#their name better be waffles

[dynamitekansai]

Mariah May has arrived in All Elite Wrestling!

[swiiivet-screamathon]

"Anyone bugged you this time?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, stupid cookies being stupid is a Tuesday."

"You can't just drop that and not give me the deets."

"...'wah, are you sure someone as young you should be working on the wafflebots?'-- you know, typical stupids."

"... I'm getting the gun."

"Shadow nO--"

[hotroadkill]

today 2 years ago i was in america and i had the worst hangover of my life and i was in a waffle house with my friend in awkward silence bc we’d fought in a stranger’s kitchen the night before and the server refilled my water for the 5th time while i fought to swallow half a forkful of hashbrowns and she said “i know that look, y’all had a good time at the superbowl last night” and i was thinking actually we had a mediocre time at a nerd bar where u throw darts and all the drinks r named weird things and anyway my friend gives the fakest laugh ive ever heard followed by “yep we sure did” like are we in a CW show right now what was that line delivery and also what even is the superbowl i was born here and should know but honestly i’ve always just pictured everyone gathering at a comically large bowl of cereal but her nametag says leslie and she’s really nice and she’s refilling my water for the 6th time so yeah sure whatever i’m a red blooded american i’ll be anything for leslie in this moment and she tells us stories about working at bars downtown and my friend tells me bad jokes and i feel a little better even though my heart is kind of withering away because my flight is in 17 hours and theres not enough time never enough time i won’t see him for another year and a half and i won’t ever see leslie again and if i ever run into the italian stranger who fell in love with me over darts then it won’t be the same because we won’t be dancing and i’m sitting in a waffle house while the sun sets and i’m sweating gin and tequila and my flight is in 16 hours and i have so many goodbyes to say in this

city because when i was fifteen somebody threw my glass heart onto the floor of my childhood house and bits of it shattered everywhere and fell into the cracks of the floorboards and behind the fridge and i’ll never ever get them out much less back together but i feel like ive been trying for eight years all the same and my flight is in 15 hours but maybe if my friend brings me home now i can spend three of those looking for more shards even though i’ll cut my hand because time never wore down any of the hurt because time might heal wounds but it cant really do jack shit about a metaphysical glass shard its still gonna make me bleed and my friend brings me home and we curl up beside each other in my childhood bedroom thats too small for us it was really a supply room but it became my bedroom when i was eleven and i painted it blue and put up stickers of fish and never took them down but someone someday will take them down and hopefully the house burns to the ground before anyone can touch them theyre mine i grew up here theyre mine dont touch them dont please dont please please please i grew up here and my flight is in 12 hours now because i fell asleep beside my friend and he let me because he knew i needed it he kept watch even though we dont have time we never do because he has to go now and all i can give him is a hug and my hoodie to keep safe until i can see him again and fight him in a stranger’s kitchen again and the sun is gone now and i go and i sit with my dad and my flight is in 10 hours and im trying

not to cry im trying to stare at the stickers because maybe if i look at all of it hard enough i’ll get to stay but i dont because thats not how it works and now my flight is in 4 hours because i fell asleep in my childhood loft bed and now i have to leave i have to pack up and go for the fifth time and it never never gets easier and i know i only have a few more trips left until someone takes my stickers down and paints over my ocean but for now my best friend’s stepmother comes with me and my dad to the airport because my best friend is in college two states away and my flight is in 3 hours and i cry i cry so much and she cries too because she loves me and i think it is such a beautiful blessed thing that i am so loved but oh it is so painful too because i spend more time in its absence than its presence and my flight is in 2 hours and i have to go and my dad is waving goodbye and i see it because i looked back because im stupid i always look back i never look forward i’m forever walking blind through my life because i’m looking back and i can tell my dad is crying and now i have to go through TSA sobbing and it’s awkward because they ask are you okay kid and im not but i cant tell them sorry its just that when i was fifteen somebody threw my glass heart onto the floor of my childhood house and bits of it shattered everywhere and fell into the cracks of the floorboards and behind the fridge and i’ll never ever get them out i cant tell them that so i nod yes im okay and i go and my flight is in 1 hour and i hope it fucking crashes and my flight is in the air and im so far away from all those shards on the kitchen floor now but they’re hurting me all the same and i think i look kind of insane sobbing in the middle seat but how can i miss so many people and so many rooms at once and not lose my mind a little bit? i was going to tell you a short witty little joke about the time i realized i was 21 and didnt know what the superbowl was but i think i slipped on a shard. i’m sorry. maybe next time i’ll get it right. maybe in another two years. maybe you’ll never see me again. maybe this is all the time we had.

[bakudanma]

Being a former byloser is annoying cause I still feel inclined to defend them (and Mikhail) and when I see fanart or analysis from mutuals still part of the fandom I feel some semblance of joy but at the same time with the political views of a lot of the people behind st and the fandom being well for lack of better words a fandom it gets really confusing and awkward for my brain to process

[demi-pixellated]

Impero

Imperian Identifiable from other Draken groups for their longer ears and rich mahogany hair which is typically kept in long braids. Seal patterns appear light and golden on the skin, and form as curled, budding branches. At first glance, their appearance is very similar to the seals of Callenae but are especially distinct for a small flower bud marking that appears on the back of the hands, the tops of feet, and on the center of the forehead.

Matriar The Imperian Matriar is most recognizable by Her headdress: a hennin embroidered with the regional flower, the Highland Peony, decorated with golden trims and coins, and a long, sheer veil which ends come down to tuck into Her dress' cuffs. She carries with her a Shamshir, that also bears the Highland Peony on it's scabbard, which has passed down from Matriar to Matriar. Until recently, Impero was in the unique position of being led by a Patris, an interim male royal who takes the throne until a female heir is born and is of age to ascend.

Viziers Provincial overseers and direct advisors to the Matriar. The vestements of Viziers consist of a mid-length overcoat, gold trimmed cuffs, and a stole embroidered with the Highland Peony pinned atop the shoulder. They also carry at their sides ornamented daggers, which are specially commisioned for them when they are appointed the position.

Citizens By and large, the Draken of Impero are a vibrant people - covering themselves in various patterned dresses, vests, belts and scarves. Headscarves, a common adornment, range from sheer veils with delicate embroideries to billowing shawls woven with family heraldries, peonies and other regional symbols. They are worn loosely by most Imerpians to protect the braids they are widely known for, a practice done to honour and resemble the Drakes of the region. It is common for younglings to have fully wrapped headscarves until their hair is long enough to be braided.

And exception to the common practices is a recent surge of wealthier young adults eschewing traditional patterns for clean, single toned attire in an attempt to make themselves known from the masses. Additionally, many choose to forego headscarves or even braids altogether, much to the ire of the older generation.

[flwrstqr]

❪ 日语 ❫ 𓈒 ㅤ DREAMER, ENHYPEN AS YOUR HUSBAND ╰—— 𝓲. ⸝⸝𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝗂'𝗆 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝖽.

── 𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬 ⸝⸝ 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽

‎ ‎ ✶ 𝐀𝐂𝐓‎ ‎𝐈 : husband!enhypen + fem!r 1OOOwc ⟡​ fluff oneshots headcanons ࿁ you on your lady days for riki's part TT, skinship, petnames. && 【 VOGUE 】

다��� : since this won the poll,, i'll post this first (>//<) trust i'll post the other one tomorrow or some day over the weekends

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 heeseung never lets you sit anywhere but on his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck. “baby, you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, lips grazing your skin. you giggle, hitting his arm in a teasing way. “hee, we’ve been married for years. aren’t you tired of flirting?” he pulls back, feigning offense. “never. in fact—” he tilts his head, eyes dark with mischief— “i think i’ve gotten better at it.” you roll your eyes, but he steals a kiss before you can retort, his lips melting into yours. “mm, still obsessed with me, huh?” you tease, and he smirks, tightening his hold. “hopelessly. my wife’s too gorgeous, what am i supposed to do?” you try to glare at him, but he only kisses your pout away, laughing as he pulls you closer.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 "jay, what the hell is this?" you gape at the endless shopping bags filling your living room, designer logos flashing at you like a personal boutique had exploded in your home. your husband grins, draping an arm around your waist. "happy two-week wedding anniversary, baby." you blink at him. "two weeks, jay. who even celebrates that?" he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. "me. because i love you. and i love spoiling my wife." you groan, burying your face in his chest as he chuckles. "you're insane." he tilts your chin up, eyes twinkling. "insanely in love with you." you roll your eyes, but your heart flutters when he kisses you like he’d marry you all over again if he could. "just say thank you, pretty girl," he whispers against your lips. sighing, you wrap your arms around his neck. "thank you, my crazy but handsome husband."

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 jake finds you curled up on the couch, your soft breaths filling the quiet room, the tv still playing faintly in the background. his heart melts instantly—his wife, waiting for him, only to fall asleep. he crouches beside you, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. "my pretty girl," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. he leans in, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead, careful not to wake you. you stir slightly, lips parting, but he soothes you with a gentle hand on your back. “shh, sleep, baby,” he whispers, then, without hesitation, he scoops you up in his arms effortlessly, holding you close to his chest. he chuckles under his breath, pressing another feather-light kiss to your temple. “always waiting for me,” he sighs, carrying you to bed.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 sunghoon hums, fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip as you both lie tangled in the sheets. “how about waffles, since we had it for breakfast?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple. you scoff, flicking his forehead. “hoon, that’s the ugliest name ever.” he chuckles, pulling you closer, his skin warm against yours. “fine, then you come up with one, genius.” you pause, thinking, and he watches you with that soft, lovestruck gaze. “hmm… i like soojin for a girl.” “soojin,” he repeats, testing it on his tongue. “pretty. what about a boy?” “maybe—” “no,” he interrupts, voice low, teasing. “i vote for waffles.” you groan, burying your face in his chest. “we’re never having kids.” he just laughs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “too late, sweetheart. i already imagined a little waffle park running around.”

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 “baby, you have a fever,” sunoo pouts, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead for the tenth time in the past minute. you groan, swatting him away, but he’s already tucking the blanket tighter around you. “stay still, i’ll get you some medicine.” before you can protest, he’s gone, returning moments later with a glass of water, a thermometer, and— “sunoo, why did you bring an entire first aid kit?” he huffs, ignoring you as he carefully pops a pill into your palm. “just in case! what if your fever suddenly skyrockets? or you faint? or—” “baby,” you mumble, tugging at his sleeve, “i think i’ll survive.” he softens instantly, cupping your cheek. “i just don’t like seeing you sick,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “so let me take care of you, okay?” you sigh, giving in.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 jungwon notices before you even say a word. at exactly three hours into the party, he glances at you, eyes flickering down to your heels, and like clockwork, you mumble, “my heels hurt…” without missing a beat, he’s already reaching for your hand, guiding you toward a quieter corner. “i knew it,” he murmurs, setting down his drink before crouching in front of you. “here, hold onto me.” you blink as he loosens the straps, slipping your heels off with gentle hands. “won, you didn’t have to—” “of course, i did,” he interrupts softly, pulling out a pair of flats from the bag he brought—because of course, he thought ahead. your heart swells as he looks up, grinning. “i always know what you need.” you shake your head, laughing, but as he presses a kiss to your lips, you realize—yeah, he really does.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 "babe, what size do i have to get?" riki’s panicked voice crackles through the phone, and you bite back a laugh, curled up in bed with a heating pad pressed to your stomach. "riki, it's not jeans, just get the ones i always use," you tease, hearing him groan dramatically on the other end. "yeah, but there's like—fifty kinds! wings, no wings, overnight, ultra-thin—why is this so complicated?" he whines, and you can practically picture him, standing in the aisle with a distressed look, glaring at the shelves. you giggle, and he huffs. "stop laughing at me, i'm suffering for you," he grumbles, but then softer, "do you need anything else? chocolate? a heating pad? tell me, baby, i got you." your heart melts, even as he keeps acting nonchalant. "just hurry back, riki." "i'm already running," he says, and you know he means it.

[arolesbianism]

Ive finally started playing rainworld for the first time and while perhaps modding the hell out of it for my first playthrough was a bad idea my idiot son who I only feed food that he hates would surely disagree

[witchslove]

The Morning After

Pairing: Camgirl!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Your feelings for Wanda run deeper than she knows.

Warnings: 18+ nsfw content; bottom!wanda, top!reader, kitchen sex, masturbation, oral (w receiving), dirty talk, fluff

A/N: Sorry it took me like two years to post this, but enjoy!

Part 3 of “The Camgirl Next Door” | Series Masterlist

——————————

As your eyes drifted open and adjusted to your surroundings, you realized you weren’t in your own room.

Right, you were in Wanda’s room.

The previous night’s events came back to you in a rush and you smiled, remembering the way she tasted under your tongue, the way she felt under your fingertips, the way she moaned your name, the way she looked into your eyes as she teetered on the edge. It was better than anything you could’ve imagined, but you knew you and Wanda still needed to talk about what it meant.

You rolled over to face her, but your smile quickly faded at the emptiness of her bed and the feel of cold sheets under your fingertips.

You frowned in concern, but figured she must’ve gotten up to go to the bathroom or get something to eat or drink. Your activities last night took a lot out of you both and you felt your own body craving a glass of water.

You got up, finding your clothes on the floor and throwing them on before walking around the apartment. You’d already noticed that the bathroom in her room was vacant and once you noticed the guest bathroom was empty too, you decided she must be in the kitchen or living room.

But she wasn’t.

The kitchen looked untouched since last night, as did the living room. You felt yourself beginning to panic, wondering where Wanda was and why she would’ve left.

Before you could think too hard, the front door swung open and there was Wanda, carrying two coffees and a paper bag.

You let out a breath, your shoulders relaxing at her presence, all worries that she’d just left you behind subsided.

