#message me if u wanna plot!

[diveyne]

also like this for a band verse starter.

[liwanags]

mumu plots i wanna do bc ive been binging 2000s movies & shows

cruise/travelling tour - (insp. the lizzie mcguire movie) 2 week cruise to certain european cities? concerning cruise ship employees too not just the guests! subplots: getting lost in the city they docked in, entering the wrong cabin, missing the cruise ship bc of a late night out, mysterious guest that one employee took an interest in, bffs joining the cruise bc of a pact/bucketlist, sightseeing, flirting with locals, couple on a honeymoon, couple on a Fake honeymoon

modern royals - (insp. princess diaries) young royals in training (gives room for 25+ muses) to assume their thrones or just royal etiquette. arranged marriages, galas, banquets, sneaking out, missing lessons, flying off to a diff country (or at least attempting to), a muse like Mia Thermopolis shielded from the pressures of royalty until the age of 18 so when she starts it’s all very new, dinners with politicians, dancing at balls, newly-wed royal couple, etc!

university town square - (insp. gilmore girls) with a focus on town square shops, boutiques, stores, bakery, and the like! purely reliant on character stories. we can set up category channels for each shop and have threads. a mix of a university x small town setting if u will! give me tired college students! college students that dont care! part time student/part-time shop attendant, etc!

tv show set - (insp. sonny with a chance) there’s so many ideas for this! main actors hating each other, secretly dating the second lead, manager and stylist, editing staff, the tension in the writers room, navigating the press, making friends/enemies with fellow actors of the show, making friends with actors from a rival show, stylists knowing all the drama and beef between their clients, paparazzi, trying to get through filming during ungodly hours.

mystery gang - (insp. scooby doo) could be a group of friends that have a youtube channel together for fun, or could be a professional bunch of ghost hunters. each case they get is purely for work but somehow they get entangled with unsolved crimes and uncovering secrets while they’re at it.

[ategods]

updated my carrd! i've added 4 new test muses & updated my mains page <3

[kowaindar0u]

//

spent all weekend hanging out with friends and finally got to play some baldy gate with my sister after months of her not having (reliable) internet !!! yay !!!

tomorrow (evening, probably) as i mentioned before I'm gonna try and get to my replies :3

tonight i have a headache so I'm gonna take a shower and chillax some before I go to bed 😔

[terrorbitch]

open to: m / f / nb.

plot: tw slight abuse mention. after getting involved with a deadbeat guy, lucy ends up pregnant after living in her car most of her teenage & adult life. but he’s not kind to her, so right after giving birth she decides to leave and would rather live out of her car. your muse either finds her at the hospital, in a parking lot, at college, etc. and offers her to stay until she can find somewhere that isn’t her car.

suggested connections: one of her nurses, a school mate, a friend’s parent, literally anything you can think of. 

            it wasn’t like lucy to thank anyone... she had been alone for almost half of her life, and found when someone offered a kind gesture she was expected something in return. but she couldn’t deny how much she needed to take care of her baby, asleep in her makeshift crib that was beside the couch she was sitting on. staring at the floor, lucy swallowed hard and murmured, “thank you. for offering you place. i... i promise i’ll look for a job, and the hospital gave me a free pump, so... i... i’ll be gone soon. i just, um, i need time.” 

[papillionsoul]

mutuals only: give this a ❤️ for a starter

[gcldcnhour]

like this for a starter from one of these muses!

huxley locke - anya taylor-joy

emil zabu - toheeb jimoh

genevieve soto - lizeth selene

onyx jones - aubrey joseph

zander okello - daniel kaluuya

jude phelps - alex fitzalan

weezie redford - florence pugh

trent hamilton - glen powell

miriam pope - alicia vikander

ida clarke - maika monroe

fox newton - thomas weatherall

alara kose - ozge yagiz

[seizedeath]

oooooo you wanna write with me soooo bad,,,,,,,, wanna ship with me sooo bad

[ardenl0ughty]

FULL NAME: Arden Loughty NICKNAME: Banks AGE: 26 DATE OF BIRTH: 09/14/1997 PLACE OF BIRTH: Santa Monica, California GENDER IDENTIFICATION: Female SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single NEIGHBORHOOD: Downtown OCCUPATION: Bartender WORKPLACE: Sunset Saloon POSITIVE TRAITS: Courteous, Authentic, Passionate NEGATIVE TRAITS: aggressive, impulsive, sarcastic LENGTH OF TIME IN HAVENRIDGE: 2 years FACE CLAIM: Phoebe Dynevor 

