nothin' less. and this must be the missus - what she doin' with no ring son?? aye you better act right, you a lucky man." the man chuckles, clasping both hands over your one hand and gently shaking. "its a pleasure ma'am." you laugh politely at his jokes, leaning into rafe on instinct, "its very nice to meet you sir". he pushes himself away from the counter with a nod and a wave, shouting "y'all be safe in there." you and rafe wave back awkwardly, him pulling you along by the waist.

"alright, am i trippin', or was he too fuckin' chatty" rafe laughs, once yall are through the door to the shooting lanes. "yeah, that was a lot..." you giggle, following rafe to what you assume is yall's lane, hands interlocked. you're hit with pungent smell of hot rubber, metal, and smoke but you kinda get used to it by the time y'all settle in.

rafe is professionally trained in this stuff, so you just listen extra careful - proving harder than you thought with the thundering pop of gunshots going off every so often. yall make silly small talk while he sets you both up with protective glasses and ear protection, complete with a built in mic for conversation. attaching the target to the rail and sending it out, he moves you into the lane with his body directly behind you. you can already feel the heat from his furnace of a body and you can tell this is gonna be a problem.

"okay," he says, leaning into your ear, hands on the front of your hips, pressing you back even further into his front. "whats the first thing you do?" your head is juuuuuuuuust clear enough to be reminded every so often that you're handling a dangerous weapon, but hes towing the damn line. "rafe, if you gon' be pressure the whole time just tell me what to do. i know you know i can't think right now..." you sigh, hearing him snicker through the headset, "okayyy, damn."

he picks up the gun and places all of your fingers precisely where they need to be, slowly explaining why they're placed there and the use of every part. but your ass is not really listening at all, because his cologne literally has you in a fucking fog. that or the way he readjusts every so often and presses his hips flush up against yours whenever he changes topics. or the way his large, thick, art covered hands caress your fingers and guide guide them where he wants them, exactly when he wants. or the way you can feel his hot breath fanning over your neck and sometimes even a brush of his soft, full lips when he leans in to show you something specific.

by the time he raises your hands up to point at the target, you bout ready to leave. his deep voice is saying something about "easing on the trigger" so you very slowly start pulling, and before you know it, a loud bang sounds out, and theres a hole a few inches below the center of the target. that startles you from your fog a little bit, because you're still gagged that you just shot a gun, and hit the target at all. but he moved the gun to the table again, so hes back to feeling on your hips, one hand traveling down to cup you and the other snaking up to your nipple poking through your shirt. "im so proud of you bae." he breathes, smirk deeeeep in his voice, with a kiss to the back of your neck.

you can very clearly feel how rock-fucking-hard he is and you think... its a little insane that he's so turned on by this. you realize the wetness in your panties is starting becoming an issue so you slap his hands away before he can make his way underneath any clothes, "rafe," you grit through your teeth, "quit. right now. we are soo close to other people. i'm taking two more shots and then we're out, okay". his hands have stopped wandering, his arms now wrapped around your waist. you can feel his smirk against the back of your neck, and he kisses there lightly, picking up the gun, "yes ma'am".

you bit your tongue through those last couple shots, thighs rubbing together, eventually becoming a little restless in the absence of his groping.

you literally wanted to pull his dick out - you couldn't take it. immediately after your last shot, you snatched his keys and ran out of the place, head down, too ashamed too ashamed to look anyone in the face let alone the chatty man.

you could finally breathe in the quiet safety of his truck, the 5% tint on all windows giving you the privacy you needed. you're still hot as fuck though. the thought of shedding some layers crosses your mind, but you brush it off, thinking rafe would probably open the door any second. but as more and more time passes, baking in the heat combined with flashbacks from the range, you start to get uncomfortably hot. you could rip his clothes off in this state, and a part of you wishes you could get back at him somehow.... but before you can make up your mind the sound of the drivers side door opening startles you, your head whipping towards him.

he looks like a fucking wet dream, sweating from the heat, blue eyes sparkling, sun shining down on him making his tan, tatted skin glisten... muscles bulging, and bulge straining... just how you like it. his shirt hiked up revealing a happy trail peekaboo is just the cherry on top. you can't stand it. "rafe. did they hold you hostage? the fuck took you so long?" you blurt, sounding a little frazzled. he climbs into the truck, starting it "yes, actually. chatty unc did hold me hostage. chill bae, the fuck happened in here..." he chuckles, side eying you and wrapping his whole hand around your thigh.

you freeze - his hand on your leg feels like a hot iron, even though the air conditioning has been blasting for at least a two minutes. you're jolted back to his antics in there, feeling the imprint of his throbbing dick against your ass, his hands everywhere you needed them all at once, his lips on your neck leaving a sickly trail of heat in their wake.

"oh HELL nah-" your hands fly to your shirt, as you struggle to strip your clothes against the wet friction of your skin, "its too fuckin hot bruh- i don't know what the fuck-" you almost rip your pants in two trying to get them down your legs "yo ass think-" more struggling, you're audibly out of breath at this point "this. shit. is." you lull your head back against the seat once you're only clad in your skims lace bralette and panty.

"you okay baby?" you catch his eyes locked on you, signature smirk struggling to be hidden. "what you think rafe?" you say, slowly turning to him. now that you're comfortable, your head seems perfectly cleared... of everything but fucking him stupid.

"i think.. we need to get you home crazy" he lets out a cackle, gripping the gearshift, ready to get on the road. "oh! you thought that was cute or something?" you laugh, hand gripped around his, stopping his movement. "that little stunt you pulled back there?" he's unusually quiet, but still smirking, so you can tell he knows what you want - in all honesty he can smell it. you just fell right into his trap. all day, he's been replaying the promise you made him this morning before he left.

"fine, you're not off the hook tho lil girl." one hand caressing the expanse of your back, the other taking gentle fistfuls of your ass. "thats fine, hold me to it - you still need to go tho big daddy."

he was going to make sure you kept that promise whether you knew it or not. he definitely enjoyed watching you squirm in front of him the whole time, his dick certainly leaking all over his boxers by now. he would've pulled his dick out right there in the lane if you'd wanted him to, but it looks like you enjoy him teasing you to the point of no return.

"you gon give me sum' for all that torture rafe." you whisper, eyes locked on his lips, hand on his moving to his straining cock. you grip it, eyes flashing up to his, which are already locked on yours. he slowly puts the truck back in park, "get in the back." its quick but you can hear the same strain in his voice.

"no. you-"

"get. in the back." his eyes close, hand still locked on the gearshift, so you decide you should get to climbing. by the time you're settled in the seat behind yours he's opening the backseat door and dragging you by your ankles to lay flat. he climbs in over you, slamming the door behind him. immediately he's on you, your lips dancing together, the fervency bringing back that excruciating heat you felt earlier. the backseat of his truck is actually pretty big, but due to his large stature, its tight quarters right now. you can feel every hard ridge of him pressed against you, his lips searing a wet trail right up your neck to the underside of your jaw. and the smell of his truck's leather mixed with his cologne drags you into the fog all over again.

the contrast of you being basically naked and him being completely clothed doesn't feel right at all. so as he pulls his shirt off, your hands find the corded muscles of his back, traveling down to slip under the lip of his pants. "ohh-, you- got some fuckin nerve rafe- " you manage breathlessly between kisses, as he rubs on your pussy through the thin material. he moves swiftly towards your tits sitting plump and pretty in the equally thin material. his eyes are locked on yours as he sucks on a nipple through the bralette, "nah" he moves to the other nipple, sucking harder, his lashes falling against his face blissfully. "i just know you bae" he punctuates with a firm nip on your bud and you feel a gush of slick wet your panties.

with locked eyes, he smirks, moving your panties to the side and slipping a finger in, thumbing your clit with a skillfull touch. your lips mingle with each others, rafe's groans echoing throughout the tight space as you work his zipper down and pull him out. slow strokes have his eyes closed and his teeth pulling down your bra for a better taste of your breasts.

he glances down to see your cunt creaming on his fingers, the soft moans spilling from your lips sound like he's being ushered into heaven, "shit... she been calling to me alllll," with a few flicks of his thumb against your clit, you're shouting, "fuckin' day". smiling like he's never been happier, he floats back to your mouth, tongue snaking in with yours, teeth nipping your lips. "fuck me rafe" you breathe, still stroking him, his dick now lathered in his own precum, tip gliding slowly against your slit. he pushes the tip in carefully, and you can't help but throw your head back, finally feeling the slightest bit of relief. "say please, baby.", he snickers, laving a scorching stripe up your neck, practically making out with it. "RAFE SHUT YO A-" before you can pop him for playing with you he pushes in to the hilt, "ohhh shh- it" you grit out, your body seizing for a second.

he starts with short, strong, pumps. grinding against you with the full strength of his hips. you can see the reflection of his back muscles rippling and his juicy butt clenching in the window. you pull him into you to lick the sweat off his neck, triggering a deep groan you feel on your tongue, "fuuuck, i love you baby." he's pulling back more to push into you a little rougher, the force of his thrust creating an uncomfortable friction between the seat and your skin. but his soft lips suckling your breast and his thumb now glued to your clit, erase any and all uncomfort whatsoever. you moan out, like sex in his ears "UUHH- ohhhhh, i love you bae- uhhh right thereee-" thats all you can manage, with your hand on his head, keeping his mouth pressed to your tits.

he glances up at you... a lush vision, like something out of his very own dreams - literally. he sits up, ready to give you everything you didn't even know you needed. he has one hand caging your waist in, and another on your hip as he lets out a breathy groan, watching with intent as your pretty pussy creams a pearlescent ring around the base of him, mixing with his pubes. he can feel your juices dripping down his balls as he moves the hand by your waist, up to the door behind you head.

the truck has to be rocking, with how serious rafe is at the moment. your eyes just about roll back as he starts jackhammering into you, his thick mushroom tip hitting your spot perfectly. his hips working, thrusting forcefully and grinding against you, all in one fluid movement. the feel of his coarse pubes on your clit, his chain swinging to and fro over your face, his deep grunts ringing in your ears - just when you though that was to much, his thrusts get even rougher, plunging into you so harsh, the with of him stretching you so dreamily. "oh shit- yeahh.." he breathes out, leaning down to lick the sparkling perspiration off your skin, his tongue traveling from sucking hickeys on your neck down to your breast yet again, blue eyes fluttering shut.