“You’re up! I went out and- are you okay?” Wanda asked, noticing that something was off as she placed the items on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah I’m fine, still just waking up I guess,” you reassured, not wanting her to know you’d almost worked yourself into a panic over her getting breakfast.

She nodded and seemed to believe you, reaching into the bag and taking out food containers. “I didn’t know if you’d want pancakes or waffles so I got both.”

You slowly made your way to the kitchen, your brain still catching up to the relief of her coming back, your eyes glued to her as she focused on the task at hand. She really was beautiful, especially like this - sweats and an oversized shirt, her makeup long gone after last night, the sunlight of the morning highlighting her features.

It didn’t take long for you to notice she wasn’t wearing a bra either, her nipples visible through the fabric of her shirt, probably from how brisk it was outside. You didn’t think twice as you hugged her from behind, fitting your bodies together as she placed things on the counter.

She relaxed into your touch, humming when your fingers played with the hem of her shirt before sliding under the fabric. “Detka, last night was a lot-” she paused when your thumbs brushed against her nipples, leaning back against you and letting out a whimper when you pinched the buds between your fingers. “We- we should eat breakfast first…”

“Mmm, what if I want to eat something other than breakfast?” you said, your breath ghosting along her neck in a way that made her forget what she was even saying.

“But what about-” she interrupted herself with a soft moan at the feeling of your teeth on her pulse point. At this point she’d become so limp in your hold that you were able to turn her around and lift her onto the countertop with ease.

“Any objections to kitchen sex?” you asked, your fingers playing with the waistband of her sweats.

She bit her lip and nodded no, raising her hips so you could remove her pants and underwear in one motion. “You sure? Words baby,” you said, leaning in to kiss her sweetly as your hands ran along her thighs teasingly.

“Yeah, please Y/N.” Her words came out with a quiet whine, her legs spreading easily for you when you began to push them open. You kissed her once more before lowering yourself between her legs, your hands sliding under them so they rested on your shoulders. You pushed her shirt up enough to see her perfectly, gripping her waist as you looked at her lustfully.

“A little teasing and you’re this wet already? Fuck,” you mused, your knees feeling weak at the sight of her folds pink and slick with arousal right before your eyes. This was even better during the daytime, you were sure of it.

“Please,” Wanda begged, practically squirming where she sat. She blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed at how needy she was being so quickly, but that left her mind the second she felt your mouth on her.

You moaned at her taste, your tongue dipping into her as you sucked on her wet lips, messily reaching as much of her as you could before actually focusing on pleasuring her. When your lips found her clit, she let out a guttural moan, hips bucking up off the counter for more.

You pulled away the slightest bit but didn’t stop lapping at her center as you squeezed her waist to keep her still. “Taste so fucking good,” you mumbled, licking a long stripe up the length of her before diving back in. When your tongue slid inside of her, she cried out, hips moving wildly but failing to do much under your harsh grip.

“Fuck, just like that,” she moaned, a hand coming to your hair to keep you in place as if you could possibly find it in you to stop now.

She was close, so close, and she knew she only needed a little push to get there. As if you could read her mind, knowing exactly what she needed, you brought your hand to hers and guided it from where it was tangled in your hair down to where she was aching. You looked up at her, pupils dilated as your eyes locked and she understood what you wanted from her.

She began to rub her own clit, making tight circles against it so close to your face you couldn’t hold back a groan at the sight. She moaned at all of the sensations working together, your tongue against her walls, the vibrations of your vocal desire for her, the friction against her sensitive bundle of nerves, it was all too much.

She threw her head back as she came, letting out curses and chanting your name like a prayer as her hips stuttered against your mouth. You licked and swallowed every last drop of her essence as it dripped into your mouth and down your chin.

When she finally came down from her high, you ceased your movements against her and instead kissed along her inner thighs until she was dragging you up by your hair and pulling you in for a heated kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.

“Now can we have breakfast?” she asked, looking at you oh so innocently.

“I’m surprised you’re still thinking about food after that,” you said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She smirked before leaning in. “Mmm no, I’m just thinking about all of the things we could do after we’ve gotten our energy back.”

You smiled back and stepped away, letting her go back to getting breakfast ready. You chose pancakes after noticing she seemed excited about the waffles and the two of you ate at the dining table since the kitchen counter wasn’t exactly the most sanitary option anymore.

By the time you were finished eating, an alarm from your phone interrupted your morning together.

“Shit, I have work today,” you cursed, finally realizing what time it was. “I have to go or I’ll be late.”

You stood up, hurriedly grabbing the to-go boxes you ate out of and trying to clean up after yourself.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of that,” Wanda said, grabbing your arm to stop you before stepping closer. “Although I was kind of hoping I’d get to take care of you…”

“I’m sorry, Wanda, I really have to go,” you rushed out, feeling bad that you had to leave so abruptly after such a wonderful morning together.

“It’s okay, go ahead. Don’t want you to be late,” Wanda reassured, smiling softly as she let go of your arm and started cleaning up the table.

“Thanks, uh, yeah, sorry. Thank you for everything,” you managed to get out, knowing you wanted to say so much more but being unable to do it in that moment. She smiled again, nodding as you turned and ran out, stressing over the fact that you left yourself almost no time to get ready.

You were only seconds late to work thankfully, but your situation with Wanda was on your mind all day.

You definitely had feelings for her, there was no denying that. Your feelings ran deeper than just casual sex and you wanted her to know that, but you felt nervous at the thought of asking her out on a proper date.

What if this was a fling to her? What if she still saw you as a customer? You hated that word, but it was truthful in describing what you were to her before the two of you had ever even met.

As the day went on, thoughts of Wanda kept your mind busy; you thought of how she tasted, how she moaned for you, how wet she was. But you also thought about her cute smile, her little nose scrunch, her thoughtfulness in getting breakfast for the two of you, everything about her.

You decided you had to do something. You couldn’t let fear take over and keep you from getting the one thing you wanted most.

Meanwhile, Wanda spent her day in a similar state, thinking of you. She felt so taken care of and loved when you had slept together, in a way she had never felt before with anyone else. It felt safe and secure, but also electrifying. You were an incredible lover but it ran deeper than that and she was struggling to convince herself that it wasn’t just the heat of the moment.

You fucked her, but you also practically made love to her, and she wasn’t sure if that was your intention, to make her feel that it was more than just sex. You were, after all, someone who consistently viewed her streams and watched her touch herself on camera. Obviously there was physical attraction; she just didn’t know if that was all it was.

While she worried all day about your potential feelings for her, you were working up the courage to show her how you felt.

On your way home from work, you stopped at a local flower shop, scanning over all the options for bouquets.

You came across a beautiful selection of roses and could only think of Wanda when you looked at the red and white ones. Red for the love and passion you felt towards her, red for her favorite color, red for the fire she ignited within you. White for new beginnings, white for your loyalty to her, white for the innocence of your feelings, it wasn’t just sex, it was something more pure.

You had the florist put together a bouquet and you paid for it, trying to shake the nerves building within you.

When you got home, you stopped at Wanda’s door first. You hesitated, but then knocked gently on her door, holding the roses behind your back.

Wanda wasn’t expecting anyone, so she was curious who would be at her door, although she hoped it was you since the two of you hadn’t gotten to finish your time together that morning.

She opened the door and smiled upon seeing you standing there. You looked uncomfortable and concern flashed on her face for a second before you spoke.

“Hi, um, mind if I come in?” You asked nervously, waiting for permission to enter.

“Yeah, of course,” Wanda responded sweetly, opening the door more for you to step through the threshold and closing it behind you. “What’s up?” she spoke when you didn’t, breaking the awkward silence.

“Okay so,” you started, hyping yourself up in your head for what you were about to do. “First of all, these are for you.” You handed her the bouquet from behind your back and she gasped, taking them in her hands and admiring them for a moment before returning her attention to you. “I wanted to ask you something. Would you, um- sorry- would you want to go out to dinner with me some time?” You rushed out, afraid you wouldn’t ask at all if you took any longer.

Wanda chuckled, feeling relieved that you were asking her out on a date.

When she didn’t immediately respond, you spoke again. “It’s okay if you don’t, I just, I wanted you to know it’s not just sex to me. I like you Wanda. I don’t want last night to be a one time thing and I don’t want this to be casual either. I hope I’m not making this weird, I just needed you to know that I have feelings for you.”

You were rambling, but Wanda found it cute. She finally responded by grabbing the back of your head and leaning in, pulling you into a soft kiss, trying to convey all of her feelings through the touch of your lips.

When she finally pulled away, she looked into your eyes in a way that almost made you shiver. “I would love to go out with you,” she said, smiling at you, eyes sparkling.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding and smiled back. “Okay great, how about this Thursday? I’m off early that day,” you suggested, trying not to seem too eager even though you absolutely were.

“Thursday is perfect,” Wanda said. “And thank you for the flowers, no one’s ever given me flowers before.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide your surprise. She nodded. “Well, I’m glad to be your first. I mean, the first to give you flowers,” you stuttered out, feeling nervous again under her intense stare as she continued to hold eye contact with you.

She laughed at your antics and was about to speak again when the oven went off and reminded her that she had been cooking.

“Oh, um, would you like to stay for dinner tonight? I made enough for both of us,” Wanda invited, heading towards the kitchen to turn off the alarm.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, excited to spend more time with her.

As the two of you got to know each other better over dinner, you knew you were already head over heels for her. You’d tell her that when the time was right. You didn’t know it yet, but she was already feeling the same way.

[itsnesss]

LANDO NORRIS x reader? Just walking around, having a cute little date

𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 | lando norris × fem!reader

summary | a quiet, cozy date with lando turns into the sweetest evening—just walking, talking, and falling a little more in love with every step

warnings | extreme fluff, tooth-rotting sweetness, mild teasing

word count | 1.0 k

🖇 more ln4 🖇 f1 masterlist

He takes your hand without asking. He just laces his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like holding your hand is already part of his routine. Maybe in his mind, it is.

“I don’t want to do anything crazy today,” he says, turning toward you as you walk through a quiet city street. His smile is soft, almost lazy, like the world has paused just for the two of you. “I just want to... walk with you.”

And that’s exactly what you do.

No plans. No fancy reservations or carefully mapped-out stops. Just your steps next to his, moving at a slow pace while the sun begins to dip and paints everything in gold and orange.

“You know what I love about this?” he asks, still holding your hand, still focused only on your face.

“What?”

“That you’re not in a rush.”

You frown a little, curious. “And that’s a good thing?”

“It’s amazing.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m always surrounded by people who are in a hurry. Literally. Mechanics, engineers, fans… me. Everything is always fast. But you…” His thumb brushes your skin. “With you, everything slows down. And I like that.”

You stay silent for a moment, letting his words settle into your chest, warm and fluttering.

You don’t answer with words. You just lean in a little closer, your arm brushing his.

You end up in a park neither of you knew. There are kids running around, a guy walking an enormous dog, and an elderly couple on a bench, sharing an ice cream.

Lando tugs you gently toward a snack stand.

“Hungry?” he asks, scanning the small menu. “Because that Nutella waffle is calling my name.”

You laugh. “Everything calls your name.”

“I’m just that popular,” he says with a dramatic pose that makes you burst out laughing. “But not as popular as you, clearly.”

“Me?” you ask, surprised.

“Yes, you. You’re the only one who can make me disconnect from everything. You’re basically a rockstar.”

You blush. He notices. And he grins proudly, knowing he caused it.

You sit on a bench with your waffles, sharing one napkin and playfully bickering every time one of you gets chocolate on the other.

“Hey! That was cheating!” you protest when Lando dabs a bit of Nutella on your nose.

“Cheating? No, no,” he says, pointing at you with his plastic fork. “That was sweet justice. Literally.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he sticks his back, of course. He leans in, wipes the chocolate from your nose with his finger… and licks it.

Your eyes widen in surprise. He just grins, shamelessly. “Hmm. Sweet. But you taste better.”

And there it is again. That stupid smile that always manages to make your heart race.

Later, when the sun is fully gone, you wander the softly lit streets. Streetlights and shop windows light your way. Lando stops now and then, not because there’s anything interesting to see — but just to stretch the evening out a little longer.

You pass a closed shop with a display of old books. He pauses in front of the glass, tilting his head.

“Do you read much?” he asks.

“Depends. Do you?”

“I read manuals,” he jokes. “And WhatsApp messages. That counts, right?”

You bump your shoulder into his, and he stumbles back with exaggerated drama, laughing loudly.

“Honestly, I should read more. But I have trouble focusing... unless you’re around. Strangely, you make everything feel quiet. Peaceful.”

You stop walking too. You look at him. No cameras. No fans. Just the two of you, standing in front of a dusty window, under a flickering streetlight. Lando steps closer, still holding your hand.

“You’re my safe place,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Even in the middle of anywhere.”

You lean in first. Or maybe he does. Doesn’t matter. What matters is the kiss — slow, soft, full of all the things you didn’t need to say.

It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t need a reason. The kind that blooms during an ordinary evening because your heart just can’t keep holding it all in.

“You realize this date has absolutely no plan?” you say after, still walking, still with his fingers tangled in yours.

“And it’s the best date I’ve ever had,” he answers instantly.

“Even better than that time you had dinner with Tom Holland?”

“Obviously,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Tom’s cool, but he doesn’t laugh like you. He doesn’t look at me like you do. He definitely doesn’t take slow walks with me just to check if the stars are out.”

You glance up. And there they are. The first stars.

“What now?” you ask.

“Now I get you something warm to drink,” he says, pointing at a small, cozy-looking café with glowing lights. “And then… we keep walking.”

“To where?”

“Until the world says stop. Or until your feet get tired. Whichever comes first.”

