#type: fanfiction

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

heard someone say archive of our own should install a "dislike" button and I thought I should say this: no, there's absolutely no need for archive of our own to install a "dislike" button.

why? because archive of our own isn't tiktok or youtube or twitter/x where users can monetize their content. archive of our own is a nonprofit site run by fans for fans, which means every content — every fanfic — you see on archive of our own was made out of pure love and passion from the artists/authors.

ao3 authors write because writing about these characters is their happiness and passion. they write for themselves, but they were generous enough to share with you their creations.

they're not "content creators" the way tiktokers or youtubers or instagram models are. they don't "make content" for views and engagements that can be monetized.

so no, you don't get to "grade their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "say what you dislike about their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "dislike" works that are not made specifically to please you in the first place. you're just a guest in someone's house, a house in which they let you in because they were kind, you don't get to roam around their house and say what you dislike about their furniture. you don't get to roam around their house and say you "dislike their house".

of course, you can have your opinion about the house its host invites you in. but if it's a negative one and you find yourself not liking the house, the polite things for you to do is excuse yourself and leave without telling them you dislike their house.

and just because you personally dislike the house doesn't mean the house is "ugly" either. the house you dislike could be a favorite, most luxurious place to many others.

my point is, don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that you get to enjoy for free. don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that were made out of love and passion — things the artists made for themselves for fun.

it makes you look like an entitled jerk with main character syndrome. the universe does not revolve around you.

now repeat after me: don't like don't read. no one forces you to continue reading a fic you don't like. quietly leave instead of being rude to authors who write for free because writing is their source of comfort.

people are so used to contents that were made because it's a trend / contents like tiktok that were made with the main purpose of reaching high engagement and making profits that they forget sometimes things can be made out of love and be made just for fun. sometimes things are supposed to just be for people to enjoy, and if some people don't enjoy them, then they can simply leave without being unnecessary unkind.

[greeeengoblin]

Bruce: Did you text Jason about the family dinner?

Tim:

Dick:

Stephanie:

Cass:

Damian: Does he have a phone?--

[psychoticfemmm]

Prove It

Pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

Summary: Some Kook girl spreads a rumor that she hooked up with Rafe—just to piss you off. When you confront him, it turns into an argument where you start to doubt him. But Rafe? He refuses to let you walk away.

You weren’t even looking for drama tonight.

You just wanted a chill night at the party—have a drink, dance a little, maybe even get Rafe to actually behave himself for once. But no. Instead, you had to hear some random girl tell everyone that she hooked up with your boyfriend.

At first, you laughed it off.

Because really? Rafe Cameron? Cheating on you? Not a chance.

But then you saw her—smirking, flicking her eyes in your direction, looking entirely too pleased with herself. And suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

So now here you were, arms crossed, standing in front of Rafe, daring him to explain.

“She’s saying you hooked up,” you snapped, voice sharper than intended. “Are you gonna deny it, or just stand there looking like an asshole?”

Rafe, leaning against the counter with his beer, just sighed—like this was a mild inconvenience rather than a full-on crisis.

“Babe, really?” He raised a brow. “You actually believe her?”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation? Oh, Rafe did not like that.

His jaw ticked, and suddenly, he was pushing off the counter, closing the space between you in two slow steps.

“Let me get this straight,” he murmured, towering over you now. “You think I’d let some desperate, pathetic Kook girl anywhere near me—when I have you?”

You hated that he said it like that—like it was the most ridiculous accusation ever. Like you should’ve just known better.

You huffed, looking away. “I don’t know, Rafe. You weren’t exactly shutting her down.”

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“I don’t even know her name,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “You really think I’d fuck around on you? You think I’d risk losing you for some nobody?”

Your stomach flipped at how serious he looked—blue eyes dark, lips pressed into a firm line.

You swallowed. “…I don’t know.”

That was the wrong answer.