"rafe- fuuuckkk- im gonna-" he snaps up, immediately getting a second wind hearing your exclamation, thumb working quick circles on your clit. "yeah?" he exhales, "thats fuck?" he says taunting you while angling his hips to hit it right where you need it. he stuffs his hoodie under your butt to get a better position, and the pressure from this angle takes over your body, his hands caressing you, working your clit, it all sends you over the edge. through the buzzing of your senses you hear the splat splat of your pussy - "FUCK- bae i'm cuming-" and his warm seed flooding you. he slows but doesn't falter, his hips still hitting you like a tank. the only sounds in the truck being the squelch of your combined cum and the sultry flow of your combined moans.

"rafe-" he sits down on the seat and swoops you up off of it, moving you to rest your back against the center console in front of him, your dripping cunt resting in his lap. he lightly kisses your inner thigh, sending you a sexy wink, that forces a light chuckle out of you, and he dives in without another word. his tongue slurping you up like the best treat he's ever had, calculated circles going on your now overstimulated clit. your hand travels to his buzzed head as he sucks each lip into his mouth, slowly moving to suckle around you're clit. his face is shining with the both of your cum smeared all over it, and you don't think he ever get finer.

you can't hold your tongue any longer when his own travels down to your hole, licking you inside and out. fucking you with the scorching muscle, slurping up the mix of you both thats dripping out of you like honey. "mmmmm- shi-" he groans, the taste of his cum mixing with yours makes him lightheaded. you feel him start to suck on your throbbing clit once again, showering her in passionate kisses and the most earth-shattering ministrations, fingers still pumping in and out of you below. you stretch your arms back over your head, as he somehow sticks another finger in your ass. you start to ride his face, your hips fully in his hands, as he manages to pump that finger - you're so close you can taste it.

your vision spots as he suckles extra hard on your aching bud, his wanton groaning vibrating through your pussy. your body locks up and rafe's mouth stays glued to your pussy, releasing it with a pop!, then going back in and making sure he doesn't miss a drop of your sweet juice. the whole truck smells like sex and sweat as you catch your breath, reveling in the tenderness of his touch, him lips peppering sweet kisses over your thighs and stomach, while cleaning you both up with a towel he keeps in the back.

he dresses you, then dresses himself, while you both share sweet pecks every now and again, basking in the after glow. "i guess you were gonna have to sweat no matter where i took you, huh." he smirks, letting his hands wander over your hips and ass, as you chill in his lap.

"boy shut up, this was your little plan all along, i know you too...." you laugh, eyes rolling sassily. "damn right it was" he shoots you a devilish look before locking your lips, tongues entangled so deeply you almost take each others clothes off again. he hops out the truck with a pop to your booty, as you climb back up to the passenger seat feeling delightfully sated.

"bae, can we get chipotle before we go home?" he calls from outside the truck before climbing in, your stomach rumbling before he even said it. you turn to him with a blissful look, placing your hand on his cheek, "damn, you know my heart... drive". he kisses your hand as he pulls out of the parking lot. "i wonder if that chatty guy saw me run out the door like a lunatic..." you think out loud, car playlist bumping in the background. you play with his fingers that were just inside you churning up your cum and his, and smile deviously. rafe chuckles "HA! i wonder if he knew what we were doin' parked outside for so long..."

"grandbabies fa' sho' on the way..." the chatty man says, watching rafe's black truck finally drive away.

©  alanisstonedd 2025 — do not steal, plagiarise, or modify my content.

hope y'all liked this! likes and reblogs and all the rest much appreciated!!!

xoxo, lana 💋💋💋

[astonmartinii]

passion for fashion | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem it girl!reader

she's everything and he's just ken (in a red bull shirt)

MASTERLIST | TIPS

vogue

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 490,233 others

tagged: yourusername

vogue: it's the start of the f1 season, you know what that means... y/n y/ln fashion season is in session

view all comments

user1: @yourusername make sure you're windows are bolted shut tongiht... you're on my rob list

user2: and mine PLEASE SPARE ME SOME OF YOUR CLOTHES

user3: her and lewis hamilton are the only real ones in that paddock

user4: the way they're still besties despite what went down in 2021 >>>

lewishamilton: me and y/n 🤝 making the paddock our runway

yourusername: someone has to make it interesting around here

lewishamilton: see @maxverstappen1 even y/n is bored of you winning everything...

maxverstappen1: womp womp

lewishamilton: womp womp ???? have some decorum

maxverstappen1: jokes on you i don't know what that means

user5: i wish i looked that good candidly

user6: at what point do we stage an intervention for max's wardrobe

user7: babe if the girlfriend effect still hasn't hit then it's terminal

user8: especially when your girlfriend is Y/N Y/LN

maxverstappen1: i'd do anything for her <3

yourusername: even wear something other than red bull merch?

maxverstappen1: let's not get too far ahead of ourselves

user9: i love them your honour

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,209,445 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: max verstappen wins, water is wet

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user11: water is wet and i will be drowning myself in it tonight

user12: me after hearing the dutch national anthem one too many times

landonorris: tell him he has too many already and he should let his best friend have a go

yourusername: he said that's not possible because i don't know how to drive an f1 car

landonorris: nuh uh you can't be his best friend and his girlfriend that's not fair

maxverstappen1: welp, idk what to tell you buddy

landonorris: i feel BETRAYED

yourusername: i'm sorry i'm just that loveable lando... i see how it is

landonorris: HOW HAVE I BECOME THE VILLAIN?

user13: max terrorises them on the grid and in the paddock they maximise their joint slay to terrorise everyone in a two mile radius

user14: they slay so much i can't even be angry at it

danielricciardo: so that's why i was kicked out of the elevator

yourusername: you weren't kicked out it was your floor?

danielricciardo: why did i not make the post? I THOUGHT I MEANT MORE TO YOU

maxverstappen1: just because we both had teenage crushes on you doesn't make you special. you'd have to fight seb and jenson for real special treatment

yourusername: throw fernando and kimi in there as well.

danielricciardo: i was confident in my fighting chances, but i'll leave nando and kimi to it

maxverstappen1: pussy

danielricciardo: EXCUSE ME

yourusername: idk how we got here but don't talk to my boyf that way daniel 😔

danielricciardo: i'm blocking both of you

user15: i am so baffled

user16: IT couple for real

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,034,448 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: clocked in for my shift as the trophy husband to the prettiest girl in the world

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user17: max verstappen why is there a whisper meme in your photo dump

user18: his ass acting like he wasn't at one of the most prestigious galas in the world

charles_leclerc: YOU got an invite and that's the best you could do

maxverstappen1: you better take that back right now y/n dressed me tonight and i look SEXY and COOL

yourusername: charles :( he looks very handsome

charles_leclerc: my bad y/n i wasn't aware that was your pick

yourusername: SAY HE'S HANDSOME CHARLES

charles_leclerc: ??? no

yourusername: wow. you really aren't a girls girl charles. i am disappointed

maxverstappen1: does our history mean nothing charles? i have no issue recreating the inchident at the next race

charles_leclerc: FINE. you look very handsome max

yourusername: more passion please

charles_leclerc: you look very handsome max!

yourusername: more! give the lestappen girlies some crumbs to feed on

charles_leclerc: YOU LOOK VERY HANDSOME

maxverstappen1: thank you 😊

user19: ignoring what ever the fuck that was ... MAX IN A SUIT WHAT THE FUCK MAX IN A SUIT

user20: y/n y/ln the woman you are

user21: so how can we implement this willingness to wear a suit into his paddock fashion

lewishamilton: you might have to waterboard him

charles_leclerc: i volunteer as tribute !

yourusername: 🤨

maxverstappen1: 🤨

f1paddockfashion

liked by user24, user25 and 11,029 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & yourusername

f1paddockfashion: max verstappen in non-red bull attire? MAX VERSTAPPEN IN NON-RED BULL ATTIRE? also y/n slaying as per.

view all comments

user24: this is - i don't know how to feel

user25: maybe the real max verstappen in non red-bull attire was the friends we made along the way

user26: i am CELEBRATING but ladies do remember it's still alpha tauri 😭😭😭

user27: please let us have this while we can

user28: it's not plastered with sponsors so we'll take it

user29: idk about you guys but i think this means y/n should be knighted for her services

user30: i actually think prying the red bull merch out of max's hands might be the hardest thing in the world

user31: call me crazy but those jeans look kinda baggy 😳

user32: omg they definitely are

user33: death to the skinny jeans? fuck it first child named after y/n

user34: can we maybe get y/n in charge of max's merch cause the shit he sells should be considered criminal

user35: for real we need babe in the board room asap

user36: fuck it get her in the red bull board room as well

user37: go all the way and get her with the f1 execs

yourusername

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,506,339 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i love him even if all he wears is red bull

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user39: so ... who made the inchident shirt?

charles_leclerc: and how do i get one?

maxverstappen1: i got it made and considering you DON'T think i'm handsome you can go fuck yourself :)

charles_leclerc: GASP. that is my face you have to make me one

maxverstappen1: boooooo no i don't

charles_leclerc: can i copyright my face? i'm sending you a cease and desist

maxverstappen1: fine. but you will never look as hot as y/n in it

charles_leclerc: so you can call me ugly? @yourusername ???