The café is tiny and smells like vanilla. You order one hot chocolate with marshmallows — just one — and sit in a quiet corner, sharing it like two teenagers who don’t want the moment to end.

Lando looks at you like you’re his entire universe. Like this unscripted evening is the best gift anyone’s given him in a long time.

“Thanks for not rushing,” he says, gently tracing your wrist with his thumb.

“Thanks for walking beside me,” you answer.

He leans in and kisses your forehead. Slow. Soft. Like it’s all he needs to breathe.

You step out of the café with warm hands from the drink and even warmer hearts.

The city has gone quieter. Fewer cars. Fewer voices. Everything feels hushed, as if it knows you’re having a moment.

Lando stops again.

“Look,” he says, nodding toward your reflection in a shop window.

You look tired, windswept. Your cheeks are flushed. Lando’s eyes are glowing. And you’re both smiling.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he says, turning back to you. “But I like you. A lot.”

You don’t say anything. You just wrap your arms around him.

Because you feel the same.

Because this aimless walk turned out to be the best path you’ve ever taken.

[goldenstring6123]

Lnds: The boys as parents

Warning: Long post ahead! 3.7K words in total! reader is MC! f!reader, AFAB!reader, implied abortion

Author's note: I went a little too overboard and specific with this one... IDK if you guys will like it. Might make a part 2/Individual fics it this post does well!

Zayne as a father:

He became a parent to 2 kids, both adopted. The eldest is a boy, and the youngest is a girl.

After a life-threatening complication when you were pregnant (it involved the problem in your heart, you and your husband decided to adopt instead. The first was a 4-year-old boy and, later on, a 2-year-old girl from an island near Linkon City.

Zayne works hard as a chief surgeon; even then, the pay at AKSO Hospital is no joke. Despite preparing more than enough money to live comfortably with a child, something within him fueled his desire to do better: before you got married, he worked hard to become a part of the Hospital's board of directors. This allowed him to control his time more and spend fewer hours working.

When you and Zayne adopted your first boy, a 4-year-old named Elias, you met him as a quiet little boy which you found working hard to try and read an outdated newspaper on the island. A few months later, you discovered your now-son's interests in academics and learning. Zayne was pleasantly surprised to see his little boy eager to learn about things outside of the island, so much so that the chief surgeon almost immediately registered him to enter formal schooling.

Most people would assume that, like himself, he expected his son to achieve great things in school, but on some school nights, before bedtime, Zayne would talk to your son. "You're doing well in school, Elias. But don't forget to have fun." You thought Zayne would never really have time to visit your son's plays and school activities. Still, much to your surprise, he was there for most of it, especially in events where your son is involved. It was such a comedic sight watching your husband hold a noncellular camera.

Being a part of the hospital board of directors meant long and lengthy meetings, so there were times when he still had to work late and leave beyond working hours. Sometimes, you let your son stay up and accompany you to pick up your husband. Of course, that's also to buy a hotpot for a midnight snack on the way. There were also times when you and your son would fall asleep on the couch waiting for him. He quickly picks you up and places you on his bed, tucking you and himself five minutes later. The next thing you know, it's morning, and the smell of waffles is wafting in the air.

He wasn't outwardly affectionate, but it's more than evident that he loves his son. He praises him to his colleagues (unknowingly), and he gives him gifts, and the cost doesn't matter. But sometimes, he shows love to his child through words, Complimenting his son's actions and skills.

He rarely scolds his son as he's the less strict parent. Your dynamic is the type where if you don't allow your son to go do something, he'll call his dad for backup. You almost always give in. Zayne never really puts his hand on his son. Instead, he opts for a more, face-the-consequence-of-your-actions type of dad. He lets his son be and ensures Elias learns that there are things he can't and shouldn't do. On more bad days, when your son is extremely hard-headed, Zayne will tell him what to do.

A few years later, despite many ups and downs, both of you decided to adopt from the same island again. It was a year-old infant named Penelope who was handed to the orphanage due to the death of her mother.

Between the two of you, Zayne was the one who fell in love first. He never expected to be a girl dad, and he didn't think too much of it until he saw her in your arms. The first thing she did was grab his finger and giggle, looking so beautiful against the island's sunset.

When she grew a bit older, Zayne became fond of how she began to resemble you in terms of actions and personality. She was undoubtedly the type of kid to make a fuss about the little things and act cunningly to get her way and, at the same time, not cry over the things that made her sad or hurt her.

She was often seen with you and clinging to you if not Elias. With her, things were an unspoken competition between Elias and Zayne. He was her first in many things: first dance, first time riding a bike, and first parent to be called by her, except for the first kiss. Her first kiss was given to his older brother, and it was on the forehead. Zayne sulked for the rest of the day while your son held that against him, stating that his little sister loves him more than his dad.

Despite this, Zayne and Elias developed another thing, an unspoken urge to protect the little girl. It may not seem like it, but Elias always focuses on Penelope, ensuring she's doing alright in school and having fun. Zayne sometimes sneaks into the daycare to peek at her daughter's condition. On Zayne's day off, Elias would tell stories about what Penelope does on a day-to-day basis. Thanks to his son, he was well-versed in her daughter's life events despite working a lot in the Hospital.

Xavier as a father:

Xavier is a father to one male child.

It was an unplanned pregnancy, which you only realized when you had your Quarterly checkup at headquarters. The doctor ruled you unfit to work on the field because you were carrying a month-old baby. You gagged at the news, and on the same day, you told Xavier. He just stared at you and turned red.

Xavier was…enthusiastic(?) with your pregnancy. Despite being the type not to really change when you were pregnant, he was always on guard and on your beck and call, buying out whatever cravings you had, even at midnight or on a rainy day (He was the one having cravings; You settled with whatever food you had in the house.)

While you were at home resting with him, you observed his behavior change. He was more silent than usual, looking out of the window; when you asked, he told you that his having a child felt like a fever dream. Xavier was unprepared to be a father but willing to learn. His trove of light novels and comic books slowly began to be invaded by parent magazines and guidebooks on caring for an infant. If he has some day off, he will be by your side to help you do stuff around the house or attend parenting classes behind your back.

When you gave birth, even through the amniotic fluid and white stuff covering the child, you could easily see that he was a pure carbon copy of Xavier. There was no part of the little baby that resembled you at all. Both in physical appearance and in attitude. Xavier cried tears of joy upon seeing your child born, albeit he never showed anyone his crying face. You know he did because his eyes and nose were puffier than usual.

The baby was quiet; it coos, plays with its saliva, and asks for a lot of milk, but I rarely cry. The only time it cries is if a loud sound is disturbing it from sleeping. And even when he cries, gently tapping and lulling him within five minutes will stop the little guy from crying.

The baby was attached to him. The baby would unknowingly leer towards him whenever he was around, asking to be picked up, to which Xavier would happily do so. He was a sleepy child and liked to nap even in broad daylight. He was easily fed and didn't put up much of a fight, even in his older years.

At the age of three, it was the beginning period where his little meek personality began to change. The kid was adventurous and the curious type. He was often found in his own world observing the little things in life, like a trail of ants or a kitten atop a tree branch, yet it seemed like he was curious to learn more things. He liked to observe from up close, which is why he was often seen on tiptoes trying to look over a lot of stuff or squatting down to observe the smaller insects on the ground.

To help him foster his talents and strengths, Xavier brings him to the headquarters once a week to let him run around and train. You were against it initially, but seeing your little boy imitate his father with clumsy focus made your heart swoon. A few years later. The kid was in school; Xavier was the one who attended the boy's school activities as you had to work most of the time, leading a team of your own.

He was doing well compared to the average students in school. Still, the teacher complained that the little boy kept sleeping in class, often getting him scolded and demerit. Xavier scratched his head and apologized, saying the little boy must've been exhausted after midnight play-dates with him.

Xavier keeps physical albums in his home, one for the family, one for you and him, and one dedicated to your child's life. Much to your surprise, he was more hands-on with his child than you might expect. Xavier never lets you carry your son for too long; he's afraid that you would collapse from exhaustion. He'd also be the one to put him to sleep, almost always falling asleep with his own son.

He's not the type to gift his child physical things (he still does occasionally). He would prefer to take you guys out to different locations, like a new arcade, a new park, or a place where your son could explore freely and safely. Xavier adores his child and keeps a photo of him on his lock screen. On his desk is a family picture of you and him that you take every year.

Xavier was the favorite parent when the little boy grew up because he was calmer, more collected, and the cooler one between you two. It's not that you weren't, but you know how boys are. Xavier tells his son many stories that he passes off as "fairytales" when, in reality, it was actually his real adventures in the decades he has lived and worked. But his favorite ones were when he and you fought against the wanderers side to side.

Needless to say, Xavier was a role model and a doting father. Because his appearance never really changed, at some point in the far future, he would be mistaken as the little boy's twin brother instead. It became a running joke in your family, so much so that out of pity, your son decided to dye his hair a different color to make him distinguishable.

Xavier and your son continued to have a boss and subordinate relationship in the hunter's association, which a lot of people really admired. On the other hand, you ran the bigger team and were on the field most of the time. Memories of regular days are filled with seeing each other in the medical Bay, on the field, or in a restaurant after a long fight on the field.

Rafayel as a father:

Father to two girls.

Rafayel's baby was not planned. In fact, he never believed you were pregnant until he saw signs of your body changing, especially the morning sickness and cravings. It's not that he didn't want to be a father, but it was simply too sudden for him, and he couldn't absorb it well.

He went a little overboard in preparation, hoarding many little clothes that your child would definitely outgrow. He brags about your pregnancy to many people, saying he's excited to be a father and always wanted a family of his own. People congratulate you a lot, even if you don't know who they are. On random days, you keep getting mail for some reason, and it's oversized packages: bassinets, branded feeding bottles, bottle steamers, and a box full of infant diapers. Safe to say, you really didn't need to buy a lot of things for your little passenger.

Unlike you, who was pretty lenient in designing the bedroom for your daughter, he was nit-picky as hell. The interior designer and suppliers had a hard time dealing with your husband, and you could only apologize secretly on his behalf. Nonetheless, the room turned out to be more beautiful than you expected.

When the baby arrived, he was crying, but he denied it. Yet everyone in the room could see him cry like a diva. Everyone wanted to see the baby, and so did your friends. Still, to your surprise, Rafayel refrained from letting anyone visit you for fear of the infant contracting any diseases from the visitors.

You decided to name her Anastasia. He was undeniably meant to be a girl dad. There was no day in the week when the little baby was dressed poorly. She would always wear on-brand clothes; even simple pajamas cost more than they should. He bought her dolls, stuffed toys, and those big dollhouses collectors buy.

When the little baby girl grew up and began to attend school, Rafayel would always ask for a kiss on the cheek, which your daughter would happily give.

Rafayel likes to gossip with you and your daughter, and he is a good source of news because he always knows the juicier side of stories. With your daughter, he knows the reputation of each and every parent. Sometimes, they go too far and pick on your daughter's classmates, e.g., telling them that their clothes are old-fashioned or that one kid looks like a mean bully. The bad thing is, your daughter thinks so as well. You and Rafayel once went to her sports day competition and saw her play a three-legged race partnered with a boy. You could see the smoke coming out of Rafayel's head, and you had to cover his mouth because he was uttering profanities. Something like: "Get your hands off my daughter, you little…"

Raf likes to give gifts as a sign of affection, and your daughter is thankful, but on special days, she doesn't request anything. Instead, she insists on having a dad-daughter date instead. Thanks to those moments, Raf began to lean more towards spending time together rather than showering her with gifts.

She grew up replicating Rafayel's diva-ness as her form of humor, and she usually tries to get away with stuff using that method. But she was family-oriented, being the type to show affection outwardly. She most definitely became a daddy's girl and would always go to him for help.

Later on, when your first child reached her teen years, you decided to have another child, and this time, it was a girl whom you named Charlotte. Rafayel was more tamed with the room decoration this time, but not with the gifts and outfits. He didn't allow any secondhand items from Anastasia to be given to the younger one.

Rafayel, despite already being a seasoned dad, was more overprotective with his second daughter, hiring a nanny for her. He would be restless if he didn't manage to see her for two days, so he refrained from going out of town unless necessary. If he did, however, he would always call you and ask how Charlotte was doing. You would turn the phone to your daughter, but she wouldn't pay him any mind and continue coloring in her little notebook.

Unlike Anastasia, Charlotte preferred to be with you. She was the more reserved of the two siblings, but she was mature for her age. She knew what she wanted and would outwardly deny if whatever she was doing or receiving was not to her liking. She wasn't that dramatic and would just stare at her sister or father whenever they exaggerated their emotions in front of her.

Sometimes, you and Charlotte just like to watch your other daughter and your husband act all dramatic. Then you just brush them off and spend your day drinking tea and eating cupcakes.

Sylus as a father

Sylus is the father of twins. One boy, one girl.

You weren't married when you found out you were pregnant; you were his lover by then, but you were severely unprepared to have children, considering the environment you guys were in. You got married in secret, and he made a promise to protect you and your children despite living in the N109 zone.

Upon the birth of your children, he was mainly on edge. He got you the best doctors and midwives. Although your birth was surprisingly smooth sailing, you heard some stories from the nurses nearby about how Sylus was threatening a doctor if you ended up with complications. Thankfully, the twins were delivered safely.

Between the twins, the eldest is a girl you named Mauve, and the boy, Claude. Mauve had your eyes, but his hair color was daunting, and he had a more pale skin tone, while Claude resembled you more than Sylus, except for his eyes.