Rafe’s gaze hardened. “Bullshit.” He stepped closer, voice dropping lower. “You know damn well, no matter how mad you get at me, we’re always gonna work it out.”

You blinked up at him, heart hammering. “Rafe—”

“No, listen to me.” His voice was firm now, like he was making a point you weren’t allowed to argue. “You don’t get to walk away over this. Not from me.”

You sucked in a breath, nails digging into your palms. “You act like I don’t have a choice.”

Rafe grinned. “You don’t.”

His fingers curled around your jaw, holding you in place. “Because I love you. And I don’t give a shit how upset you are, you’re still mine.”

Your breath hitched. Your body was betraying you, leaning into him even as your brain told you to stay mad.

Rafe’s smirk turned smug. He could feel you giving in.

“You wanna be mad at me?” His fingers traced your jaw, down to your neck. “Fine. But don’t ever doubt that I’m yours.”

Then, just to make his point, he turned his head slightly—locking eyes with that girl across the room. The one who started all this.

And then?

He kissed you.

Hard.

His hand gripped your waist, pulling you so close there wasn’t a single inch of space between you. His other hand slid into your hair, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss.

He made a point to make it slow. Intense. Unapologetic.

By the time he pulled back, you were breathless, fingers curled into his shirt.

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear, voice low and smug.

“Nice try, though.”

Across the room, the girl’s expression was pure embarrassment.

And Rafe? Rafe just grinned—like he had just won the best game he’d ever played.

You sighed. “You’re such an asshole.”

Rafe just laughed, squeezing your hip. “Yeah, but I’m your asshole.”

And honestly?

Yeah, he was.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

hope you liked it <3

[maxtermind]

hiiiii can I request fake texts where you message them “I need you” and they think it’s in like a sexy way but you need comfort bc you’re sad/crying/ect? tyyyy

TEXTING "I NEED YOU" TO YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND

( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ★ : genre :: mostly crack, lando's not haha hehe tho; some dirty talk?

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★ : a/n :: ignore the typos, feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[winntir]

Do you find this to be true?

[i-will-write]

first time writing fanfiction of a character : uughh i hope this is all canon accurate... it cant be canon innacurate at all or the enitire fandom will throw rocks at me...

10057th time writing the character: heres them working at a mcdonalds

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

my favorite fucking trope is chubby!reader living your life completely oblivious to the fact that the literal man of your dreams is in love with you and you're none the wiser.

like - you just traipse through life like "well he wouldn't like me back so it's wtv" all nonchalant and shit while the poor man is literally falling over himself trying to get it through your head that HEYYY that's not right??? i'm literally in love with you??? i worship the ground you walk on???? i'll do whatever you want????

and bless your heart, you see every single time he tries to hit on you as an act of kindness:

"awww, he got me (insert fav food here) cus i said i was hungry, what a nice guy!"

"he complimented my outfit! he must've liked the color of my shirt!"

"wow, he seems to be zoning out a lot, i hope he's okay!" (he's been staring at your lips for the past five minutes)

and he just... doesn't know what to do to make you see what he sees.

like you're so gorgeous and funny and why wouldn't he like you??

he's convinced that if he were to stand in front of you and tell you he loves you, you'd be like, "I love you too! you're such a good friend!"

(which has happened before and a little part of him died inside)

it literally takes him everything in his power to make you realize his feelings, and you just stand there for a moment, seemingly connecting the dots over the past few months, and all you can come up with is a small, dumb, "oh."

lord give him the strength.

[bebx]

canon means nothing when I can shelter my blorbo and keep him alive through the power of archive of our own

[savage-sinister]

I really don't understand how "without getting kudos or comments a fanfiction author is going to assume that people who clicked their fic didn't like it" became a controversial take.

I don't know why some people think an author should imagine, or guess that people who click their fic enjoyed it it when nobody is telling them that.

If you're re-reading a fic constantly, or leaving it up in your tab so that it re-loads every day for a hundred days the author is not going to know that unless you tell them. They'd love to hear it. It would make their day.