yourusername: it was a compliment to me so soz

user40: the way she's fashion's IT girl and she still loves him even though his whole wardrobe should be burned

user41: real love

maxverstappen1: i love you. i wear my red bull merch to give you the runway

yourusername: sureeeee ... i love you too xx

maxverstappen1: let me live 😭😭😭

yourusername: the girls are dragging your name babe i need them to know HOW SEXY YOU ARE

maxverstappen1: i don't care how sexy they find me, as long as you love me that's all i need

yourusername: you're SO FUCKING CUTE I LOVE YOU

maxverstappen1: I LOVE YOU TOO

user42: can they chill? some people on here are lonely

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,033,461 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: my closet looks like this, so her's can look like this :)

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user43: max verstappen i misunderstood you. i was unfamiliar with your game.

user44: he's the standard now i fear

user45: a man who wears the same three outfits so you can have the whole walk-in for your collection >>

yourusername: thank you babe. you are god's strongest soldier

maxverstappen1: i AM. that room is scary. there's too much that i don't understand. so many shoes, so many straps i can't navigate it

yourusername: that's okay baby. there's your red bull draw and that's all you need

maxverstappen1: no the people don't understand. i went in there once and i swear i ended up in narnia

yourusername: you passed out with the AC on the highest level and jimmy and sassy sat on you. you were not in narnia

maxverstappen1: oh. well...

user46: this is the closet y/n deserves the rest of that house is defo a mojo dojo casa house

user47: fighting all the trophies, helmets and framed race suits with her narnia closet

lilymunhe: may i request a trip to the narnia closet x

yourusername: omg yes! come over next time you and alex are in monaco - the boys can entertain themselves

alexalbon: what if i want a closet tour as well?

maxverstappen1: don't do it alex you'll never find your way back out

alexalbon: (i was going to strategically leave a pair of albon athletics shoes in there)

yourusername: alex i already own a pair i bought them release day!

alexalbon: OMG ... one instagram pic so my sales can go platinum?

maxverstappen1: don't try and pimp my gf out

alexalbon: ???

yourusername: max 😭 and sure alex!

fin.

note: thank you for reading soz for the long waits between posts a girl has been BUSY but i hope you've all enjoyed! happy galentines day or palentines day to all that celebrate and thanks for 4.7k!! xx

[harrysfolklore]

omg! little bitch headcanon after a long time hehe - it’s reyes’s birthday this week so i was imagining piastri sis being with the sainz family celebrating it and she’s the one taking the family photograph and reyes tells her to join in on the photo because she’s family too ☺️☺️☺️

i said that i would post a little bitch blurb if carlos had a podium finish and he did soooo here it is! i hope you like it READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

The private jet touches down in Madrid, the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant hues. You stretch in your plush leather seat, feeling the familiar ache of a long-haul flight.

"Rise and shine, little bitch," you tease, poking Carlos who's still dozing beside you.

He cracks open one eye, a smirk playing on his lips. "Such a charming way to wake me up, Piastri," he retorts, voice husky from sleep. "I should leave you at the airport."

"You wouldn't dare," you laugh, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Carlos hums appreciatively, deepening the kiss before pulling away with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Maybe not, but I might make you sleep on the couch, cariño."

As you make your way through the VIP customs area, Carlos' hand finds its way to the small of your back, his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

"Cold, hermosa?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

You elbow him playfully. "Behave yourself, Sainz. We're in public."

This isn't just another trip to Spain - it's the first time you'll be staying at Carlos' house in Madrid, spending time with his parents celebrating his mother's birthday and meeting his sisters. The significance of this step in your relationship isn't lost on either of you.

Carlos leads you to his waiting car, he insists on taking your luggage despite your protests. "You've had a long flight," he says, easily lifting your suitcase into the trunk. "Let me take care of you."

As Carlos pulls into the driveway of his house, you feel a mix of nerves and anticipation. He turns to you after cutting the engine, his brown eyes soft in the dim light. "Ready to see your home away from home?"

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. "More than ready."

As Carlos unlocks the front door, you hear the scrabbling of paws on hardwood floor.

"Piñon!" Carlos calls out as he pushes the door open. A ball of fluffy fur comes bounding towards you, tail wagging furiously.

You crouch down, laughing as Piñon jumps up to lick your face. "Hello, handsome boy! Oh, it's so nice to meet you!" You ruffle his fur, delighting in his excited yips. "You're much cuter than your dad, aren't you?"

"Hey!" Carlos protests, but his eyes are soft as he watches you interact with his dog.

After giving Piñon some attention, Carlos takes your hand to lead you on a tour of the house. In the kitchen, you can't resist teasing him.

"I'm surprised you even know what this room is for, Sainz," you quip, gesturing at the state-of-the-art appliances.

Carlos crowds you against the counter, his body pressed against yours. "I know exactly what it's for, mi amor," he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive. "Want me to show you?"

You push him away with a laugh, trying to ignore the heat blooming in your cheeks. "Later, you menace. Finish the tour first."

The apartment is spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of Madrid's skyline. Carlos leads you through each room, pointing out little details and sharing anecdotes.

You notice several framed photos on the shelves - Carlos with his family, with his teammates, and to your surprise, a few of you and him together. Your heart swells at the sight.

"And this," he says, pushing open a door, "is our bedroom."

Your heart skips a beat at the casual use of 'our'. The room is dominated by a large, comfortable-looking bed, and more of those amazing windows.

Carlos wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "What do you think?" he murmurs.

You lean back into him, sighing contentedly. "It's perfect. I love it."

"Mm," Carlos hums, his lips finding your temple, "I love you."

You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze. The intensity you find there makes your breath catch. "I love you too," you whisper.

Carlos's eyes darken as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair.

"We should probably get some sleep," Carlos murmurs against your lips, even as his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer.

"Probably," you agree, already working on the buttons of his shirt. "But I'm not very tired. Are you?"

Suddenly, Piñon barks from downstairs, breaking the moment. You both laugh, a little breathless.

"I should probably take him for a walk," Carlos says, pressing one last kiss to your lips.

"Don't take too long," you call after him as he heads downstairs. "I might get into bed without you."

The next morning, you wake to the sound of Carlos humming in the shower. You stretch lazily, a smile playing on your lips as memories of last night flood your mind.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Carlos says, emerging from the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips. "Ready for the big day?"

You groan, pulling the covers over your head. "Do we have to go? Can't we just stay in bed all day?"

Carlos chuckles, tugging the blanket away. "Tempting as that is, mi amor, I'm pretty sure my mother would hunt us down if we missed her birthday party."

"Fine, but only because I like Reyes more than I like you."

"Ouch," Carlos clutches his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Piastri. And here I was, about to offer to join you in the shower."

You laugh, swatting him with a pillow as you head to the bathroom. "Behave yourself, Sainz. We can't be late to your mother's party."

An hour later, you're standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down your outfit for the hundredth time. Carlos comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Stop worrying."

You meet his eyes in the mirror. "I can't help it. What if your sisters don't like me?"

Carlos turns you to face him, his hands cupping your face. "They're going to love you, cariño. Just like I do." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, maybe not exactly like I do. That would be weird."

You can't help but laugh, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. "You're such an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot," he grins, leaning in for a kiss.

The drive to Carlos's parents' house is filled with Carlos telling you stories of past birthday celebrations. As you pull up to the house, however, your nerves return full force.

"Ready, mi amor?" Carlos squeezes your hand.

"As I'll ever be. Let's do this, little bitch."

The door swings open before you even reach it, revealing a beaming Reyes. "Carlos! YN! Come in, come in!" She pulls you both into a warm embrace.

"Feliz cumpleaños, Mama," Carlos says, kissing her cheek.

"Happy birthday, Reyes," you add, handing her a beautifully wrapped gift. "Thank you for having me."

"Nonsense, cariño," Reyes waves off your thanks. "You're family now."

Carlos Sr. appears behind his wife, clapping his son on the back before turning to you with a warm smile. "YN, lovely to see you again. How's that brother of yours? Giving our Carlos a run for his money on the track?"

You laugh, falling easily into the familiar banter. "Oh, you know Oscar. He's doing his best to keep up with your son, but it's a losing battle. Though he'd never admit it."

"Please," Carlos snorts, "Little Piastri could only dream of keeping up with me."

"Is that so?" you raise an eyebrow. "Remind me again, who beat who in the last race?"

As you and Carlos enter the living room, you spot two women sitting on the couch, engaged in quiet conversation. They look up as you approach, and you immediately recognize them as Carlos' sisters from the family photos you've seen.

Blanca, the older one, rises first with a warm smile. "You must be YN," she says, stepping forward to greet you with a gentle hug. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Welcome to the family madhouse," Ana follows, her smile equally warm.

You return their smiles, feeling some of your nervousness dissipate. "It's great to meet you both. I've heard so much about you."

"All good things, I hope," Blanca says, shooting a playful glance at Carlos.

"Of course," Carlos replies, wrapping an arm around your waist. "I only told her about the times you weren't being complete pains in my-"

"Carlos!" Reyes's voice carries from the kitchen, cutting him off mid-sentence.

You all laugh, and the tension in the room eases further.

"So, YN," Blanca says as you all settle into the living room, "I was just telling Ana about this amazing spa resort I discovered. I was thinking it might be fun for us to take a girls' trip there sometime - you, me, Ana, and Mama. What do you think?"

Before you can respond, Carlos interjects, "Hey, why are you trying to steal my girlfriend already? She just got here!"

"Relax, hermanito," Blanca rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "We're not going to whisk her away forever. Just long enough to share all your embarrassing childhood stories."

"Speaking of embarrassing stories," Ana chimes in, a mischievous glint in her eye, "has Carlos ever told you about the time he tried to impress a girl at school by saying he could drive a real F1 car?"

Carlos groans, burying his face in his hands. "Ana, no..."