Sylus didn't care much for the children; he made that apparent by focusing more on you and his work and leaving the kids to the nanny. That quickly changed after six months. On a random day, he saw you tending to your children, both sleeping soundly in your arms. You seemed at peace inside the bedroom, looking out into the distance. Something switched inside of Sylus, which neither of you can point out, but there was one thing for sure: You guys were now a family.

The mindset change perplexed you the most because, beginning that day, Sylus made a quiet effort to learn how to take care of the twins. He was often seen with the nanny, asking for specific methods of washing the feeding bottles or bathing the twins. And in no less than a month, he was practically the one taking care of your children whenever he was at home.

Sylus doesn't spoil his children more than necessary. Sure, they had rooms of their own and a decent amount of toys, branded items, and clothes, but he only gave them a little more than necessary. He firmly believes that children should learn to work hard at an early age to not get disappointed in the future; you scolded him for that, though, after all, they were just children.

Sylus always plays with his children whenever he can. He doesn't like it when family time is interrupted by business, so he ensures no one disturbs the residence until you and the children have had enough fun. His play methods are surprisingly tame and even comedic; after all, the sight of Sylus dawning twin-tails and stickers on his face doesn't come by that often. On days when he's out of town, Luke and Kieran are the ones who play with the children, and not even they can withstand the dress-up and role-play.

Whenever things get complicated in the organization, or even a hint of danger lurks around the family, Sylus sends you and the children away to a residence under a different name. It was located on a more private island, which only his private jet could access. Then, he deals with the problem as swiftly as possible.

A few more years later, Sylus changed. His principle of hard work equals good rewards shifted, and he slowly began to spoil the twins. They were spoiled, but it was surprising that they were obedient. That is until you spied around them when you were supposed to be at work. It was thanks to this that you realized another thing: Sylus is the type of father who says, "I can't do anything, your mother said no. Sorry, kids." when you're around and "C'mon kids, who will scold you? Your mom is at work, and I'm the parent in charge!" when you're not.

Thanks to this, you also discovered the real nature of your children behind the nice, good children facade.

They were naughty: They liked to play pranks on your husband, but Sylus always outsmarts them. You constantly wondered where they were picking up these silly pranks until you saw them huddled together with Luke and Kieran in a random corner of the house.

The twins were cunning: They greeted guests with a smile and treated maids with care, but they sneaked around the staff room and reported to Sylus what they heard. Once, they broke a vase and convinced you that Mephisto did it.

They were eccentric: The smiles on their faces were business smiles whenever other people were around. Note they were smiling ear to ear, but their smile was unsettling once you realized that you had entered the house of Onichynus' leader. It was almost threatening even.

Sylus, despite not looking like it, valued education as he believed it could give his children an advantage. Still, he'd let his children be street-smart rather than book-smart. Because of this belief, he would bring his children around for business meetings and less dangerous missions. You once argued with him over the twins' safety. Still, they reassured you that they're more than capable of protecting themselves.

A few years later, into adulthood, Claude was quietly regarded as a lethal weapon due to his proficiency in engineering (nuclear & Chemical) and in statistics; His background and frightening loyalty to his father and Onychinus amplified the organization's fearsome reputation.

On the other hand, Mauve was the front of Onychinus, often leaving the country to make business deals on behalf of his father, who was busy working at home. The woman was responsible. She was undoubtedly a gambler who believed high stakes = high rewards, yet she had never once lost that gamble.

But when you and your family get together for dinner every week, it's like they're the most mundane family ever, talking about what they hear out on the street and what the new neighbors are up to or what new places to visit in Linkon City. You just…came to accept it.

Author's footnotes: Alright this post is too long for my own liking but it would be longer if I go in depth about your family details. and at this point, this is like an AU... Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

[littlelovelunette]

never requested before, but could we get vi’s reaction to reader getting a tattoo of vi’s name on her lower back??? really smutty. love your work by the way.

Pretty Back Tattoo

Contains smut, mild somno, strap

You had no idea what sort of decision it was to have gotten Vi's name as your first ever tattoo. Not to mention, the ink was etched on your back.

You weren't exactly thinking with your head when you got the tattoo, you were thinking with your cunt.

The only thing stuck in your head was, "She'd see it everytime she thrusted in me from behind."

But you didn't stop to think if Vi would get addicted to the mere sight of the tattoo which she did.

"No good morning?" You questioned groggily when you felt Vi forcing you onto your hands and knees, "Dang it, I was having a good dream too."

"I can make it better than your stupid dream," Vi said hastily pulling your shorts and panties down, "Fuck, doll, you're wet," Vi's fingers scooped up some of your arousal to taste, moaning at the taste of your needy pussy.

"Promise me waffles for breakfast later?" You asked, hugging a pillow to anchor yourself to consciousness, you couldn't fall asleep during sex, that was the last thing you wanted to do.

"Mhm," Vi grunted, sticking her strap deep inside your pussy earning a strained moan from you, "Fuck, should've seen the way your tat was showing through this slutty see-through top you bought," Vi said as her toy disappeared all the way inside your hole.

Sleep-drunkenly you replied, "It is an expensive top..."

Vi moaned in your ear before landing a small bite on your shoulder causing your eyes to snap open, rolling back feeling the huge toy sinking deeper in you when Vi leaned in.

Her rough, calloused fingers traced over the ink etched on your lower back, a sign of possession, her territory finally marked. Her name on your skin.

"I'm buying you so many crop tops," Vi let out a rather submissive moan when she felt the strap's other end hit her clit causing her to see stars, "Fuck," she cursed.

Vi's thrusts got sloppier with time, your eyelids starting to get droopy as sleep took over your body which was already accepting defeat at the hands of your horny girlfriend.

"I'm so close..." you mumbled in a sleepy tone only urging Vi on further to bring you to the edge, with one last thrust you came on the dildo, your body tensing and eyes closing in bliss.

Vi held a pause as she let you come undone in her arms before your knees have out, you dropped on your stomach, snoring softly as you went back to sleep.

Vi sighed, looking at the soaked toy and then back at your tattoo, "Fuck."

And she was back at it.

[mintyys-blog]

Hi minty , could u please do headcanons for main mark and variants of what they would do and feel if they believe reader is cheating. (She is not)

HEADCANON | variants with s/o who they believe is cheating

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: mention of cheating, false accusations, attempted murder, swearing

MAIN MARK

Mark wasn’t sure when the thought first entered his head. Maybe it was the late-night texts he couldn’t see the names of, or how you started coming home a little later than usual. Logically, he knew you had work. Logically, he trusted you. But logic had nothing on the gut-sick panic that settled in his chest.

He didn’t confront you right away. No, he tried to ignore it at first. Laughed it off. Told himself he was being insecure. But then came the slip—the way you smiled at your phone one night, whispered something to yourself, and didn’t notice him watching. That smile. It wasn’t for him.

That night, he sat on the edge of the bed, unable to sleep. You were brushing your teeth, humming under your breath, looking completely normal. Like everything was fine.

And that hurt the most.

So he asked, barely a whisper: “Are you seeing someone else?”

You blinked, stunned, toothbrush in hand. “What?”

His voice cracked. “Just tell me the truth.”

When you laughed—not cruelly, just shocked—he looked like you slapped him.

“Mark, what the hell are you talking about? Of course not!”

You explained everything. Showed him the texts—your friend planning a surprise for him. The extra hours at work? Covering for a coworker. You even opened your phone, unlocked, without hesitation.

Mark sank to the floor, hands in his hair. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

You knelt with him, gently guiding his face up to yours. “You’re not. But next time? Ask me. I love you, dumbass.”

He wrapped his arms around you like he thought he might lose you again. “I’m so sorry.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “I forgive you. But you’re making me waffles in the morning.”

“Deal.”

MOHAWK MARK

He didn’t say anything at first. That wasn’t his style.

Mohawk Mark watched from a distance—arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes dark. You’d been acting different lately. Late replies. Brushing off his questions with a smile. And worst of all? You’d started hiding your phone.

He didn’t do subtle. So the storm had been brewing—louder in his head every day, pushing him closer to the edge until the night he finally snapped.

You were humming in the kitchen, minding your own business, scrolling your phone. And that was it.

He yanked the phone from your hands in a blink, slamming it on the counter. “Who the fuck is he?”

You stared at him, stunned. “Mark—what?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been hiding shit. Acting weird. So unless you want me to start tearing this house apart, you better start talking.”

You shoved his chest, furious. “Are you insane?! I’m not cheating on you!”

He sneered. “Then what the fuck’s going on?”

You grabbed your phone back, unlocking it with shaky fingers. “Go ahead. Check it. You’ll find nothing—unless you want to ruin your own birthday surprise.”

His expression faltered.

You shoved the screen in his face. Texts between you and his best friend, planning a surprise party. Restaurant reservations. Gift orders.

Mark stared for a long moment before backing off, running a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. “Fuck… I—I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t,” you snapped. “Because you didn’t trust me enough to ask before losing your shit.”

The guilt hit him fast. The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

He muttered, almost too low to hear, “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “You will, if you keep treating me like an enemy instead of your partner.”

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “…I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, softening slightly. “But you can make it up to me.”

“Dinner, back rub, whatever you want.” You leaned back into his chest, still annoyed but touched by the sudden softness. “Start with ‘I’m sorry,’ and we’ll work from there.”

SINISTER MARK

Mark wasn’t loud. He didn’t throw tantrums or pace the room when he was pissed.

He watched. He waited.

So when he saw you getting out of a car with some random guy—his arm casually slung around your shoulders, the way you were laughing, all soft and familiar—his vision darkened.

He didn’t follow you home right away. No. He followed him.

It wasn’t until the guy was alone in the parking lot of a corner store, head down in his phone, that Mark made his move. One hand around the guy’s throat, slammed against a brick wall.

“Didn’t think I’d notice you pawing all over her?” Mark hissed, squeezing tighter. “You have about ten seconds to explain who the fuck you are before I start making an example.”

“W-what?! Dude—I’m her brother!” the guy gasped, choking out the words.

“Bullshit.”

“No! No, I swear—! C-check her contacts—ask her! My name’s Eli! Look at my f—fucking face, man!” Mark’s breath hitched. And suddenly, he did look at the guy’s face. Closely.

Familiar nose. Same eyes as you. He hadn’t noticed before—his rage had blinded him. You showed up minutes later, breathless and panicked, having tracked your brother’s phone when he stopped answering.

And what you found? Mark, fangs bared, fists clenched around your brother’s collar—just short of crushing his windpipe. “Mark!” you screamed, shoving between them. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

His jaw was clenched so hard you swore you heard a crack. His eyes flicked from your brother to you—back and forth, trying to put it all together.

“You didn’t tell me you had a brother,” he growled. “You never asked,” you hissed. “Because you were too busy acting like a psychotic asshole instead of trusting me!”

Your brother was coughing behind you, pale and freaked out. Mark ran both hands down his face and backed off, still trembling from the adrenaline. He didn’t say sorry. Not immediately.

But he did stare at you like he was trying to piece his heart back together. “I thought I lost you,” he muttered hoarsely. “And I don’t lose things I love.”

You didn’t answer. You were still too angry, too shaken. But you reached out and took his hand. “Next time,” you said coldly, “ask before you kill someone I actually care about.” His lips twitched, almost a smirk. “Fair.” He still didn’t apologize out loud. But he didn’t need to. The way he didn’t let go of your hand said enough.

OMNI MARK

Mark wasn’t like other versions of him. He didn’t shout, didn’t fly off the handle, didn’t indulge in petty emotions like jealousy.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

So when he spotted you at a quiet outdoor café—sitting too close to a man he didn’t recognize, your hand brushing his across the table—he didn’t make a scene. He didn’t even let his expression change.

He just… watched.

And when you laughed—genuine, unguarded—something in his chest pulled tight like wire straining to snap.

He returned to the Citadel early that day. Didn’t leave a message. Didn’t wait for you to come home. He simply stared out into the black stretch of space, arms folded behind his back, thinking.

You didn’t get home until late.

“Mark?” you called out as you stepped inside. “You’re home early—”

“Who was he?”

Your heart stuttered at the ice in his tone.

You turned, frowning, confused. “Who—?”

“The man.” He faced you fully now. No mask. No crown. Just a man whose brown eyes burned cold. “The one you met for lunch. You touched his hand. You laughed like you used to laugh with me.” His voice didn’t raise, but each word was carved sharp enough to bleed.

You stared at him for a moment before blinking. Then you laughed—soft, almost disbelieving.

“That?” you said. “That was my cousin. He flew in from out of town. I haven’t seen him in two years.”

His jaw flexed.

“I would’ve told you,” you added, your voice going smaller, “but you’ve been so… busy. You don’t exactly make time for small talk anymore.”

Silence stretched between you. You watched him process, piece by piece, his composure folding in at the edges.

“…Your cousin,” he repeated quietly.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m not cheating on you.”

He nodded once. Curt. Dismissive. But then he sat down—heavily, like the weight of what he nearly believed crushed something in him.

“I didn’t think I’d care,” he said after a long pause, his voice lower now. “I didn’t think it would matter if you left.” You swallowed, stepping toward him. “But it would?” you asked.

He looked up at you. For the first time in days, something warm and fragile broke through the surface of his gaze. “…Yes,” he said. And you knew that was as close to an apology as Mark would ever get.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark wasn’t one to hover. He’d never say it aloud, but he trusted you. Still, you were his wife—and the mother of his child. So when he couldn’t find you around the house that morning, a flicker of curiosity stirred. He didn’t panic—he never panicked—but the quiet absence of your voice made the silence feel too wide.

He flew a lazy loop above the property, scanning.

Then he saw you—kneeling in the backyard garden, your hands deep in the soil. Beside you was your daughter, a little smaller than she should’ve been for her strength, with your same sharp eyes and stubborn jaw. Her hair was tied messily like yours, dirt streaked across her cheek as she furrowed her brow in concentration.