TRIGGER WARNING: physical abuse, drug abuse, alcohol, murder, miscarriage

Ardens mother was only 19 when she met her father in her hometown HavenRidge, North Carolina. Her father was 23 and on a vacation for the summer with his family, they had rented out a house for the three months of the season. Her mother was a bartender at Sunset Saloon and the regulars favorite. She was the kindest young lady you would ever meet, some would say, and with a smile that would have you thinking about it for hours even days after departing the bar. Two weeks of being on vacation Ardens father took it upon himself to enjoy sometime without his family and spend some exploring the town stumbling to the bar her mother was at. It was a quiet night, just the few locals there engaging in conversation with one another. The moment her father laid eyes on her mother, the connection was instant and her father did everything in his power to claim the beautiful bartender. Just only a month and a half into the summer, Ardens parents fell in love, or what she would call it now, lust. Her mother ended up getting pregnant not much longer resulting in her grandmother kicking her out, and with termination being out of the question she was left with no choice but to go back to California with Ardens father. Once moving there, the two of them ended up settling down and finding the perfect house to raise their beautiful perfect little dream girl.

On September 9th, 1997, Arden Maree Loughty was born with a smile just as bright as her mothers, some may say more. With just one look her mother instantly fell in love with what God had gifted her, she would call her Banks to remind her of back at home, and not long after her birth, her mother and father soon married. Life was going great, her father got a new job, one that would financially put the family on the rise, and her mom was set to stay at home and raise her. A couple years later, Ardens fourth birthday is coming up, her father was bringing in tons of money, and the relationship she had with her mother for just being a toddler was a bond that could never be broken. One night her father had come home reeking of alcohol, and constantly snorting his nose as if he was inhaling something through his nostrils. Ardens mother had immediately sent Arden to bed so she wouldn’t have to witness the actions that were to soon occur. From that night forward, whenever her dad would go out with friends, coworkers, any excuse for him to have a sip, he would come home, Arden would be sent to bed, and the beatings would start.

For years it lasted, and as Arden was growing up into a woman her father would soon start to pick at her when he could. At home Arden did what she was commanded by her father, upheld herself, and be the woman he wanted her to be. Secretly, she prayed for her mother, every night, she wrote out a different plan in her journal for the two of them to secretly escape back to where her mother was from, HavenRidge. She would quietly keep her journal under her mattress where she would never think for her father to look and continue on with life with a secret plastered all over her. Just like her mother, Arden falls in love with a boy behind her fathers back and with a sense of déjà vu, she ends up pregnant. She confided in her mom with the news and her mother knew the only shot they had at keeping this a secret from her father, was to escape. A week went by and as Arden was coming home from a 8 hour shift at their local bar, she walked into the house she shared with her parents to blood splattered across the room in every direction her eyes could lay on. From her bedroom she could hear the sobs coming from her father and Ardens heart instantly stopped, her chest got as tight as it ever had and she could feel the world spinning around as if she wasn’t there anymore and just looking above. Somehow she convinced herself to get up and to her bedroom she went, where she found her mattress flipped upside down, her journal lying face up and open, her father bent down on the ground with a gun in one hand and the other covering his face. Next thing she saw was her mothers lifeless body laying on the ground covered in a puddle of mud. Arden screamed unintentionally but alerting her father. From what she remembers, her father pleaded for her forgiveness, for gods forgiveness, and for the first time in her life saw remorse from her father right before he too, shot himself in the head.

After the biggest tragedy occurred in her life, Arden suffered a miscarriage, she broke up with her boyfriend, and constantly blamed herself for the murder of her mother. After years of therapy and reconnecting with her grandmother, Arden finally decided it was time for her to leave behind everything that occurred in California, and live out the dream she prayed for with her mother. Arden soon moved to HavenRidge and from there on she started to rebuild the life she had always wanted to live. She got a job bartending at the Sunset Saloon just like her mother once had and once recognized they brought her in as family, eventually letting her own the apartment right above. Arden promised she wouldn’t let the tragic events that occurred in her family change who she was ever again. She was going to live out the dream her mother wasn’t able to and she made a promise to that.   

Quick facts

She tries her best to be as polite as can be, but she tends to snap back at people.

Even though her grandma kicked her mother out, the two have since rekindled and that’s the only family she has left remaining.

She plans to open up her own bar one day in memory of her mother.

Even though her dad was an alcoholic, drinking doesn’t bother her seeing as her mothers job was a bartender growing up but sometimes she feels she may have inherited his drinking problem

She is very closed off to relationships which she hopes to grow out of.

She won’t talk about what happened to her mother or father, unless drinks are in her.