"Ana, yes," you say, leaning forward eagerly. "Please, do tell."

Ana grins, clearly enjoying her brother's discomfort. "Well, he was about 14, and there was this girl he had a massive crush on. So, he tells her that Papa lets him drive the car all the time. Of course, she doesn't believe him, so he offers to show her."

"Oh no," you mutter, already seeing where this is going.

"Oh yes," Ana continues. "He sneaks her into the garage where Papa keeps one of his old cars. Tries to climb in, but he's too short to reach the pedals properly. Ends up falling face-first into the cockpit, gets stuck, and Papa has to come rescue him."

You burst out laughing, picturing a young Carlos in such a predicament. "Please tell me there are photos."

"There's video," Blanca says with a smirk.

"I hate all of you." Carlos groans again.

You pat his knee consolingly, still chuckling. "Aw, don't worry, babe. I'm sure you were very suave while stuck upside down in an F1 car."

"The girl never spoke to him again," Ana adds, causing another round of laughter.

"Alright, alright," Carlos says, trying to sound stern but failing to hide his own amusement. "That's enough embarrassing stories about me. Don't you have some photo albums to bore YN with or something?"

"Photo albums!" Blanca exclaims. "What a great idea, Carlos. I'm sure your girlfriend would love to see your awkward phase."

As Blanca goes to fetch the albums, you lean into Carlos, whispering, "You know, that girls' trip doesn't sound so bad. I might learn even more interesting things about you."

Carlos shakes his head, a resigned smile on his face. "Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret introducing you to my sisters?"

"Probably because you are," you kiss his cheek, "But you love me anyway."

"That I do," he murmurs, pulling you closer as Blanca returns with a stack of photo albums.

As the evening wears on, Reyes announces it's time for cake. The family gathers around the dining table, where a beautiful cake adorned with candles takes center stage.

"Alright, everyone," Carlos Sr. calls out. "On three. Una, dos, tres!"

The room erupts into a somewhat off-key rendition of "Cumpleaños Feliz," with Carlos deliberately singing out of tune next to your ear. You elbow him in the ribs, trying to stifle your laughter.

As the song ends and Reyes blows out her candles, she turns to Carlos Sr. with a smile. "Cariño, why don't you get the camera? We should take a family photo."

Your heart swells at being included in this intimate family moment, but you also feel a twinge of uncertainty. As everyone starts to gather, you quietly slip out of the room, giving the family their moment.

You're examining some family photos on the wall when you hear Reyes's voice from the other room. "Carlos, ¿dónde está tu novia? Where is your girlfriend?"

A moment later, Carlos appears in the doorway. "Hey, what are you doing out here? We're waiting for you."

"Oh, do you want me to take the picture for you?" you ask.

Carlos's expression softens. He crosses the room, taking your hands in his. "Mi amor, you're part of this family now. That means you're in the photos, not taking them."

"But-" you start to protest, but Carlos cuts you off with a gentle kiss.

"No buts," he murmurs against your lips. "Come on, Piastri. Time to make it official."

He leads you back to the dining room, where the rest of the family is waiting. Reyes beams when she sees you. "There you are, cariño! Come, stand next to Carlos."

"I thought maybe I should take the picture..." you begin, but Reyes cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

"No, no, querida. You join in too. You're family now."

"Oh, but I couldn't—" you begin.

"Of course you can," Carlos Sr. insists, while Ana and Blanca nod in agreement.

"Yeah, come on, Piastri" Blanca teases, "You're not getting out of this one."

Carlos appears at your side, slipping an arm around your waist. "Come on, mi amor. You heard Mama. You're one of us now."

Feeling overwhelmed by emotion, you allow Carlos to guide you into the group. As you stand there, surrounded by the Sainz family, you're struck by a profound sense of belonging.

"Everyone ready?" Reyes asks, setting the timer on the camera.

As the flash goes off, capturing the moment, you realize that's exactly what you've become – part of this wonderful, loving family. And as Carlos presses a kiss to your temple, whispering "Te amo" in your ear, you know you wouldn't have it any other way.

[rin-may-1103]

Just a Bite (part two)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Danny slid into the taxi and closed the door, not even a second later did the man merge into traffic. Sneaking a glance at the driver, who somehow looked even worse than Danny did when he hadn't slept in four days, Danny slowly peeled off the sticky note from the seat.

glancing down, he found Clockwork's familiar handwriting. (which he would like to add, shouldn't be as familiar as it is, but then again, he shouldn't be having tea time with him either.)

Do what you think is right, only then does your future look bright.

well, alright then. does that mean Danny should jump out the moving car? because he didn't think walking into some poor rich dude's house and forcing his company on the family was the right thing to do. He thought it was the most convenient at the moment, sure, but not the right one.

flipping the note over, Danny found more writing;

Do not jump out of the car, you've already come this far. Patience will be a virtue. This is worth the persue. Do not worry, there is no hurry.

"what the hell, Clockwork?" Danny quietly hissed, glaring off to the side and out the window. "You become friends with Ghostwriter or something? and what do you mean don't worry? I'm literally running from the government. if nothing else, that's probably the one thing I need to worry about."

Another sticky note poped up, this time stuck to the back of the driver's seat. Glancing up, Danny waited a second for the driver to be distracted before reaching out and snatching the note.

the only thing on it was a very shitty smily face.

what the fuck.

"this isn't funny, clocky!" Danny hissed again, glancing up to make sure the driver hadn't heard him. "mom and dad literally have my ecto signature, they only need a single hint of which direction to go before it becomes all too easy to find me again."

closing his eyes, Danny took a deep breath.

holding it for a second, then exhaling. Alright. Fine, if Clockwork isn't worried or against this, then there's no reason not to do this. (well besides the obvious one; it's rude to walk into someone's house uninvited and whatnot.)

"fine, but I'm only staying long enough to snag some food and then I'm gone, got it?" Danny grumbled, glaring at his reflection in the window. he didn't receive another note, so he leaned back and watched as the city passed. Slowly buildings spread out, and green lawns turned into green fields.

staring down at the smiley face, Danny shook his head, carefully he pulled out his phone and removed the case. shoving the sticky note inside, Danny put the case back on and put his phone in his pocket. it was dead, so he couldn't do anything else with it so might as well make it useful. who knows when Danny might need that little bit of ectoplasm.

A few minutes later, the taxi slowed to a stop next to a black gate and rolled down the window. "taxi 'ere, Mr. Wayne already paid me."

"I see," a strongly British voice echoed from the box, "come in." The gate beeped a second later and swung open, allowing the taxi to drive through. Danny glanced around the front 'yard' as they approached the looming building. Nicely trimmed green grass fields as far as the eyes could see, trees lining where Danny had to assume were the property lines.

somehow it was completely different from Vlad's front yard, yet still, Danny could only describe them as the same. Green, full of flowers and sculpted bushes and outlandishly garish paveways for their rich front doors. If Danny squinted he could swear there were butterflies happily fluttering around the sides of the building.

and Danny uses the word building here because that was not a house.

No, no. That building wasn't even a mansion like Sam's house. nor was it a castle, like Vlad's. It was an old building of amalgamated eras and themes. Danny was so annoyed his phone was dead right now, Sam would have lost her mind if she could see what he was. Are those eighteenth-century dormers right next to a twentieth-century skylight???

you know what? Mr. Wayne deserves to have all of his food eaten right in front of him. Who in their right mind would allow their home to look like that? And in the twenty-first century no less!

The taxi pulled to a stop; and Danny, lost in his Sam-induced horror, automatically pushed the car door open, stumbled his way out, closed the door, and stopped at the bottom of the stairs to stare up at the roof.

Taxi man sniffed and then drove off, his jaw cracking yawn echoing in the back of Danny's mind.

"Master Tim?" the British voice from earlier echoed out from the now-opened door. Danny's gaze dropped from the roof and down to the older man now walking toward him. the man hadn't looked up from his newspaper, still reading a paragraph as he stopped in front of Danny.

blinking, Danny glanced down at the paper. he might as well see what had the man's attention so thoroughly. Another article about Damian Wayne and the schoolyard incident.

Danny snorted, he remembered reading about that one. Someone had thrown away their copy and Danny had been bored. let's just say Danny was thoroughly entertained. he even had thoughts about how the kid had managed to sneak in a small dagger with how tight the school's security claimed to be.

"it had to be his belt, I just know it," Danny whispered, leaning a little more to try and see what the new article revealed.

"yes, yes. young master Damian snuck his dagger to school, no need for you to tell me how for the seventh time. Now, then." the butler, folded the paper and put it in his back pocket, and then, again without looking, gently grabbed Danny's arm and guided him toward the door.

"master bruce has been worried about your lack of sleep, you will go to your room and take a nap or you will not be allowed to share in your siblings' desert at diner tonight." the British man sternly continued, closing the front door behind them.

Danny blinked at him, then at the large foyer in front of them. he was so glad Vlad hadn't splurged on aesthetics like this family obviously had. Was that a crystal chandelier?

The British man, Danny was going to call him Gramps now, guided Danny to the stairs and then promptly let him go so he could rush off to find the source of a loud crash, but not without telling Danny (master Tim) to get some rest.

Glancing up at the grand stairs (covered in an obscene amount of glitter) and finding a large golden framed painting of the ocean with a for sale sign next to it, Danny made up his mind.

Mr. Wayne was a multi-billionaire, who allowed his ancient family home to be butchered. If he wasn't going to respect his home when Danny didn't even have one anymore?

Then Danny was going to honor Sam; The person who had dragged him into this hellish life of interior and exterior design (as well as the half'a life coincidently). And how was he going to do this, you ask? well what else, then do the very thing she's dedicated her time to?

Eating the rich.

Or in this case; their food.

and well, what was a ghost supposed to do when welcomed into an ancient home with ungrateful residences? Not haunt them?