“No,” you said gently, guiding her hands. “You press the roots in, not yank them out. Like this.”

“But it’s hard,” your daughter pouted.

You chuckled, brushing the dirt off your palms. “Yeah, well, life’s hard. Plants still grow. Try again.”

Mark hovered in the air, watching silently. He didn’t interrupt.

Instead, he landed quietly on the roof’s edge, arms folded, just… watching.

His expression, often hard and unreadable, softened around the edges. The quiet pride he felt burned low and deep in his chest—not the battlefield kind of pride, not the Viltrumite brand. This was quieter. He wasn’t proud because you were strong.

He was proud because you were kind.

And you were passing that kindness down to his daughter. A family. His. Mark smiled—just a little—and waited for you to notice him.

PRISONER MARK

Mark’s arms were always tense at night, like even in his sleep he was fighting phantoms. But tonight, his grip around your waist stiffened in a different way. His breath, hot against your shoulder, suddenly drew in—and didn’t release.

He shifted, nose brushing against your neck. His brow furrowed.

That wasn’t your scent.

You stirred at the sudden tension, blinking yourself awake to see his face shadowed in the dim light of your shared room. His eyes were half-lidded, but alert—suspicious.

“Why the fuck,” he rasped lowly, voice still gravelly from sleep, “do you smell like a man?”

You blinked at him, slow and confused. “What?”

He pulled back just slightly, not letting go but giving himself room to breathe. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know cologne when I smell it. Expensive shit too. That isn’t yours. That’s not mine.”

You frowned, then squinted like you were trying to remember.

“Oh—shit, no, Mark. I went out with Jules earlier—”

“The guy?” he snapped, sharp but quiet.

You held up your hands. “No, listen. We were at the mall. I was looking at cologne for you. I wanted to surprise you. He sprayed me with one of the testers to mess with me—he thought it’d be funny.”

His jaw flexed, like he was still grinding down suspicion. His eyes flicked over you, from your sleepy expression to the slow blink of realization on your face. No nervousness. No lies. You weren’t clever enough to lie to him in your half-awake state.

“…You were buying me cologne?” he said finally, voice quieter.

“I was going to,” you mumbled, “until I got soaked in that crap.”

Mark stared at you for another long second, then pressed his face into the crook of your neck again. His arms wrapped tighter, like he needed to crush the insecurity down with the force of his grip.

“You reek,” he muttered. “And if he ever sprays you again, I’ll break his fucking fingers.”

You smiled into the darkness, even as your heart still beat a little fast. “Noted.”

“Good,” he grunted, his body finally relaxing again behind you. “Still smells like shit.” But he didn’t let go.

TAG LIST: @onlybatsyy

[starmapz]

❝ in which satoru gojo accidentally steals your blankets on his birthday ❞ ❦ cw ; f!reader. fluff. crack. pet names (pretty [girl], gorgeous [girl], baby, princess). ❦ words ; 608.

masterlist

A chill runs up your spine as you return to the waking world after a long night’s rest. Turning your attention to your partner’s side of the bed, you whine aloud at the realization that he isn’t there. Even worse, by leaving his side of the covers flipped over to get out of bed, he’s made you cold.

Pulling the comforter around you like a burrito, you get to your feet and frown as the hardwood sends a frosty jolt up your body. One glance out the window tells you the temperature must have dropped overnight.

“Toru?” You call out as you bring your mess of blankets along with you down the hall.

A disheveled head of snowy locks peers around the corner. “Hey, pretty. What’s got you awake so early?”

“You left the sheets flipped down and it’s freezing in here.”

“Aww, is my sweet baby cold?” He coos with a teasing grin at the sight of you all bundled up and pouting at the end of the hall. With superhuman speed, he’s in front of you in a second to pry the blankets from your arms so that he can warm you up himself. The blankets slump to the floor as he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin atop your head. “Better?”

“My feet are cold,” you complain, knowingly being a brat.

With a chuckle, he entertains you. “Can’t have that, can we?” He easily pulls you into his muscular arms bridal-style, relishing in the feeling of your cuddles.

“Wait…” you blink your eyes open, peering around from within his grasp. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Making breakfast for my gorgeous girl, of course,” he beams, entirely too handsome for this world.

You purse your lips, eyes narrowing in thought. “No.”

“No?” His grin falters, raw confusion overtaking his features.

“No, it’s your birthday! Why are you making breakfast? I set an alarm an hour earlier than you’re usually up!” You gasp as the realization dons on you.

“Sounds like a good day to spoil my baby, then.” He kisses your forehead as though you aren’t completely distraught in his arms.

“No, I had all these plans, I was gonna make you some waffles with maple syrup, icing sugar and candied strawberries. Then I was gonna wake you up and give you a gift, and then-”

Satoru laughs, a sound that could cure sickness. It's so melodic and genuinely happy. “Baby. Relax, we can still do all of that. For my birthday though, I’d like to spoil my girl. Indulge me.”

Your face softens as he pleads with you. With arms wrapped around his neck, you pull yourself up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw. He’s practically beaming from the affection.

“Happy birthday, Toru. I love you more than words can ever say.”

Swirling with mirth, those pretty blue eyes seem to glow as he stares down at you. “I love you too. Breakfast should be just about ready, share it with me?”

You nod, hugging him tighter. “Floor’s still too cold, though.”

“Well that is a problem, isn’t it?” He chides. “Shall I carry my princess over to the table?”

You nod playfully, pressing as many kisses as you can get away with to his neck and collar while he laughs away, his heart swelling with your love for him. Birthdays in the Gojo household were never something he looked forward to, but since your arrival in his life, he doesn’t think he minds them so much.

Just wait until he finds out you booked a private chef for the night who specializes in the sweetest, most delectable desserts.

masterlist

❦ a/n ; a lil bday post for my fave strongest sorcerer <3

writing & format © starmapz. dividers © adornedwithlight.

[waynes-multiverse]

Florida!!!

Summary: One fishy monster hunt, one sweaty afternoon at the beach, and one innocent popsicle – Florida is fucking hell for Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: +18 language and smut in the form of dirty fantasies, severe pining, one idiot in love, humor, Florida, one popsicle, unresolved ending & feelings

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: My entry for @chevroletdean's 500 Follower Celebration! Congrats again, lovely, and thank you so much for hosting this challenge and creating this awesome moodboard!! I was immediately inspired (and have wanted to write something set in Florida for an eternity). This was perfect and so much fun! 💛🧡🩵

Main Masterlist || DW Masterlist || Tag List

Florida can eat his ass.

Dean’s decided this at least seventeen times today. He has known this little fact since the first time he set foot here at nineteen, chasing a ghoul through backyards full of pink lawn flamingos and chainlink fences.

And Dean doesn’t mean the good kind of eating ass, either. Nope, he means the swamp-ass, sunburned, get-mauled-by-an-alligator kind.

Because no matter how pretty the scenery looks – sugar-powder beaches and sea-glass tides, slats of the boardwalk bleached bone-white under a honeyed sky – the whole damn state feels cursed.

It’s humid enough to drown standing still, and the sand sticks to everything, including parts of him he’s not ready to confront.

And between the humidity thicker than chowder and the scent of fried seafood and moldy flip-flops lingering like a bad decision, every drone-sized mosquito here is carrying at least three diseases and a vendetta. The crime rate also looks like a Mad Libs page: “Florida Man assaults alligator while wearing tutu and high on bath salts.”

It’s too hot, too wet, and too damn weird and crazy. Every breath here tastes like sweat, regret, and a hint of swamp water.

Florida’s not even a real fucking state. Can’t be.

Dean’s convinced it’s a bad trip someone had in the ‘70s that somehow got voted into the union. The sun feels less like it’s shining and more like it’s attacking. Everyone’s either a retiree, a guy named Skip with a neck tattoo of a flaming dice, or some batshit meth-head who thinks they saw Bigfoot behind the Waffle House.

Dean hates it with every fiber of his being. Florida is Satan’s back porch.

And now, thanks to a string of weird drownings at a no-name beach town outside Destin, Dean is trapped in the sweaty armpit of the country, baking alive in jeans, while trying very hard not to stare at you.

Which is impossible.

Because you’re right next to him in a little turquoise lounge chair and a skimpy bikini the color of wild citrus – or tangerine, maybe. You hum a little tune – that stupid Weezer song that only plays on the radio during summer. You kick your feet lazily in the sun, flashing him a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could get him legally blinded.

The bikini strings are tied in neat bows at your hips, a popsicle melting bright mango-orange between your fingers, and you’re working the thing over like it owes you goddamn money with the most sinful mouth he’s ever had the misfortune of knowing.

All tanned legs and unapologetic sunshine. A vision of temptation under the molten saffron sun.

Dean sweats. Internally and externally. Better than that: He is cooked. Absolutely fried. Every casual motion of yours is branding itself into his frontal lobe forever.

Your tongue flickers out again – pink and wet and glistening – smoothing a drip from the rounded tip, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re currently starring in every X-rated daydream Dean’s ever had.

His vision whites out at the edges.

You hum absently, flipping through the manila folder in your lap. Your voice floats over, sweet as saltwater taffy. “So,” you say, casual and sunny, “are we thinking mer-creature, or like, a shapeshifter with a thing for boats and aquatic cosplay? Or what if it’s a water demon? Like a kelpie, but more murdery?”

Dean makes a strangled sound that’s supposed to be a word but comes out more like a dog’s dying whimper.

You blink at him. Tilt your head. Wait.

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah. Mer-thing. Whatever.”

“Or,” you muse aloud, tongue darting out again to lap at a drip, “maybe it’s like–… like a water wraith? Something that sucks the breath outta your lungs?”

You pop the popsicle out of your mouth with an obscene little smack. Dean’s mouth works soundlessly. Because all he can imagine is you on your knees, tongue slick against him, big eyes wide and innocent while you–

Focus, he barks at himself. For the love of fucking God, focus, Winchester.

Dean swallows hard, dragging his eyes off your mouth and back down to the battered folder in your lap.

This isn’t normal. He’s doomed. Maybe even cursed.

Yeah, that’s gotta be it. He’s probably been hit with a lust spell. Florida is full of weird shit, right? That would explain why he’s three seconds away from dropping to his knees and offering to be your loyal, desperate, sunburnt servant.

But then again, this isn’t entirely new either.

You’ve been driving him nuts for goddamn years. Laughing too loud at his dumb jokes. Sitting too close in motel beds when you both casually watch movies. Calling him Winchester in that honeyed voice that makes him feel like he’s being dared to fuck up and kiss you.

And still, he’s always been good. Good at pretending. Good at stuffing all that want somewhere deep under rib and bone and battered leather jackets.

But this? This is fucking torture. This is some bikini-clad Greek tragedy, starring one dumbass in boots on a beach who can’t stop fantasizing about licking saltwater off your thighs.

He should be thinking about the case. About that water-witch or whatever the fuck they are hunting this time. He should be thinking about hex bags and salt rounds, not about how your bikini bottoms ride up just a little when you stretch your arms over your head–

Stop it!

You lean forward to show him something on a photocopied page and tap a newspaper clipping about the latest victim – some unlucky fisherman who swore he saw a “golden-scaled woman” before getting dragged into the shallows.

But the little bow at your hip shifts, skin glinting like bronzed sugar under the clear sky. Dean makes a small, wounded noise in his throat, and his brain immediately supplies another vivid fantasy:

You perched in his lap, that bow coming untied with a lazy pull of his fingers, your thighs slick and hot against him, the ocean thundering in the tropical background while you ride him so slow it borders on a religious experience.

He blinks against the burning sun, feels himself slipping again, heat and blood rushing downward. The image hits him so hard he has to adjust himself in his jeans, subtle as a heart attack.

His dick twitches miserably.

He slouches lower, trying to think of anything not filthy – taxes, Sam’s hair care routine, the time Bobby caught him naked in the kitchen with a meatball sub – but it’s useless.

“Dean? You even listening?” you ask, laughing, poking his leg with your sandy toes.

Dean grunts something noncommittal that might be English, jaw clenched so tight he’s surprised his teeth don’t shatter. He tries to answer. Really, he does. But the words get bottlenecked behind the visual of you dragging your tongue slowly up the side of the melting treat.

You bite your lip, thoughtful, tapping the end of the popsicle stick against your mouth. “Maybe it’s something worse,” you continue. “Like a siren who doesn’t seduce you to death, just… I dunno. Sucks you off and leaves you floating.”

Dean’s soul physically leaves his body.

You tilt your head, grinning wickedly. “You want me to suck you off too, Dean?”

Time freezes. The ocean quiets. The gulls still midair. Dean’s pulse slams loud and dizzy in his ears. His world narrows to you, your suntanned legs, the glint of sea-salt crystals on your skin, your bright and glistening mango lips.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You just–

Did you–

He stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Huh? What?” he croaks, voice pitched embarrassingly high.

You blink at him, then repeat – slowly, sweetly, “I said: Should we check if it sucks the breath outta people like a leech?”

“Uh, yeah,” he croaks. “Suckin’. Life. Outta dudes. Totally.”

You stare at him a second longer, suspicious, before shrugging and going back to the file.

Dean exhales, trying to will his hard-on into submission through sheer force of shame. You’re systematically dismantling his ability to think in complete sentences. His entire brain is on fire.

His internal organs shut down one by one. He drops his head back against the lounge chair, squeezing his green eyes shut. He is too old, too tired, and too desperately in love with you for this shit.

The sun beats down, hot and merciless, painting everything in shades of clementine and burning copper. Apricot umbrellas dot the beach like slices of candy. The ocean blinks lazy and endless, a rolling quilt of bottle-green and blue-fire sapphire. Seagulls wheel overhead, shrieking insults.