If shes not working a shift at the Saloon, you can catch her down at the pier with one of her favorite books in hand

She bought her grandmother a dog to keep her company which she goes over to help her with once a week for walks

[apoapsis]

since i got a couple new follows, here is my carrd! it's still under construction (missing siebren's bio) so that's why it hasn't been pinned as of yet

[psychometrys]

it’s not on the carrd but i dooooo have a fantasy verse for cal 👀

[taiga-pine]

man FUCK this stupid ass manga

(talking abt the possibly fake mha leaks u can ignore this one)

[shxlmes]

//Sherlock has a Wire now 🥳 feel free to add him for text convos. It’s @shxlmes

[elenaes]

@roseguided, damon ˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

ㅤㅤthe salvatore house is still pretty intimidating, no matter how many time she visits. hard to believe it's been here this whole time, and she never really knew it. she's gotten rather confident just inviting herself over despite that, and does so rather often to see stefan. she's doing that now, large door creaking open as she peeks in. it's quiet, but she has to assume someone's home. she's proven correct when she sees damon on the couch, and she pauses somewhat awkwardly in the foyer. ❛❛ um . . . hey. is stefan home? ❜❜

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[maidragoste]

hey hun! im sorry for your loss and i saw u post abt needing distracting. so could u write a jace x reader? it could be any plot you want whatsoever and could it be a modern au? as well fluffy! is that okay?

Hi, how are you?

Thank you for your message 💖 I'm sorry it took me so long to upload your request (in the end it cost me more than I thought to recover and then university and trying to find a job overwhelmed me) but I hope you like the result 🥰💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

It hadn't really been Jacaerys' intention to wait for you to come back from your date. He should be doing some college work but instead, he's watching TV without paying attention to it thinking about how the hours are passing and you still haven't come home. Your date should be fun if you don't text Jace anymore. Jace shouldn't be worried about you because he knew Rhaena would never have set you up with an idiot but he still couldn't help being worried.

Jacaerys wanted you to come home and see if you were okay. It would hurt him to hear the details of your date and see you all excited about another boy but he would bear it.

If only Jace wasn’t afraid of ruining things between you two then he would have taken you out himself after hearing you complain about how your love life is dead instead of letting Rhaena set you up with one of her friends. But Jacaerys is sure that you don’t see him as more than a friend and he doesn’t want to risk losing you so he doesn’t make a move. He's content with being able to be in your life, with the chaotic mornings of the two of you getting ready before going to class, with your text messages telling him everything that happens to you during the day, with the nights cooking together and with the breaks where you watch series snuggled together on the couch.

Jacaerys looks away from the TV as he hears the keys clicking into the lock. You walk in and Jace feels a pit in his stomach because you don’t look excited, you look defeated? Your eyes meet his and you give him a tired smile but you quickly break eye contact to take off your coat and sneakers and then run to the couch with him.

“So you wanna talk about it?” Jacaerys doesn’t even finish asking how much you’re already talking.

“It was fine. He’s nice and we talked for hours. Everything was going well until the end because he tried to kiss me.” If you hadn’t been busy fidgeting nervously you would have noticed how your roommate seemed to tense up all of a sudden. “I declined and he wasn’t bothered but it was awkward.” You sighed.

“Why did you reject him? Are you the kind of person who has a rule of not kissing on the first date?”

“Because I don’t like him” you declared, suddenly looking up and for a moment, at the intensity of your gaze, Jace forgot to breathe. “I could be his friend, but I’m not interested in him in any other way.”

“Oh” was the only thing that came out of the surprised man’s mouth.

“Oh,” you repeated, “Why did you wait for me, Jace?”

“Who said I was waiting for you? I was watching TV” he denied instantly.

“Jace”

Seeing your beautiful eyes looking at him pleadingly for a moment, Jace was afraid to give in and confess everything to you, as for more than a year he can’t stop thinking about you and wants to be more than your friend. But again, he’s afraid of making you uncomfortable and losing your friendship, so he asks instead.

“What does that have to do with you not liking your date?”

“While I was with him I realized that I actually wanted to be home with you” you confessed and instantly regretted it when you saw that he remained silent. “Forget it. I'm sorry for making it weird” You got up ready to go to your room so you could have a crisis alone about ruining your friendship with Jace when he took you by the hand and pulled you causing you to end up on top of him.

“Oh no, I don’t plan on forgetting it, not when I’ve been pining for you for over a year,” he stated making you smile.

“You’re a coward,” you mocked without malice. “Over a year and you never made a move. You’re lucky I decided to act.”

“You’re right,” he said smiling unbothered. “Now that we’ve established that I’m a fool and you’re the best, can I kiss you?” he asked and you laughed feeling delighted with him.

“Try not to sound so desperate to kiss me.”

“Can you blame me?” He arched an eyebrow, any embarrassment or fear he felt disappearing the moment he knew his feelings were reciprocated. “I thought a lot about kissing you and I finally have the chance.”

At his confession, you felt heat on your face and your smile grew. “You're such a fool.” You took his face in your hands and felt your heart warm at the softness with which Jace looked at you.

The moment your lips touched his Jacaerys knew he would become addicted to your kisses. He would look for any excuse to kiss you as many times as he wanted. You would probably become the clingy couple that his friends would make fun of. But he didn't care and he didn't think you would either because you were kissing him with the same intensity.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

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