[spaceycat]

bucky being a human furnace is so canon, right now im mainly going to be posting drabbles because shit be crazy rn and my schedule is FILLED TO THE BRIM... so we're going on a small little tiny hiatus. enjoy this drabble lovelies <3

this is a fluffy fic!! i'm too tired to write smut and i just needed this rn 😭

⋆★⋆ human furnace ⋆★⋆

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: dream a little dream of me by the mamas and the papas (3:14)

You were naturally cold, always wearing multiple layers even when it's reasonably warm outside, a blanket always wrapped around you and the heater cranked so high - but that soon backfired on you.

It was the middle of winter, it was actively snowing outside - the streets being flooded with white snow upon parked cars and the side of the icey street outside your apartment. The problem was:

Your heater was broken.

There was nothing you could do about it, you had no mechanical skills and in a way you would make it worse than what it already was. Every mechanical service was down or busy for the holidays, so you just had to sit in your kitchen - using your oven as a makeshift heater while you were drowning in jumpers and blankets.

That's when you heard your front door unlocked, that's when you dragged your phone out from the many layers on top of you - realising the time, the time that Bucky said he would be over to deal with some work with you and just.. hang out? His text messages are confusing sometimes, but you couldn't expect much from the guy who was born during the 1910's.

And that guy was very much in your apartment now, and you're sitting on the floor in your kitchen like some idiot - you pushed the blankets off of you, creating a lump of fabric in the corner of your kitchen as you quickly checked your reflection in the window above your sink, running into your living room and Bucky was there, taking off his jacket and scarf that was covered lightly in snow. He took note of your shivering and the sheer amount of sweaters and hoodies you had on.

"It looks like you just went into a snow storm y'know." "My body is my own personal snow storm." "Mm.." He just simply hummed at that, placing his messenger bag on your couch before he walked over to you - wrapping his arms around you, his warmth surrounding you.

You weren't particularly expecting to do this, or for him to be this warm. You knew he was naturally warm, from light accidental touches or him placing a hand on the back of your chair instinctively. You silently thanked the super-soldier serum that most likely made him the human furnace that he is.

You leaned into his warmth instinctively, wrapping your arms around him in return after a moment. "You're freezing." "I thought you knew that." "I do now.. it finally makes sense why you're wearing jumpers even in summer." You'd pull back from him, his hand resting loosely around your waist. "My heater is shot, had to resort to desperate things." You tilted your head towards the kitchen in a gesture of the blankets on the ground. "Heater's shot?" He raised a brow at you. "Mhm." "Get yourself some tea.. or just-- something, I guess. I'll fix it." "Buck-- you don't have to." "If it means that I won't have to see you shivering all the time, I'll happily do it."

You eventually returned with a cup of tea, the heat from the mug cupped in your hand slowly warming it up from the cold. In the otherhand, a metal box hopefully containing all the tools that Bucky can do to fix your heater.

He took it from you with a simple "Thanks", you watched him tinker with the machine for awhile - it was definitely a sight you could get used to, your hand keeping your head up as you lean against the arm chair of your couch that let you have the perfect view of Bucky. You felt so warm from his presence it almost cured your temperature dilemma.

After a short while, the familiar humming of the heater started up again. Bucky stood up, closing the box of tools - setting it on the coffee table next you. The soft clang bringing you out of your thoughts. "All done." He sat down beside you, a short sigh coming from his lips as he sat. You looked over to him muttering a "Thank you.", a desperate plea in your eyes for him to hold you close again. He looked at you, a small grin forming on his face as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you closer to him.

You rested your head on his chest, nuzzling into him a little bit more. His hand that was wrapped around your shoulder was now playing with your hair a small amount, almost as it was normal for him to.

You've been working on the heater since the early hours of the morning, it driving you out of your sleep - so it wasnt a surprise for you to slowly fall asleep against the warmth of the man that was Bucky Barnes.

As he heard your soft breaths, he grabbed the blanket wrapped over the couch that was nonetheless a result of your attempt at keeping yourself warm and draped it over you - placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head. Holding you forever closer as he heard the rain slowly fall outside. He could get used to this too.

[colorlessjay]

Same anon here but also it would be Funny for Cas to blow out the lightbulbs in the bunker when they kiss for the first time and there's Distant Sam Yelling

"Back to the Future" AU BONUS ART

I always imagined their first kiss would be softer

Something done in private between the two of them, chaste and maybe even shy from both parties. For Dean because this is his first relationship with a man (Angel. Celestial wave length). For Cas because he's still unsure about how to handle such intense human emotions and Dean's softer behavior towards him

So their first kiss? I don't imagine sparks flying

No. I imagine a few shy pecks, goofy smiles, and soft laughs as they (mostly Dean) realizes how silly it must look for two men in their 40s (thousands of years old) to be kissing and giggling like shy teenagers in the privacy the bunker kitchen

The sparks happen when Dean decides to surprise his boyfriend

Teem Free Will 3.0 are at the beach for that well deserved vacation. Sam and Eileen are having an (unfair) chicken fight in the water with Donna and Clair, The rest of the wayward sisters are having a competitive volleyball match (That's getting very intense) while Castiel is standing off to the side with Jody, talking and observing their band of misfits.

Dean brought a grill and beer cooler and is making a hefty meal for everyone, all the while Jack is having way too much fun with the Polaroid he bought from the near by gift shop, documenting their official first 'day off'

It's in the middle of the day when Dean suddenly calls for Cas to come over, Jack hovering close by, Polaroid held up excitedly

"Do you need me to get more beer?" Castiel asks as he finds himself at Dean's side

"Nope. Just needed this" And without much fanfare, Dean wraps his arm around Cas's shoulders and brings him close to a smushed kissed on the cheek

This is the first time Dean has ever done such a bold display of public affection, and the sudden show of love makes Castiel's grace sing

It sang so loudly that the lens and flash of Jack's camera explodes along with several beer bottles around them. The fire in the grill bursts high, the volleyball pops midair, and thunder claps through the clear blue sky, joining the noise of car alarms going off in the parking lot

Cas was sure the gift shop windows and lights might've been destroyed too

"... A little dramatic for a cheek kiss, but I'm flattered"

The little stunt becomes a running joke for years, even after marriage. Dean was all too happy to remind Cas of the day

Though, despite the humiliation, Cas is glad Jack managed to capture the moment

And that moment Cas looks fondly at whenever he happens to look into Dean's wallet

--------------

Sorry for not having posted in a while! I just opened Artistree for the first time and didn't expect to get commissions so quickly haha

[amirasainz]

Maybe some jealous Lando but with a happy end? Btw, I loved your last post. 💚

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Burning Jealousy

The silence in the car was unbearable.

Yn sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the passing streetlights. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional flick of the turn signal. Lando’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white.

It had been like this since they left dinner with their friends—since Mike had made her laugh a little too much, leaned in a little too close, and, in Lando’s eyes, given her just a little too much attention.

Lando had said nothing the entire drive. But then, just as the silence was starting to settle into something tolerable, he opened his mouth.

"He's in love with you, you know."

Yn’s fingers twitched. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared out of the window. She refused to acknowledge the comment.

"Yn," Lando tried again, his tone sharp. "Don't ignore me."

She exhaled through her nose, still refusing to look at him.

"I'm not ignoring you," she said, her voice dangerously even. "I just have nothing to say to that."

Lando scoffed, shaking his head. "Right. Of course. Because you don't see it."

"Because there’s nothing to see," she snapped, finally turning to glare at him. "Mike is my friend, Lando. He has been for years. You know that."

Lando let out a humorless laugh, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, and I also know the way he looks at you."

Yn clenched her fists in her lap, willing herself to stay calm. But the anger had already started to bubble over, and she knew it was too late.

"You know what? I’m done with this conversation."

She turned back to the window, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Lando let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his curls.

The road ahead was empty, the city quiet at this late hour. When they reached a red light, the car rolled to a slow stop. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

And then Yn had had enough.

Without a word, she unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed open the car door.

"Yn!" Lando’s voice was sharp with shock, but she didn't stop.

She stepped out onto the pavement, reaching down to yank off her heels. The night air was cool against her skin, but her anger burned hotter.

"Yn, what the hell are you doing?"

Lando had barely processed what was happening before she was walking down the street, heels dangling from her fingers, her bare feet padding softly against the pavement.

"Yn!"

The sound of the car door slamming echoed through the quiet street. A second later, Lando was jogging after her.

"You can’t just walk away!" he called, his voice laced with frustration. "Yn, stop!"

She ignored him.

"Yn, I'm serious—come back here!"

Nothing.

Lando groaned, running a hand down his face before picking up his pace. His heart was pounding for a different reason now—protectiveness, fear, the sheer desperation to fix things before they fell apart.

He caught up to her quickly, stepping in front of her path and forcing her to stop.

"Move, Lando," she muttered, her voice ice-cold.

"Not until you talk to me."

"I don’t want to talk to you."

"Well, too bad," he shot back. "Because I’m not letting you walk barefoot down the street at night like a crazy person."

Yn huffed, crossing her arms. "Then you shouldn't have said something so stupid."

Lando’s expression softened slightly, but he didn’t move. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.

"I know," he admitted. "I know it was stupid."

Yn blinked, surprised by his sudden shift in tone.

"I just—" Lando sighed, looking down at the ground for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I love you, Yn. And sometimes, that love makes me an idiot."

She frowned, her anger flickering for just a second. "Lando—"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted, stepping closer. "I know Mike is your friend. I know you love me. But sometimes, I see the way other guys look at you, and it drives me insane."

"Lando—"

"Because I don't want to lose you," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Because the idea of you being with someone else—of someone else making you laugh like that, making you smile like that—kills me."

Yn’s anger started to waver, just a little.

"I hate that I get jealous," Lando continued. "I hate that I let it get to me. But it's only because I love you so much, and sometimes, I don’t know how to deal with that."