Dean’s mind drifts again.

He imagines dragging you down into the frothy surf, your hands curling into his hair, your giggles swallowed by the sea.

He imagines you mouthing at his jeans, impatient and greedy, while the sun sets behind you in a tangle of electric clementine and bruised lapis skies.

He imagines you kneeling between his legs, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock like you’re taste-testing it, humming around him, sweet and filthy and happy about it.

He imagines you under the boardwalk, hips rocking against his like the waves, bikini strings snapping loose with frantic fingers.

He imagines you bent over the hood of the Impala, bikini tangled around your ankles, hands bracing against the hot metal while he rails you like a man possessed.

He imagines your thighs caging his head, that same lazy, teasing look on your face, and him savoring your taste of sugar and salt and heat, while the whole crazy, humid, goddamn state of Florida spins off its axis.

“You’re quiet,” you chirp, tossing a sideways glance at him. “Florida getting to you?”

Dean clears his throat, gruff. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that, sweetheart.”

You raise your sunglasses, peeking at him over the frames. “You know, Winchester, you’re the only guy on this beach dressed like he’s about to sell used beach towels out of the back of a van."

Dean frowns, looking down at himself: worn boots, jeans, his favorite faded black tee with a sun-bleached flannel thrown over it. Practical. Battle-tested. Entirely inappropriate for beachside Florida.

“First of all,” he says, lifting a finger, “this is classic Americana ruggedness. Chicks dig it.”

You lean your head back and laugh, all bright and cruel. “You’re sweating through your ‘Americana ruggedness.’”

Dean scowls, dripping like a busted fire hydrant. “I told you. I’m not gonna wear fucking board shorts like all the other frat boy idiots here.”

You laugh again, the sound bright as bells, and Dean’s heart trips hard enough to hurt.

“You’re gonna die of heatstroke,” you tease. “Right here. Buried in Florida sand. Some old lady’s gonna find your corpse and knit you a ‘Bless Your Heart’ sweater.”

He snorts a chuckle. “I’ll haunt this beach just to piss you off.”

“Promise?” you ask, giving him a cheeky wink.

Dean is about five minutes away from lighting himself on fire. And honestly? Florida would probably consider it normal Tuesday behavior.

Your gaze drifts out to the ocean beyond your feet and sandy calves with a blissful little sigh. “It’s kinda pretty, though, isn’t it?”

Dean looks at you – skin kissed by flame-petals and sunset sugar, hair blowing soft in the briny breeze, popsicle stick clutched between your fingers like a crime scene weapon.

Yeah. Pretty.

Pretty much the goddamn end of him.

“Victim said he saw orange,” you murmur thoughtfully. “Bright, like-… like a koi? A clownfish?”

Dean is about to make a dumb Finding Nemo joke when you lick a bead of melted popsicle off your wrist, slow and absentminded.

And all Dean wants is to dig a hole right here in the sugar-white sand and bury himself alive in this cursed, gator-infested sandpit.

“Dean?”

He snaps back to reality so hard he gets whiplash. “What?” he wheezes.

You arch an eyebrow. “I said, should we check the tide charts? Maybe the creature only comes out during low tide.”

Dean coughs into his fist, face hotter than the sun overhead. “Uh, sure. Tide charts. Definitely. Research.”

But all he can think about is those legs locked around his waist, sand clinging to your thighs as he fucks you into the waves. You moaning into his neck, salty and sweet, fingers yanking at his shirt like you can’t stand to have him dressed another second.

You nibble at the edge of the popsicle, teeth scraping the melting mango sheen, and Dean watches helplessly as a single sticky bead runs down your wrist.

He fantasizes about leaning over, licking it off your skin, trailing his mouth up your arm to your shoulder, your throat, your mouth. He imagines you gasping against him, laughing breathless.

He fantasizes about hauling you out of that chair and onto his lap, mouth on yours, sticky hands sliding under the knot of your bikini top, tugging until you’re bared for him and only him, sunshine turning your skin to gold, and–

Greatly frustrated, Dean runs a hand down his freckled face. Why the fuck can’t he bring himself to stop? You’re unraveling him atom by atom.

But then, the fucking frozen treat drips again, and you lean forward to catch it with your mouth, lips wrapping tight around the end. Dean watches you hollow your cheeks slightly when you suck, head tilted thoughtfully like you’re considering footnotes and not absolutely wrecking his entire being. You pull the melting syrup back again with a soft, wet pop.

At this point, he wants to fucking throw himself into the ocean and let the sharks tear him apart like Hellhounds. He’s pretty sure his soul leaves his body, too.

He grips the arms of his chair so hard they creak in protest, knuckles turning white as he’s trying to tether himself to reality and not his fantasies.

Florida is hell.

You are hell.

And he’s a good man being punished for crimes he hasn’t even committed yet.

Dean shifts in his chair, crossing one leg over the other like that’ll hide the state of emergency going on in his jeans. He’s surprised no one here has asked any questions yet or called fucking 911.

Meanwhile, the world keeps spinning. The ocean rolls in lazy, glassy sheets of turquoise and teal. The sun licks liquid gold down your shoulders. The salt air curls the loose strands of your hair into a halo. And Dean – miserable, desperate, wildly in love – watches you polish off the last inch of your popsicle, tongue flicking the stick clean.

“Earth to Dean,” you sing-song, waving a hand in front of his face and kicking sand lightly at his boots.

Dean jerks back into consciousness. “Yeah?”

“Should we check out the marina witnesses after this?” you ask, tossing your popsicle stick into the trash bucket next to your chair.

Before he can say something catastrophic (like “Marry me right now” or “Please put your mouth on me, I'm begging”), Sam comes jogging up the beach, waving his phone like a savior in flannel.

“Got a lead! Marina worker said he saw something with gills and claws dragging people under.”

Dean launches out of his chair like his ass is on fire. A man escaping execution.

“Awesome. Let’s roll!” he barks, voice too loud and way too eager.

You tuck your notes into your beach bag and sling it over your shoulder, grinning wide and bright as the sunset. The same grin that ruined him long before the bikini did.

You hop up beside him, laughing, brushing sand off your thighs with maddening slow sweeps, and Dean bites back a groan so hard it nearly gives him a hernia.

“You sure you’re okay, Winchester?” you ask, teasing. “You looked like you were about to pass out there for a second.”

“I’m great,” Dean lies, voice strangled, letting the sun melt him into roadkill. “Peachy.”

“You sure? Seriously, you’re a walking heatstroke PSA,” you quip, hip-bumping him lightly as you fall into step beside him.

Dean coughs. “'M fine, sweetheart. Just… dehydration. And Florida. And mermaid murder.”

As you brush past him, the smell of your sunscreen and coconut shampoo punch him square in the gut. Dean follows, trying very, very hard not to watch the way your hips sway like you own the whole damn coastline.

He thinks about how easy it would be to slip his arm around your waist, how natural it would feel to lean in, to kiss you like he’s wanted to for years. Instead, he shoves his hands deep into his jeans pockets and marches grimly through the sand, already planning a quick, ice-cold shower and about eight beers after this job’s done.

Yeah, Florida is one hell of a drug, but you’re the one that fucked him up.

Okay, I may have had way too much fun with torturing Dean here. Forgive me, guys 😂☀️🏝️

Hope you enjoyed this one! 🩵

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

[mgu-h]

a bookkeeper for the people, thank you for your services 🫡

aww im just glad other people are crazy about them too!! i also keep track of things i heard repeatedly from both max and lando, or representative phrases, in order to make their dialogue sound better. if anyone is interested in some nortrell vocabulary quirks (and additional nortrell research and analysis):

phrases they both use:

That’s mint

You muppet

Let’s go!!!!

Waffling

[Anything], mate

Cheers, bro

We’ve sussed it

You idiot

Fuck off

Knob, knobhead

Bloke, brev/bruv

~Very good very nice~

Scavs (Tarkov)

Fluked it (golf)

GGs, chat

lando specifically:

‘Cause

[something], baby

C’mon Maxy boy

Oh my godt

Mega

It smells to / tastes to

Frickin’, freaking (less so now, he says fuck these days, but in the past he tended to avoid it)

[Indeterminate happy Lando noises]

[Annoying tapping or leg bouncing]

Nugget

Numpty

Joker

That's naughty

Why? (demanding)

Moron

Twat

[Criticizes himself sarcastically in the 3rd person]

max specifically:

Horrendous

Look at the state of you

Fucking hell, mate

For fuck’s sake

Jesus Christ

[repeats himself until Lando acknowledges what he said]

Shut the fuck up, I’m done

That is good, I'll give you that

Normal, normally

Don’t pull that face, none of that

Pal, buddy

Brilliant

No chance

We’ll fall out

That’s crap

What is wrong with you

All right!

It’s doing my fucking head in  

An absolute fucking shocker 

Are you mental

Fair play

Good lad

Honestly

other references (longer quotes, an argument transcript, relative bio of teen years, lando analysis):

Lando, mouth full, trying to communicate through just noises “mmm… mhhph mmmf” Max replies “I normally understand those to a degree, but that was another level” 

Max loses his patience “Stop, like why are you tapping so loud. You know what you’re really good at? Finding a fucking annoying noise to make, and then just constantly doing it.”

Lando said, “I don’t have it, Max.” Max replied, “The fact that you said my name there means you’re trying to lie or something, that’s weird, you don’t normally say that”

Lando said, “One of the things I hate the most is being bad at something.” 

[If you in any way question Max’s fashion or make a comment about his hair he will spiral and say] “Wha’ d’you mean?”

After Max ends the unhinged “golden cock” Sergei/Alexander banter, Lando tries to get back to the game, his voice returned to normal, and Max is incredulous. “Don’t just come in here like "what’s next?" all normal, like nothing happened.”

Max told Lando he would be “back in 27 seconds” because "i needed him to know i'd thought about exactly how long i would be gone before i left, instead of saying 30 seconds, which could mean anything,"

Max saw Lando before he knew him, he doesn’t remember why he was at the karting track, Lando was driving around in a little kart, he was “just tiny, mate,“ nine years old. Max even remembers the black and orange helmet Lando’d been wearing, and he just watched him for a few laps. (“You were just watching?” / “Yeah someone said, that kid won, or something.” / “I never won a race in cadets” / “They must have just said you were fast”) bankai asked: “have you been following bob around since he was nine” and max says “original fanboy”

Max talking about watching an unboxed with Lando, “I like watching them, but it is weird seeing you in them.” “Why?” “I dunno… just, I don’t know. Just don’t see you as that ‘F1 Driver,’ it’s weird. It’s just different for me.”—[Lando laughs]—“They are cool.”

Max taking too long to come back to the game, Lando sounded mad. “Stop fucking kissing her, Max, and hurry the fuck up.”

Monaco argument >> In a Dec 2021 stream, (chat called Max Lando's dog and his wag, he refuted both claims), they had an argument about max moving to monaco, lando insisting he's protecting max from being lonely and max telling him HE'LL get lonely. max claiming being alone in monaco wouldn't even bother him if he's streaming and offering to take care of the house. lando denying him, saying he's taking care of max and max's slightly sullen "thanks mate" and his Jokes like "chat, he doesn't want me there. he's ditched me. it's over. relationship's over. it's done." like the energy of the entire conversation is that they've had it many times before and max is not easy and compliant with lando leaving him behind, but lando is not listening because he's sure he knows better

Lando yelling at Max to kill a scav, Max did, but not fast enough, Lando was muttering under his breath and Max paused to take out an earbud, "Are you giving me attitude?" and then when Lando continued to bitch, mimed throwing the water from Lando's waterbottle on him

Lando ranting on iRacing in Sept 2024 that "people in racing think you never have to back out, no matter what, like that's somehow become a rule" (in iracing? he was asked) "no, in real life as well. Somehow it's become a Thing that you never have to back out, you're somehow always in the right."

Max saying "I don't want to be alone again" about getting into a different heat on iRacing and Lando singing back "story of my life..."

Lando will say things like "Look at my perfection, look at how well I do or did, I was unstoppable," other bragging just to piss Max off

Yes / No / Yes / No arguments (they just say the same statements with different and more pointed inflection each time as if to make the other person accept by force of will without any actual convincing or argument, just emphasis, as if the one who is more certain will win and the more unsure one will yield the point and pivot to a new one or end the argument. one of them always yields and pivots after a few back-and-forths)

Lando says Max is "struggling be cause he's not been kissed in the last five minutes" and that in his group chat "I record every time they kiss in public" (Max protests that he just makes the number up, like the time he said they'd kissed 44 times before 10am and Lando said "I swear it's true") and that he "can't describe how awkward it is going around with Max because he's freaking kissing" and like Lando will be driving the car in the front and all he can hear is wet kissing sounds from behind him.

Lando said about Max kissing "He just goes in so fast, you know like all the nerds you see on the movies where they kind of shut their eyes and like" he mimicked both Max sticking out his tongue and making exaggerated Mwah sounds

Max said Lando often struggles at golf but "every two months or so he'll have a blinder, and then he'll be in absolute turmoil again"

the whole recurring bit with them sharing a wardrobe, the Quadrant video with the "whose shoes are those?" "whose joggers are those? "whose hoodie is that?" bit, something the fact that it kept going even after they moved apart like in singapore 2022 lando claims max is wearing his pants, shoes, and top, and max denies it

Lando listens to the voice notes he gets in DMs and goes through them, sometimes with his mates, to laugh. He says sometimes they're very weird, that "Some people are up to no good in their lives and need to focus on.... other things... but they are funny, they are just weird. The voice notes always make me laugh."