Yn let out a breath, her shoulders loosening slightly.

"You're an idiot," she muttered.

Lando let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, I know."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I love you, Lando. But you have to trust me. You have to trust that I love you and only you."

"I do," he said quickly. "I do trust you. It's him I don’t trust."

Yn rolled her eyes. "Mike has never tried anything, and he never will. You have to let this go."

Lando hesitated before nodding. "Okay."

"Okay?" she echoed.

"Okay," he repeated, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry. Really."

Yn let out a small sigh. "You're lucky I love you."

Lando grinned, his dimples appearing. "I really am."

Before she could say anything else, he bent down and, without warning, scooped her up into his arms.

"Lando!" she squeaked, wrapping her arms around his neck on instinct.

"You're not walking back barefoot," he said simply. "Even if you are mad at me."

Yn huffed but didn’t argue. She rested her head against his shoulder as he carried her back to the car.

When he finally set her down, she looked up at him, her expression softer now.

"You're an idiot," she murmured again.

Lando smirked. "Yeah, but I’m your idiot."

She rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her lips.

And just like that, the fight was forgotten.

The love, however, remained.

[avelera]

Okay so I recently got low-key obsessed with Jayvik and I’ve been liking your posts about them (top tier analysis btw). Anyway I’m curious about your opinions on a couple of things:

If Jayce’s love language is physical touch, what do you think Viktor’s love language is?

What do you think the Anomaly actually is? My headcanon is that it’s caused by all the paradoxes/timelines that Mad Wizard Viktor keeps making, but idk why it would only be under the Hexgates.

Hmm, when taking into account that the love languages thing is basically horoscopes for real people, but they may have informed how the characters were written, I'd say:

1 ) I completely agree that Jayce's love language is physical touch. That much is obvious.

Viktor's love language is Quality Time - that would explain why he starts getting irritated and hurt with Jayce near the end of S1 and why he's so moved and touched by them solving equations and spending time together pre-time skip. Actually, so much of Viktor's attitude towards Jayce is explained by him seeing Quality Time as a love language it's actually making me a bit dizzy, I need to think about this a lot more because I think this might have cracked something for me...

2 ) Hoooo boy, I actually have an answer for what the Anomaly is in my mind, but it's a lot less character driven and a more metaphysics driven because I was feral about Arcane S1 before I had anyone else to talk to about it online and I've spent a lot of time thinking about Hextech and Shimmer. OK, here goes:

Hextech is an axiomatic (lawful) channeling of forces of nature, namely magic. However, magic to stay pure and reliable requires an anarchic (chaotic) AND the axiomatic (lawful) balancing act for each use of its power if it's to stay "pure" and reliable. Otherwise, you invite chaos in. Namely, the Anomaly.

In addition, every use of magic/the Arcane puts off a certain amount of "car exhaust" for every use, this allows it from a Doylist perspective to be a climate change metaphor but it does go deeper than that and follows its own magical rules. If you look closely, overuse of Hextech always puts off smoke. Early uses don't do so as much, though. In my opinion, each puff of that "smoke" adds to a potential Anomaly.

Now if you're good at magic, and skilled with it, say if you're good mage, as seen with The Mage / Viktor in 1.02, you make a point of scooping up up all the exhaust from any use of rune magic and pouring it back into the spell.

Look at how the mage scoops up all the exhaust coming out of the spell here and weaves it back into the spell!

Hextech doesn't bother to do that! Because Jayce doesn't fundamentally understand that advanced level of magic! He just keeps calling on its energy without dealing with the output of smoke/chaos/Anomaly fumes so it's just hanging in the air.

By the way, all the smoke in Arcane is hand animated so to my eyes, all smoke actually matters. I'm actually a little bummed that S2 didn't go deeper into explaining the smoke that comes off of some uses of the Arcane but not others but I'm assuming they'll delve more into in future shows because The Arcane Is Awake Now, thanks to my brilliant science boy dipshits.

The cleanest, clearest use of Hextech we ever see is the first time the science boys use it to float:

I draw a few conclusions from this:

1 ) The first hit is always free - first time you use magic, magic is happy to help you out! It will do the thing you ask! No consequences!

2 ) Magic gets more and more angry the more times you use it. Actually, by the time we get to Vi using the Atlas Gauntlets repeatedly in S2, there's a little puff of smoke every. time. she uses. them.

3 ) Magic requires some balance. Breaking a window before it let the boys float? Cool, that's balance. But if you just have it doing the same constructive motion over and over, like sending out airships, but you don't let it break some things too? It gets annoyed.

4 ) If it doesn't get applied in a balanced way, magic/the Arcane gets mad. Ekko compared the Arcane's frustration to a sigh. That smoke? Is the sigh. Again, first time you use Hextech, magic which is at least semi-sentient, is MORE than happy to help! The more you keep demanding repeated axiomatic actions, the more it sighs in anger.

Then we get to the crux of your question: what is the Anomaly?

The Anomaly built up at the base of a tower stuffed full with polished, axiomatic, reinforced Hexgems that do one constructive task over and over and over again all day, every day: safely send ships from one place to another.

The Anomaly builds up from the frustration of not allowing magic to be free. Jayce is an axiomatic thinker, he sees magic as a tool, not as a force of nature, so he's been channeling it super precisely and not scooping up all that extra exhaust and channeling it back into the magic and that means it builds up this... pearl of an Anomaly which is all this wild magic with tons of chaotic potential that can do basically anything, including time and dimensional travel but it's gonna be super weird about it.

Soooo... thanks for giving me the chance to yell about Hextech, hope that was sort of what you had in mind!

[em1989ts]

𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆

five hargreeves x reader

word count: 1.7k

part one. part two. part three. main masterlist.

summary: after discovering your husband cheated on you with his brother's wife, you run off to a different timeline using the subway, only to find a deli crowded with a familiar face.

author's note: this is my first fic that i'm actually posting lol, if anyone sees this i'll be totally shocked

“Just leave me alone, Five.”

You were speed walking down the steps into what looked like an abandoned subway, desperately trying to avoid the man you thought you knew, who was currently right on your tail.

“Not until you talk to me, y/n,” he pleaded, swiftly trying to catch up. 

“There’s nothing to discuss, Five,” you said in a cold manner. 

You just couldn’t speak to him. Not after what just happened in the living room with him and Diego. After what was just brought to light. 

You wanted to laugh, you really did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do so. 

Why would you hear him out? Why would he believe he had a right to explain himself? How could he? A marriage of over half a century, down the drain. And for what? 

Seven years with her.

Lila. 

His brother’s wife. The mother of his brother’s children. The child of the couple he assassinated. 

It made no sense. 

You angrily sped up and quickly got onto the train that was stopped at the station. It’s white light making you more stressed than you already were. 

The doors shut in his face. Just a couple more seconds and he would’ve been on this train. You would’ve been stuck having to hear him try and save face until the next stop. 

Sometimes the universe lets you win. 

But why not this time. 

You stared at him through the window of the subway car doors. He looked at you pleadingly. You looked at him disappointedly. 

Who was he, because he sure as hell wasn’t the Five you had known since you were thirteen years old. Stuck in the apocalypse with nothing but ashes and him.

 You had thought it was fate. You and him were meant to be stuck together, meant to be there for each other. Even after everything that’s happened. Apocalypse after apocalypse after apocalypse. 

The subway started to move. You stayed standing, staring at him with daggers in your eyes until he was out of sight. He didn’t chase after the car, he knew it was pointless. He knew he’d never get you back. He didn’t deserve you. 

Once the outside of the train was completely dark and all you could see was your own reflection in the window, you turned and took a seat. Hands in your lap, looked straight ahead, drained. 

What were you supposed to do now? Where would you go? 

Maybe this train would take you to a universe with a Five that could never dream of betraying you the way your own did. 

The lights shone over you as you were deep in thought. You had no idea where this train would take you, when it would take you. 

Suddenly, the car slowed to a gradual stop and the doors opened. You wanted to stay on, maybe pass by hundreds of stops until you actually got off the train but you heard footsteps passing by the station. 

Something in the back of your mind told you to get off at this stop, that you would find something important. 

You stood and slipped through the doors. As soon as you turned your head to scan your surroundings, that’s when you saw him. 

How could he have gotten here before you? 

Five was casually walking towards a set of stairs when he saw you and stopped in his tracks. 

You glared and felt a flame arise in you as you stomped over to him. 

“I told you to leave me alone, Five. What the hell are you doing here?” you pointed an angry, accusatory finger in his face but he just grabbed your hand and gently held it in his. 

You were confused, he seemed different. Less guilty. More sentimental. 

Your anger faltered as he stared into your eyes with an admiration you were already starting to miss. 

“y/n,” he said sincerely, “it’s been so long.” 

Of course he wasn’t your Five. You had just jumped onto a multi-dimensional subway for Christ’s sake. 

“Come on, follow me,” he said as guided you towards a stairwell. 

As you descended and turned a corner, warm glowing lights filled your sight. A warming, comforting sense of nostalgia flooded your senses. You looked up and read the lights on the sign, Max’s Delicatessen, as the Five you stumbled across led you inside. The sound of a familiar vintage tune filled your ears. 

Immediately, you felt all eyes travel to your frame. Every single pupil in this room belonged to a Five. The man you never wanted to see again. Each one of them looked at you with a shocked and astounded expression.

 The Five still holding your hand paid no attention and directed you into a booth seat. 

As you sat down, you took in your surroundings. The Fives behind the counter preparing food, the Fives taking orders, the Five delivering food, the Fives whispering at tables. 

There were so many of them, what was this place?

The Five sitting across from you looks in your eyes with a knowing look.

“It’s not often we get one of you around here.” 

You shake out of your confused thoughts and reply, “And what exactly is this place?” 

Before you can get a reply, a waiter Five comes up to the table and places two mugs of coffee in front of you and Five. Before he leaves, he places a couple cups of creamer and packets of sugar next to your mug. 

Without answering your question, the Five in front of you smiles and says, “We keep those in the kitchen and not on the tables since it’s really rare to see you.” 

You give him an annoyed look. 

“Can you explain to me what’s going on?” 

“Right,” he sat up a little straighter and took a sip of his coffee. “You hopped on a subway that took you to an alternate timeline. That timeline just so happens to hold a place where us Fives come after we’ve stopped trying to fix the problem.” He largely gestured to the room full of alternate versions of your husband. Ex husband. 

You stared at him for a few seconds, your brain rattled with questions, before you spoke. 

“Stopped trying? You mean trying to save the world?” 

“Stopped trying to fix the broken timeline,” he replied matter-of-factly. 

“The broken timeline?” you repeated in confusion. 

“There’s only supposed to be one, and I’ll bet you can guess who shattered the original timeline.” 

Before you could reply, you heard a bell as another Five yelled out, “We did.” 

Five made a disapproving yet knowing face as he called back, “Why you always gotta wreck shit, Brisket Five?” 

Brisket Five shrugged at him then winked at you before returning back to his work. 

“Okay . .” you started, trying to come up with the right questions, “So, our existence is the cause of the broken timeline. Is that why there’s constantly an apocalypse?” 

“Precisely,” Five responds, before gesturing to the framed pictures on the wall. “By the way, check out the artwork. All the different ways we made our universe go kaboom.” 

You stare at the photographs on the wall, noticing both familiar doomsday and entirely unique ones. Once your eyes reach a certain point along the wall you notice some framed images of you. Different photos of you and Five, living your lives together throughout the timelines. 

The Five across from you notices your curious glimpse. 

“I mentioned we don’t often see you around here,” he explains. “It’s because it’s rare that you survive your timeline.” 

You quickly turned back to him in response to his statement. You don’t survive? How many of the Fives in this room have lost their y/n? Has the Five in front of you lost his? 

“What do you mean?” 

“You and I will always meet, in every timeline throughout the universe. It just seems that fate doesn’t always take our side,” he says solemnly as he looks down at his mug. 

A Five piped up from the booth behind you, “My y/n was killed by the Swedes back in Dallas.” 

Another from a couple tables away said, “Mine died in the apocalypse, but we had a good thirty years together.” 

The Five in front of you looked up at you and said, “In my timeline, the Handler shot you and you died in my arms. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” 

He gave you such a genuine look. Like he’s felt shame and guilt for so long, his apology was heartbreaking. How could these Fives care so much about you, while your Five forgot all about you. 

“It’s okay,” you looked at him truthfully and took his hand in your, “I’m sure none of your y/ns would ever blame you for their fate, but they would for giving up. They’d want you to keep going, stay strong and do what it takes to save your family and the world. That’s what they loved most about you.” 

You felt bad placing blame on him but you didn’t understand how the man who has spent his whole life prioritizing the safety of his family and overcoming countless obstacles and stopping at nothing to save his family could just give up. Sure it was tiring, but that was the life the two of you lived, together. 

He smiled at you so lovingly it crumbled your heart. 

“Y/n, the doomsdays will never stop coming. The only way to end this constant cycle of saving and destroying the world is if our family ceases to exist.” 

Your heart slowed its beating as you stared at your interlocked hands, contemplating. 

You hated to admit it but he made sense. Whenever your family is all together, everything goes to shit. People always die and the world will always end. 

Before you could respond, you heard the door swing open and a tense tone fell over the deli. 

The Five across from you held your hands a bit tighter as he glanced up at the Five that had rushed in.

Your Five. 

☕︎

part two. part three.

[biteyoubiteme]

mango flavored.

yeonjun x fem!reader

synopsis: yeonjun and you work at rival companies and he’s always looking for a way to prove you wrong.

warnings: 🔞!!! yeonjun and reader pick on each other, rivals to lovers, mentions of fingering, unprotected sex, pull out method used, choking (f!rec), handjob, mirror sex, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 3.1k

an: posting early because I can't keep anything in my drafts thats done and if I look at it too much I wont like it. also this one kinda got away from me it was supposed to be hate sex but I don't think it really turned out like that lol so sorry about that and also more rivals to lover and not enemies to lovers ;-; forgive me pls feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

this is apart of my mini kinktober event check out the other fics here! [dumdum m.list]

It had only been a summer since you had last seen yeonjun and you would have been better if it had been longer. Even just thinking of the last event the two of you had attended together made your blood boil. both of you sneering at each other waiting for your cars, “I mean the numbers aren't looking too hot for you, down two percent in just the last quarter,” 

you had rolled your eyes arms crossed as you cursed the valet for being so slow, “well some of us don’t fudge the numbers to make our company look good,” 

his scoff was stone cold, “If you think- no I'm not even going to tolerate that accusation,” his hands shoved deep into his pockets, jaw tight. 

“Then don’t start with me,” you had fallen into silence, both of you having fought all night. Every time you tried to rub elbows with another firm, Yeonjun was right at your side trying to wedge himself into the conversation, to steal anyone away who was willing to talk to you. 

This late after the event you couldn’t think of anything better than going home as soon as possible and yet your car still wasn’t here; Neither was his. 

“I'm so sorry for the inconvenience but it seems there is a problem with one of our cars,” the valet states, their hands folded apologetically in front of them, “we only have the one left unless you’re willing to wait forty minutes. We did check the routes and both of you seem to live on the same street and if you’re willing-“ 

“no,” you start at the same time yeonjun says, “That’s fine,” 

“I don’t think I’d be able to survive a car ride with you, you’d take up all the air,” the valet looked mildly uncomfortable as yeonjun and you stared each other down. 

“well if you’re willing to wait then by all means don’t let me stop you,” 

"I am not waiting,” you would call someone before you let yeonjun watch you stand here in his rearview mirror feeling like he won the night. 

“Well I’m not waiting so suck it up,” you huff a humorless laugh at the way he waves you away. “we will take the car it's fine,” 

“We will compensate you both for the inconvenience we are so so sorry,” the valet apologizes wanting to be done with the situation.

“it’s okay we’re friends,” his cocky grin adds to your annoyance. 

“the day i’m friends with you is the day you’re sucking up to me after my company absorbs yours,” 

“Please we both know it will be the other way around,” 

you don’t even try to fight back, you're too tired from the day ready to get the ride over with so that you can cozy up in your apartment and think about anything else besides yeonjun. For the short car ride you could play nice. You didn’t even say anything when he was quick to get Into the car first. Both of your companies always rented out the same car place after events that had drinking involved. The sleek blacked-out suvs provided layers of privacy from the outside in. The divider separating the front and back seat when closed made the back seat seem like you were truly secluded, important calls could be made without the driver hearing so long as you made sure the window was closed. The driver wasn’t able to see into the back unless it was open. It wasn’t an ideal place to be seated next to someone you didn’t like. 

“The pavilion is first for drop off. Does that work for you two?” the driver asks both of you nodding as he closes the divider leaving the two of you in complete silence. 

“When did you move into the pavilion? If I had known we were neighbors I would have sent a basket of something,"Yeonjun asks, sitting back and getting comfortable for the drive, his legs spread knee knocking yours. 

“Only a month ago so if you’re still handing out gifts i’d like you to keep it so I’m not indebted to you in any way,” 

“I’ve seen the penthouse layout the place is huge you couldn’t possibly be sharing that whole space alone,” 

“if that is some way of asking me if I have a partner-“  

he cuts you off. “I was asking if you were going home to anyone or your vibrator because someone or something needs to work out the tension the stick up your ass gave you,” 

“you’re a fucking dick,” you roll your eyes 

“I’m just saying only uptight people don’t get laid maybe that’s your problem, you haven’t gotten off,”

“If you’re suggesting it be you to do it I’d rather go with the vibrator. i’m sure all the girls who find themselves in your bed fake it only because they don’t want to bruise your ego,” 

he laughs, “If you think I can’t get a girl off-“

“I would bet money, pretty boys like you don’t work too hard in the bedroom besides maybe a little nipple play but that’s only if you’re a boob guy,” 

“I’ll prove it,” 

Now you’re laughing, hand over your mouth to try and catch the sound but it keeps bubbling up, “What?” 

“I’ll prove it,” he repeats, shrugging like it’s nothing at all.

“Okay prove it then,” and he was digging in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He pushed open the divider and told the driver to do a couple laps around the street leaving him a few bills before shutting the two of you back into your bubble. 

You’ve never confessed to anyone what happened in the back of that car. Not even when you were a few drinks in with your friends and they giggled about their best orgasms. You kept your mouth shut and prayed you would never stumble across yeonjun again. 

It was hard to admit he was right. Even just thinking about the way he looked as you got out of the backseat, that grin so devilish before he licked your wetness clean from his fingers. You had egged him on and now you found it impossible to cum without thinking about the way he completely shattered your world. His breathy voice pressed right to your ear, “I want to hear you, I want to know just how good I’m making you feel,” how when you moaned he praised you, every “good girl,” adding to the build-up to your climax. Only now can you look back and hate on the moment because that was exactly what it was; a moment you desperately wanted to forget. No man, not even yeonjun deserved to have that moment hanging over your head. 

It was only the next day when someone in your company brought up his name and you hated how you felt yourself ache in remembrance. How even a week later you tried to sleep with someone else and they failed miserably to get you anywhere close to what yeonjun made you feel. At least not until you started to imagine it was him on top of you. Just that confession itself was enough to make you believe he ruined your life. It was always a good day when you could successfully push away that night from your memory. Then it was nighttime and flickers of that car ride flashed in your mind. Even your own hand down the front of your shorts couldn’t satisfy the craving. 