Lando interview with Tom Daley->"I am a competitive guy and I hate losing. So you put that all together and I love being in control. I hate being out of control, so like I hate being a passenger in a car. I really hate it unless I'm like backseat you know headphones on watching a movie. I'm a terrible terrible passenger cuz I don't feel in control of of what's happening."

Max in July 2021 checking to make sure Lando wasn't watching his stream before saying "I gotta give my hats off to Lando for helping me, obviously with streaming, Quadrant, giving me a bit of purpose this year, you know, something to do and enjoy doing while I'm not racing, keep my mind off things, so yeah thanks to him... he's looked after me. I appreciate that."

Random Facts

By April 2023, Max had never seen Star Wars. By April 2025, Max had never seen any of the Harry Potter moves. He's seen a couple of Lord of the Rings though

Lando wears size 9 shoes or 8.5, he said his feet were a tiny bit bigger than Max's, but who knows if he's telling the truth about that as they can share shoes

When asked what animal he would reincarnate as, Lando said hippopotamus and Max said sea urchin (so he can he in the ocean and stab people when they step on you) or plankton 

Lando always tries to get off the plane fast, impatient, walking quickly, doesn’t like getting stuck behind people

Lando said Mcdonalds chicken nuggets may be the best things ever made

Lando used to play around with a lighter

Max drinks tea quite strong

There were periods when Lando was younger where he’d play games for 36 hours straight

Max's eyes are green, Lando's are blue gray (when he built his VR character he gave it blue eyes) but have some golden brown threads in the middle that I think can make them seem greenish in some lights

Lando likes to travel with a book to look smart but he never reads it just carries it around or puts it on the table.

Lando snores loudly and people have complained about it

Max likes cats despite being allergic, Lando likes dogs more

Lando's brother's dog is named Uno. Max had a cats named Lala growing up. His family has a cat named Bobby (not after Lando, allegedly).

Lando likes to wear hoodies because they make his long neck less noticeable

Lando travels heavy with every possible bag, shoe bag, rucksack, all his computer stuff (“Im such a nerd”). He's got a tablet for movies and some games, work emails but he rarely checks those 

Lando smells like Sure deodorant, and a mix of Louis Vuitton L'Immensite, Tom Ford Ombré Leather, and Dior Sauvage. He likes the smell of all of them so he puts them all on.

Lando works harder on strengthening his neck compared to some other drivers, as others can rest their head against the side while turning to deal with the G-forces, but if Lando tries that and gets his eyes off-level, he can't drive. His brain doesn't like it.

Lando will nap and his neck will be at a 90 degree angle

Max's birthday is July 29 and Lando's is November 13, both 1999

Here's the link to the bios of people who show up in Max's chat

When Lando was around 13-14yo he would spend days on designs for stickers for people's phones or visors, and would go around the paddock in karting trying to sell them to earn a little money.

Lando's favorite gifts are really big paintings people have done that he can put on his walls

When asked what kind of dad he wanted to be, he said "strict" in terms of manners and having good respectful values

In 2024 Max could check Lando's sleep stats because they're in a group with their whoop bands

Max is fine with chopsticks for everything but rice

On stream Max said that when he was at peak fitness as a driver, when he was so strong and also so light, at max he did a plank for up to 6min

Relative Biographies

So Lando’s dad’s British and his mom is from Belgium, not that it matters but I think he was raised somewhere in the country near Glastonbury in Somerset. He has an older brother and two younger sisters. Max’s parents are also from the UK but he spent his youngest years in Singapore and Malaysia, his dad’s in finance. He has a younger brother.

Max started karting in Asia, and started winning everything there, just like crazy talented and obsessed with racing. His parents decided to move back to the UK largely to let him get on the European karting track (the only one that really matters to get to the highest tiers of motorsport). He moved back to the UK when he was like 9 or 10 to kart.  I think I saw that he was homeschooled, so basically all in on karting.

While Max and Lando started karting together in 2010 with Ricky Flynn Motorsport, Max said he remembers seeing Lando practicing before they met, so back in 2009 soon after moving to the UK. They spent a lot of those formative years of 10-13 together, traveling all over for races and competing against each other. Lando became the youngest karting world champion in 2013, and Max was not, but he was competitive and they were on the podium together at that time.

Lando moved up to car racing in 2014, but Max did not. It took until 2015 for him. Lando was younger than him, but already ahead. It’s hard to overstate just how fast Lando shot up through the lower ranks to the very highest tier of motorsport by the time he was 18, with McLaren putting him on teams with Fernando Alonso and things. He won everything he tried on the first attempt and moved up. Max’s career was respectable, but it wasn’t like that. 

In 2015 Max started racing single-seaters, and Lando won British F4, and started going abroad and started winning there too, in Italy, in New Zealand. Max wasn’t there yet. In 2016 Max did British F4 with Carlin, a good team, winning the championship at the final race at Brands Hatch. Lando won Formula Renault, among other things. He won a couple awards at Motorsport Awards.

In 2017 Max’s first year of Formula Renault was mixed, winning the rookies’ title but was not super high in the championship, meanwhile Lando won F3.

The next year Max switched to a more successful team and did win the Eurocup in 2018, and got into the Renault driver academy. Lando got second in F2, despite leading most of the season, because of some unfortunate DNFs later in the season, George won. He was also on reserve for McLaren and drove in a F1 practice session.

In 2019 Max drove in F3, got a couple of podium finishes, but got 10th overall. 2019 of course was Lando’s first season in F1 and the birth of the Carlando juggernaut, he was a very successful rookie and rising star. He was streaming on Twitch more regularly, and got Max to set up his own Twitch channel in September 2019, to as few as like 15 viewers, playing games and hanging out with chat and Lando’s building a platform there too,

In 2020 Max raced in F3 again, but he dropped out before the end of the season, and has said that he struggled with depression. He moved back in with his parents. Lando got first F1 podium and had a great year, got huge on twitch, and he founded quadrant, became CEO of his little brand media company thing. I think he was living alone in his house in Woking. 

2021 Lando’s career continues to do well, podiums and things. He almost wins at Sochi but misjudged the wet tires and slid in a really heartbreaking final laps thing. I don’t know what Max was up to early in the year, I suspect kind of aimless playing golf and streaming on Twitch and figuring things out, but by the middle of the year, Lando announced him as part of quadrant and had Max move in with him. 

They streamed together and were stupid domestic, sharing clothes sometimes. I think they were both single at the beginning but had girlfriends by the end of their time together. Living together ended at the end of the year before Lando moved to Monaco and refused to bring Max along because he didn’t want to be lonely even though Max obviously really wanted to come and even offered to like take care of the house etc. Just a wild convo they had on stream in Dec 2021. 

Lando Analysis

SO on one hand, lando's a simple guy in his mid-twenties with ordinary human needs, like he needs to eat, sleep, be active, play games, socialize, race, etc. he travels and stays fit, drives the car, parties and rests. most of the time he's not in distress. he enjoys life and gets to do lots of cool things. on the other hand, he’s a seething mess of ego and insecurities with complex emotional needs.

his ego is pretty big, like despite being humble about it, he knows he’s one of the best in the world at an incredibly strenuous and glamorous activity. he has the confidence it requires to get behind the wheel of an F1 car and risk all that danger to defeat legendary champions. he didn't win for a long time, but he bought into the mclaren project and stuck it out there for long enough to win.

he also has the confidence (and money) to start a company, the insight and experience about the internet to build a brand, all his years online taught him a great deal, and he has a large team of smart people around him helping him succeed. he's very young, but has quite a lot of power and authority and attention.

his ego is a bit brittle though, naturally, and there are ways in which he is vulnerable to spiraling. there are lots of reasons for that. he feels inferiority and anxiety about making people happy, and he turns inward and is intensely self-critical.

he definitely used to be small, with a big, cool older brother, in the middle with younger sisters. he has very loving and supportive parents who helped him do what he wanted to do, giving him a bedrock belief that he’s loved and special. while he gained some close friends through karting, but he was kind of a loner as a teen, a gamer, introverted and a little bit weird, until he got older and more social, getting with girls etc.

i think he's said he’s dyslexic, not interested in school, but not at all stupid, which must've been frustrating. he hates being bad at things and will try very hard to avoid it. he wants people to be happy, to please them and be accepted by them. i think he probably learned to be annoying to beg for attention, but he doesn’t want too much attention now he’s famous, or he only wants attention from a small number of people he holds close.

he just didn’t win while for a long time when he was very small, and that was formative. he didn’t really believe he could, but he did the work without having the expectation of success, because he enjoyed it yes but also i suspect as if openly wanting it would make it disappear, almost walking backward into success. even now he doesn't think of the end result, but just about what he has to do next and tries to make that as good as possible.

[analysis of lando's size kink here]

Example Argument Transcript (from here):

Max reads chat question, “Who’s better at golf?”

Lando brags. “I absolutely dominated today on the golf course.”

“But, would you say, like—”

Lando talks over him. “And, as they say in life, you’re only good, as good, as your last game.” 

Max rolls his eyes and Lando shrugs like the point he made was obvious and he won.

“You done?” Max asks.

“I mean, I have no more… that was like a mic drop moment, mate. That’s like my mic just dropped. There’s nothing else to say.”

There's a long pause. Lando grins like he knows he’s being annoying. 

Max can't let it lie. “But you said I am actually better than you.” 

“Yeah, well you were. Until today.” 

Max smiles with his mouth not his eyes. Lando grins too. 

“I love how you’re actually going to commit to saying ‘Yeah, you are,’ and then you realize—”

“I AM better.” 

“You’re not!” Max slaps his waterbottle against his hand for emphasis. 

“Today, I was better, mate.”

“Today, yes.” 

“If today was the world championship, I won.”

“No, but overall, I win more.”

“Well it doesn’t matter though, ‘cause you’re only as good as your last game.” 

“Yeah, ok, you’re going to be that—”

“I’ve made improvements!”

“Are you going to be that stubborn?”

“I’ve made improvements… I’ve just overtaken you in the game of golf.” 

A pause, but Max just can't let that go. “Well I won yesterday.” 

“That’s yesterday. No one cares about yesterday.”

“We didn’t play yesterday, the day before.” 

“No one cares about that.”

“Yeah, but I, like, if we play ten games, I’ll win seven.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No?”

“Yes!”

“Not with how well I’ve been playing la-today.”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“No—”

“No, you won’t win.” 

“—I’ll win seven.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yeah, I will!”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will!”

“No, you sliced every single one of your drivers.” 

Max turns his body to face him, looking at him directly. “No, I didn’t.” 

Lando seems gleeful to have gotten the reaction, crowing, “Yes, you did.” And laughing as he said “not one driver! I think you wouldn’t’ve ended up on a fairway!” 

“Yeah I did!”

“When?” 

Max turns back forward with arms crossed, thinking. “On the…”

“Ok, let’s go, let’s do this, chat. First one? No. Second one? No. Third one? Water. Fourth one?”

Max interrupts his rhythm. “Where were you on the third one?”

Lando ignores him. “Where’d your fourth one go?” 

Max repeats himself. “Where were you on the third one?”

Lando concedes. “I also went into the water.”

“There you go, yeah.”

“Once!”

Max affects a deeply sarcastic accent “Acting like Tiger Woods out here.”

“Once! What about all the rest of my drives? That wasn’t even a driver!” 

“No—”

“That wasn’t even a drive, all good.” 

“You were good, you were good with the drive today, I’ll give you that, but you’re not like that normally.”

“That’s what I said. I’ve improved.” 

“Yeah no, you were shocked.” 

“But I have! Improved!”

“Better, but you don’t, you won’t, if we play again tomorrow, you won’t do that.”

“Yes, I will.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“Yes!”

“No chance.” 

“Yes, mate.”

“I’m going to video your first drive tomorrow. Guarantee it’s right.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try to hook it so badly—”

Max talks over him saying something else. “It’s not going to be straight. It’s not going to do that.” Max mimes a ball flying straight ahead.

“It will.”

“No chance.” 

“It will!”

“You were even like… oh my god, woah.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause I unlocked something.” 

Intense eye contact. Max smiles, almost predatory. “Yeah? What was that? What’ve you done? Do you remember?”

“Yes, I do!”

“What was it?”

“I’m not going to tell you, ‘cause I don’t want you to get better!”

Max sits up incredulously. “It’s not going to work for my swing. It’s totally different!”

“Well it is!”

“How?”

Lando throws his arm up miming a ball curving in the air. “‘Cause you’re slicing as well!” 

Max sits back and crosses his arms, looking away. 

“This is Max’s shot shape.” Lando mimes a ball shooting forward and curving in front of Max’s face, almost touching him, twice, laughing between and making a loud, adolescent rocket sound, generally being extremely annoying.

“If you do that again, I’m going to draw my hand left across your fuckin face.” 

“You can just do this.” Lando mimes a smacking motion on himself.

“Bosh.” Max pretends to hit him. 

Lando makes a few more rocket sounds.

Max is unable to let it lie. “Normally, you’re not that good.” 

“Yeah, but…”

“Today you were!”

“People improve, Max! People improve! And today, I was unstoppable.” Lando pulls out his cell phone around now, keeping it hidden, and turns on the keyboard clicking sound to prepare to annoy Max a different way.

Max rolls his eyes and repeats the word unstoppable with utmost derision. “Unstoppable… fucking hell, it’s like you’re acting like you hit nine under.” 

“I was unstoppable,” Lando insists. 

“Beat me by like four shots and I played horrendous. Four shots only!”

Lando begins typing and looks up at Max to watch his face, waiting to see him get irritated.

Max glowers straight ahead. “Is that loud enough?”

It does not stop. Max turns to face him again and glares and Lando gives him an impish smile. 

Max says “Stop!” repressively. He reaches for the phone and Lando pulls it back, smiling widely and in an indescribable tone of voice, all the lower registers gone, sounding like he did when he was younger. “I wasn’t even typing anything for the whole thing I was just trying to annoy you.”

They look at each other. Lando said something coy and inaudible.

Max smacks him. “Don’t. Don’t do that!”

Lando cackles.

[bunny-jpeg]

Hi bunny!

Can I please have Belgian waffles, angel food cake and on the house ( hopefully that is the correct thing to say) with max or danny or both 🫶

Love all you have written 🫶🫶

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! it's great to hear what orders you come up with! as for this lovely request from @biancathecool thank you! and yes i can write for the other two drivers you sent in another message (their names escape me as i write this), but yes! hit me with it!! thank you! enjoy!

belgian waffles ("i cum in that every night.") + angel food cake ("if he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you.") + on the house: coffee (rivals au) served by max verstappen & daniel ricciardo (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, threesome, maxiel + reader, rivals au, ferrari!reader, cock & pussy drunk, degrading language/dirty talk, mean!max, mean!daniel, rough sex, dom/sub, biting/marking, possessive beheaviour, hate fuck, facials & back shots, cum eating

sharing was caring, at least in daniel's eyes. he had shared a lot of things over the course of his friendship with max verstappen. there were normal things like food, plane rides, they spent weekends together even. he could even recall a night austin when they both shared the same girl for an evening.

so it only made sense that daniel ricciardo would share his favourite rival. the cute little thing on the ferrari team. lucky number forty-seven.

max was mad by the end of the dutch grand prix. one clip from you, another from leclerc. he was getting pummelled by the prince and princess of ferrari on his home turf. and that left a bitter taste in his mouth as he hit his helmet against the wall once the race was over.

you dressed in your ferrari red, beaming at charles who came in first. ferrari took first and second while the lion of the netherlands barely clung to fifth. as you and charles sprayed champagne on each other and laughed, max could feel the anger in his veins.

and daniel was like the devil in max's ear, "hey max, seem kind of pissed." he placed his hand on max's shoulder, "you know, i'm seeing her after this... in my hotel room. you're free to join us, maybe get some of that anger out." he patted the other man's shoulder.

max's jaw tensed for a moment as he got a full view of you on the podium, laughing and waving. max couldn't very well put you under his boot, but he could make a mess of your pretty insides.

"we have a guest tonight." daniel chuckled as he served you more wine.

you were in the hotel room robe with very little underneath. you were tired of wearing clothes after being in that stuffy uniform all day. you happily accepted the wine and brought the glass to your lips, "guest? you didn't."

daniel chuckled and put the bottle down back on the coffee table, "word won't get out. he's good at keeping secrets." he patted your thigh.

the wine tasted good, expensive in a way that you weren't accustomed to. you had your fair share of grocery store wine, but the more that daniel lured you in with the finer things in life. it was getting harder to go back to your old ways. money couldn't buy taste, but it could buy flavor.

there was a knock on the door and daniel got up. you took sight of his ass in those the sweatpants he wore. there was no use looking formal, you were both here for the same thing.

daniel didn't say who the guest of the evening was. but you almost spilled red wine all over yourself at the sight of max on the other side of the door.

"daniel." you said, "not max."

daniel looked over his shoulder and smiled, "c'mon, princess. i can assure you that he won't hurt you... too much." that gleaming smile of his always seemed to get you into more trouble.

you put the glass down and kept your focus on the two men as max entered the hotel room.

"she looks good." max said as if you weren't in the room with them. you swallowed when he looked at you, "she looks better without the uniform on."

"max..." you said.

"well you know, mate." daniel smiled "i cum in that every night." your arrangement had been going on for some time. it didn't help that you lived in the same building during the off season and he'd often visit you in your driver's room. often to get a taste of that soaked cunt he adored.

your ears went hot as you replied, "danny, what the fuck."

max took a step forward and got his shoes off. he stood there in a white t-shirt and jeans. his eyes gazed with hunger on you. it made you close your robe a little more.

"princess." daniel said as he went back to the couch and pulled you close to him, "i think you own max an apology. you've been fucking with him, toying with him. i see how you look at him, when i mention his name you get wet." his grip on you grew tighter, "it's only right you make amends for your team."

you were soon seated in the middle of the couch between the two men. usually the routine with daniel was that you two would have some wine, indulge in kinky and he'd often cuddle you until you made a hasty escape back to your hotel room before anyone caught on.

but there was a look in daniel's eye that had you worried. it felt like you were between two lions who wanted nothing more than to sink their claws into you. chew you up and devour you whole.

daniel started to undo the robe you wore, while max held you face in a tight grip. you weren't going anywhere fast. daniel's lips were on the back of your neck, in a sensitive spot and max was kissing you deeply

"are you going to be good for us, princess?" daniel asked before he made you keep eye contact with max by holding onto your hair.

you looked into the other's blue eyes and swallowed, "you two are sick."

max raised an eyebrow at you before his gaze looked to daniel, "seems you haven't trained her." he spoke about you like you were a dog, not the second place of this weekend's race.

daniel got a hand around your throat and held onto it tightly, he tilted your head back to look at him. he said in a soft voice, "you're making my look bad. i promised our good friend max here a good night tonight."

you swallowed, you felt something boil in your stomach. like it was all going to boil over soon. you were sandwiched between two men who honestly hated you after the grand prix.

you looked at daniel for a moment before you said, "sorry, sir."

"and you'll be good for our friend tonight? treat him nicely. no teeth, no attitude?"

you nodded like an eager puppy and daniel kissed you on the lips. you were pushed up further against the australian driver as max pressed further into you. further being squished between the two men.

when you stopped kissing daniel, max captured your lips once more. you held onto the back of the couch with one hand as a means of some sort of support.

you were stripped of your robe before daniel made you get off the couch and onto the bed in the other room. you scampered away on shaky legs, basically exposed to both men. you could feel their gazes on you.

"why not the couch?" max asked, it would've been easy for max to fold you in half or toss you over the couch.

daniel chuckled and slapped his friend on the shoulder, "it'll be more comfortable for us on the bed. she's pretty flexible, can fuck her about anywhere. but i'd love for us to have a little more comfort." then got off the couch to join you with the dutch driver close behind.

you knew that if you wanted to keep your underwear in one piece, you had to get them off before the other men came. your kicked off your panties and your bra was on the floor before you sat on top of the bed, one leg over the other.

this all felt so sick, it was almost degrading. their stares and their words pierced through you and left your brain running on carnal desires.

you watched them come in, and you tried to make yourself appear a tad smaller, but daniel's voice made you sit up straight once more.

"show them off, princess."

daniel was on you first, he clothes went flying as he smothered you against him. he weight on top of you kept you pinned down to the hotel room bed.

he kissed you with a fever, only breaking it to get his t-shirt off over his head. you felt the leg of his jeans grind against your soaked sex which made you whimper.

he looked over his shoulder for a moment to say to max, "come on in, the water's fine." before he went back to kissing you with a heated passion.

max was slower to get his clothes off. everything came off slowly as he felt a throb between his legs. watching his friend make you a debauched mess.

daniel was a good friend, letting max have a taste of you. letting him sink his teeth into you. and you were such a good little girl for letting max enact his revenge for your little stunt on the track. maybe that'll teach you.

you were meant to look pretty for ferrari, their logo plastered across your pretty tits, not to get in the way of men like max and daniel.

daniel got away from you and propped himself on the bed beside you. his expression was wild and his cheeks were hot. "c'mon there, maxie! don't be so shy!"

max was in his briefs and you swallowed at you looked at him. even so physically exposed, his gaze remained stern on you. you knew he could crack jokes and be funny. but your (almost) win left something searing inside of him.

you swallowed and with a bit of confidence you crooked your finger at him, "yeah, mad max."

"wouldn't be so mad if you gave me a reason not to be, princess."

you swallowed and tried to bite back, in a last ditch effort to gain some sort of control between these two men, "maybe you should race better."

the corner of max's mouth twitched before he looked at daniel, "i'm taking her throat." before he got onto the bed and got himself up against the headboard, he gave his thigh a pat.

daniel was in your space once more, hand on your hip as he said, "you heard the man, hands and knees, princess."

you got between max's legs, your front pressed against the bed to give you the best chance to suck his cock. your ass was stuck up to give daniel a good angle as well. you were to be used.

you looked up at max, his cock pressed against your cheek. you let out a shuddered breath.

"not much of a princess." he said as he took your hair in his hand. his grip was tight, not enough to rip any of it out. but firm enough to guide you onto his cock.

daniel slapped your ass before he placed those large hands on your hips. he chuckled in response, "more like a whore. i wonder what ferrari would think of this? sandwiched between two other drivers. shame, shame." he rubbed his tip up against your wet slit as you started to suck max off.

max held onto your hair as you got your lips around his cock. he took back anything he said about you not being trained. you sucked cock like an obedient dog.

daniel noticed max's expression and chuckled, "i told you she would be good for you." their gaze's met and he added, "took her about eight months to lose that gag reflex. now she's the cock sucking champ of formula one."

max felt something unfamiliar curl in his stomach, "do you share her often?"

daniel shook his head, "no way. she's isn't some whore i give out at parties. we're friends, max. and she needs to learn a lesson."

max looked down at you and pinched your cheek, "if charles fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you." a threat about your teammate. that you were responsible for the entire team. to not upset the likes of max verstappen.

daniel was lapping this up. he knew that sometimes you could be a bit mouthy in the bedroom, so it was nice to have someone fill that gap. keep you nice and quiet.

you whimpered when daniel stuffed his cock inside of you suddenly and your back arched more which allowed the man to push further into you. you were drooling around max's cock, having it almost choke you.

"always wondered how she got in." max said idly as he ran his fingers through your hair. he kept an eye on how well you choked down his cock, "i know her daddy didn't buy her way in. she wasn't the best in any race she was in." he spoke like you weren't in the room. he pushed his cock deeper, your nose in his trimmed pubic hair, "did you give mister vasseur head, princess?"

you met his gaze like you were going to respond but the driver's cock in your mouth left you unable to form much of a sentence. max liked when you looked at him, below him. less than.

"danny won't pass you around, but i bet every head principal got a taste of you." max said, "i be you started with the best and worked your way down." he gripped onto your hair tighter, "whored yourself out for a good contract."

you whimpered, his demeaning words made you cunt tighten around daniel's cock. you were a good driver! you knew that! you came in second and these two were acting like you has the worst record in modern f1!

daniel smirked as he groped your ass cheek, threatening to bruise the skin with his grasp, "while i would agree with you." he licked his lips, "she had actually never had sex before we started to mess around. it only started because she just got so fuckin' turned on after races. taught her everything i could."

max's expression looked surprise, "oh.." he looked down at you once more, "seems you've been a good girl for daniel. i'm surprised, given that mouth of yours. but i guess you just need something to occupy it."

you whined as you felt daniel's cock deep in you. you were being fucked both ways. the princess of ferrari made a mess of. you held onto max's bare thighs and let out a small whimper as they continued their motions against you.

daniel seduced you early on with that laid back attitude, but the more he unwrapped about you. the more he knew that you were just a little slut waiting to happen. you had been a good girl your entire life and now handed a lot of freedom and piles of cash, you needed someone to reign you in.

thankfully daniel liked to keep his favourite rival on a short leash.

"i think after tonight, she'll be a little more gentle on the track." daniel pushed you further into the bed, which made max's cock hit past where your gag reflex used to be.

you felt raw all over, there were a few stray tears in your eyes. but yet it all excited you. letting these two enact their wrath over your second placement.

"she better be." max replied.

the two of them continued to fuck you and you were subject for wave after wave of pleasure. you felt sore all over. daniel's cock rearranging your guts while max's cock was cutting off proper air circulation.

depraved nonsense.

"prettier when she's quiet." daniel mentioned.

max chuckled in response, his cheeks stained pink, "of course she's greedy enough for two cocks."

daniel was the first to finished, he quickly pulled out and jerked off on your back before he finished all over your skin. covering your lower back in pearly white cum. you groaned at the feeling of it across your back, the mess that was made.

"don't cum until our guest finishes. it's called being polite, princess" he said, his voice hot in your lust ridden head.

you mouth on max was sloppy, the driver made sure that you were taking it all the way to the base. and when he was close to finishing, he pulled out of your mouth and stroked his cock until he made a total mess. letting cum land across your cheeks and up into your hair.

max rested against the headboard and looked at the mess he made. if only he had his phone.

"she's something else. if only she brought that energy to every race." daniel chuckled.

you whimpered and tried not to get cum all over the hotel sheets. the embarrassment of house keeping finding it made you want to die. but you weren't covered in cum for long. soon you were fed the cum all over your face and back by the men who put it all over you.

their fingers shoved in your mouth as you whined. their digits dragged across your teeth and the inside of your cheek. they made sure to get the seed all over your tongue so you'd taste them for the next few hours.

number forty-seven for ferrari was a good driver, but an even better cum slut.

-

you woke up in the morning rested against daniel's chest. while that felt familiar and all. there was no way both of his arms were wrapped around your waist like that.

you lifted your head and saw max holding you from behind. the previous night came back to you and you tried to move. but max's arms tightened around you.

"where are you going, princess? we're not done." max's sleepy voice could be heard.

daniel's eyes slightly opened before he pressed your head back to his chest. he held you there for a moment and added, "you're not getting away that easily."

your eyes went wide for a moment. the princess of ferrari had fallen into the jaws of the f1's most ferocious predators. you laid there for a moment, your hand across daniel's chest. you swallowed, there was no where you could hide that daniel and max wouldn't find you.

daniel gripped the back of your head for a moment. he believed in sharing with his good friend max verstappen. didn't matter if it was a slice of pizza, an extra euro for a vending machine, or the princess he had meticulously trained. <3