Anyone else and it would have been fine even if they were all you could think about but with yeonjun, he was the only competition you had at any other company in your field or at least a competitor that actually made your job worth the effort. If he wasn't there to beat there wasn't much to the day-to-day monotony. If anything it was annoying that he one upped you in something where the playing field was so uneven, if you wanted to match the score you would have to return the orgasm and speak about the fact that he had won in the first place. But you wouldn't be the one to bring it up even if the thought of sucking him off made your mouth water. 

For the past few events your companies have participated in you've missed meeting each other at least face on. Any across the room glances were quickly avoided; neither of you looking out for the other. Even this late into the night with so many people already leaving you've yet to stumble across yeonjun. The event hall was loosely filled with people waiting for cars instead of making their way outside to wait, the early fall breeze already setting in. Everyone you've needed to impress tonight is gone giving you the excuse to sit at the bar without worrying people hovering. 

Stirring your drink you watch the way the ice clinks against the glass, the faint music covering up the sound of yeonjun sitting down on the leather stool next to yours.

“Are you avoiding me?” the question just on the edge of teasing. You don’t even have to look up to know he’s smirking.

“no,” but even if the one word comes out confident, your pulse is hammering. 

“hum, you know for a second my feelings were a little hurt but then I thought about how embarrassed you must feel,” 

you finally turn to look at him, his suit tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck, hair uncut since the last time you saw him this close. “Embarrassed? In all the updated stats I've widened the margins between us. you should be embarrassed,” 

“my mind has just been so preoccupied thinking about how embarrassing it would be to cum in under three minutes,” 

all the blood rushes to your face, not because it’s anything to be embarrassed about but because it’s brought the image right back to you. Your nails digging into his forearm, knees trying to press together as you came. His lips right against your ear, that breathy, ‘look at that,’ still haunts your dreams. and it wasn't only once, he kept going, the heel of his palm pressed right against your clit, ‘too easy I'm sure I could get two more out of you,’ 

it’s like he can see right into your mind, follow the scene like a script he had memorized. “Just like I said that night, I hate you,” you toss your drink back, not even bothering to push in your seat when you stand. 

“Nooo, don't go now,” he chuckles and you roll your eyes. He’s matching you step for step making sure not to leave you alone. 

“my cars out front,” you lie not caring that you can see the exit and clearly empty parking lot. 

“Perfect I needed a ride and you look like the perfect one to do it,” 

you can’t help but laugh, stopping in your tracks making him bump into you, “as if I would put in that much effort to please you,” 

“I'd just let you use me,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, “I'm sure you would get a kick out of that,” 

“if you want to sleep with me you'd have to do all the work but if you thought I came ‘embarrassingly’ quick,” you roll your eyes “I'd hate to think about how long you would last,” 

“If I want to sleep with you? So it’s my choice?” his brows raised lips teasing a small grin. 

“I don’t think it would go well,” you’re stalling trying to think of every reason why it was a bad idea to sleep with him. If he had already ruined sex for you without trying if he did put in the effort you’re sure you would never be able to look back. You wanted him, needed him, and yet he was the worst possible option in terms of survival. You would never get over him. 

“I can last, I can even prove it,” your eyes go to his lips, watching the way his tongue peeks out to wet them. 

“We shouldn’t,” 

“I didn’t ask if we should I offered to prove you wrong or if you’re lucky prove you right then you could hold it over me,” 

he wanted you desperately to say yes, knew he shouldn’t, and still couldn’t help himself. His memories of that night did little to satisfy him anymore, he needed the real thing. Every night since he could hear the way you whimpered, craved to feel you clenching his fingers again. 

“Fine, prove it,” and you don’t think he actually will, not here at least but he’s grabbing your hand leading you to the furthest bathroom in the building. 

You hardly have time to process what's happening between the twist of the lock and his mouth on yours. "We shouldn't be doing this," you mutter breathlessly between kisses.

“then tell me to stop, tell me to leave you alone," but his words meant nothing to you as your hands worked on his belt. His lips trailing down your jaw, teeth scratching down your neck. 

The restroom is a single stall with little space for two to move around much, and the mirror and sink are right in front of the door. You can see yourself in the reflection pressed against the door, yeonjun sloppily kissing over your pulse. When you slip your hand into his pants, fisting his hardening cock. His moan is pressed right against your collarbone, his hand pressed right next to your head using the door to steady himself. You can feel precum starting to bead up and you swipe it up with your thumb. You give a few loose tugs watching the way he reacts, his lashes fluttering as you circle your fingers over his tip. 

“Now look at that, you really do know how to be quiet. Who knew this was all it took,” you tease free hand reaching up to pull on his tie. His head dips until his nose is brushing yours, mouth open in a silent gasp. 

His free hand slips right past your waistband, slim fingers finding your clit with ease. Your hand tightens on his tie and he gives a throaty chuckle at your gasp, your brows coming together as you try not to make any more sounds. 

“no, I told you last time I wanted to hear you, I need to hear you,” his precise circles on your clit give him exactly what he wants, and you’re unable to keep your whimpers to yourself. He is no better off with his hips bucking forward into your hand, every little noise of his caught on your lips. If you kept up the pace you were at he definitely wouldn't last long, every brush over his sensitive tip was making his knees want to fold. 

yeonjun had dreamed about his fingers slipping through your slick again, tasting you, even watching you slam the door as you left; his laugh mixing in with your flustered i hate you. he went through every event fighting the images of that night. But tonight was enough to break him with you dressed in the same skirt you wore then, the fabric smoothed down right over your ass. He wasn’t strong enough to turn away. 

Pulling his hand away from the door he reached down to stop your movements needing a fighting chance to last. 

“I wanna feel you cum on my cock, do you think you can take it?” and you’re nodding following him to the sink. 

The two of you in the mirror look disheveled, lips slightly swollen from the kissing. “I’m kinda glad we don’t work together because I don’t know how I would get work done sitting across from someone this distracting,” his hand slides down the back of your thigh before he lifts your leg. with one hand bracing yourself on the countertop your other goes to the back of your knee to keep it in place while he pushes your panties to the side. 

yeonjun wastes no time in running the head of his cock through your folds, taking the time to slap his tip on your clit making you jerk back against him. “if you don’t-“ but you’re cut off by the stretch of taking him in even an inch, your words caught in your throat as he watches your reaction in the mirror. 

“hum? What was that?” he asks with a cocky grin looking right back at you, his hands wrapping around your waist, as he pushes all the way in. 

The angle has him pressed deep inside you, far enough to make your thighs shake.  your head falls forward as he starts to thrust, hips knocking against yours pushing you further to the countertop. “fuck- you feel so good,” 

The praise makes you clench around him, his moan echoing in the small space. He pulls out almost all the way before snapping his hips back against you the force sends you down to your elbow. 

yeonjun wants to see your face, needs to see the way you come undone for him again. Taking one of his hands he loosely wraps it around your throat guiding you back up to lean against his chest. “Look at us, look at the way you’re taking my cock, don’t we look good together?” his mouth is right next to your ear as he asks, his fingers tightening enough to feel every vibration from your moans. 

“Are you going to cum for me? I wanna feel it,” the hand on your hip goes to your clit helping the build up of your climax. You can’t even form words to reply before you’re falling over the edge. 

yeonjun has to slow his pace as you cum, your gummy walls sucking him in as he helps you ride out your high. He has to drop his hand from around your throat when he pulls out giving the last few tugs on his cock before he spills hot streams of cum on the back of your skirt. 

“I think I won,” he smiles, watching you stand up straight catching each other's gaze in the mirror after you’ve come down for your highs. 

Although you know he’s right you roll your eyes turning your hip so that he can see the mess he’s made. “this was one of my good skirts,” 

“Whatever,” he shrugs, hand coming back up to your neck and tugging your mouth to his kissing you sweetly like he hadn’t just rearranged your organs. “just bill me for the dry cleaning, and next time i’ll just make sure I get you nice and full so you won’t complain,”

🏷 taglist: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @stwq2349 @isa942572 @tomorrowxforever @beestvng @soobingf-blog @lovinjjong @lola-horore-553 @cypher-03 @midnight-mochii @hueningwhy @choibeomning @soobinbunnie5 @yunjinswifee @cupidtaehyun @bamgeutsz

[seat-safety-switch]

People don't talk about this anymore, but our society just doesn't have enough sliding doors. The decline of vans since the 1980s has meant that portals-on-tracks have been rendered just about extinct in the modern day.

It's not their fault: everyone wants SUVs, with the doors that don't open as far and are less easy to load kids through. After all, if you're not dinging the door of the car next to you whenever the wind picks up, are you really a good parent? Plus, the kids put their French fries and spoons and Goldfish crackers in the track, and then it wrecks the bushing on the little wheel when it goes through the Goldfishified grease, and you have to pay the guy at the Honda dealer $150 for a new one and this all could have been avoided with a nice traditional hinge, you know? Like on a Mustang. Now that's what you should have gotten. A real sports car, assert your independence, live life to the fullest. We'll just get an SUV next time.

Me, I love a van. Not just for the massive cargo capacity, but mostly because a sliding door is cool as all hell. It makes an awesome sound, for one. Whoosh! Vrooooosh! If your regular goofy-clown-ears doors make any kind of a sound at all, then that means they're broken. And the nice square opening makes it easier to load weird-shaped items, like four boxed toilets, half a VW Beetle, or a Mopar A727 automatic transmission, without scraping up the bumper, damaging a door card, or punching a hole in a window.

In fact, whenever I'm driving a van, I get irritated that the driver's door – the most important door – doesn't slide. If I'm just zinging down to the post office to mail a letter, I don't get to use the sliding door at all, just the regular dumb one! Sometimes when that happens, I go into the grocery store and come right back out, just so that I get that nice whoosh-vrrrr from their sliding door. This used to be normal behaviour, folks. Look how far we've fallen.