And if you don't tell them you liked their fic, there's no reason for them to assume you did.

[inkedinshadows]

The Value of Love

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

A/N: Thank you @batboyslutt for this request! I had so many different ideas for it, but unfortunately I could choose only one. I hope you enjoy it! 🫶🏻 and sorry for posting it later than usual, but I'm writing these day by day

Prompts: "We shouldn't be doing this. This is wrong." + "Why can't you just admit the truth?" + angst + smut + forbidden romance because of Rhys

Warnings: smut, p in v, creampie, bit of miscommunication, arguments

Word count: 1.5k

Azriel’s kisses grew more insistent as his mouth trailed down to your neck, nipping at the soft skin there. Your eyes were closed, your hands tangled in his hair, sliding down his back, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he mumbled against your skin, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even lift his head from the crook of your neck. “This is wrong.”

So he’d said—multiple times already.

You rolled your eyes. “Azriel,” you groaned. You cupped his cheeks and forced him to meet your gaze. “If you say that one more time while you’re balls-deep inside me, I am going to leave. Is that clear?”

Azriel’s hips faltered mid-thrust, then stilled, though he didn’t pull out. His breath was ragged, his eyes wide, his hair thoroughly mussed from your fingers running through it.

For a moment, you just stared at each other.

It was an argument you’d had more than once before, and you knew this wouldn’t be the last time. But for him to bring it up during sex? That, you would not stand for.

Azriel closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He lowered his head to rest his forehead on your chest, his breath warm against your flushed skin. “I’m sorry, princess.”

You sighed. Careful not to brush against his slumped wings, you wrapped your arms around him and tugged him closer.

“Let’s not talk about this right now,” you murmured. These were some of the last few moments you’d have together before he left for the continent, and you had no intention of wasting them on the same old conversation. “I think we were in the middle of something.”

Azriel lifted his head to look at you, gratitude flickering in his gaze before a smirk bloomed on his beautiful face. “Yes, we were.”

He rolled his hips once, driving himself deeper inside you, and you gasped softly. From there, it was easy to forget the last couple of minutes and focus on nothing but each other.

Azriel resumed his movements, thrusting into you with slow, deep strokes that drew groans from both of you. Each sound was swallowed by a kiss—lips and tongues eager to meet, hands wandering across hard planes and soft curves. Your bodies moved together as if they were made for this, as if you and he were the only beings in the whole world and nothing else mattered.

Pleasure coiled tight in your core, ready to snap with each deliberate thrust. A whispered plea was all Azriel needed to pick up the pace. He brushed his lips up your jaw to your ear, murmuring quiet encouragements and tender words that made your heart swell.

With a breathy moan, you squirmed beneath him, fingers digging into the muscles of his arms as pleasure overwhelmed you. Azriel was close behind you, your release tipping him over the edge as well. He rocked his hips a few more times before spilling himself inside you, holding himself there for a moment, panting against your ear as you both slowly came down from your high.

You turned your head to capture his lips in another kiss, trying to convey everything you felt for him through that simple gesture—the affection, the desire, the emotions you still hadn’t voiced aloud.

Azriel kissed you back, pressing you into the mattress before rolling onto his side. He opened his arms, and you immediately snuggled closer, curling up against his chest. He kissed the top of your head, and for a few moments, you simply lay there, basking in the quiet afterglow.

But as the minutes ticked by and the lingering passion faded, his words crept back into your mind. You tried to push them away, to focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest and the lazy strokes of his hand along your back, but they refused to leave.

You hesitated briefly before speaking, your voice quiet. “Why can’t you just admit the truth?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just…” You searched for the right words, trying not to sound too confrontational. “You always say you don’t want my brother to know because he’s very protective of me, but I think there’s more to it.”

Azriel hummed, seemingly unconvinced. “And what do you think it is, then?”

“I think you’re scared,” you admitted. “Scared of how he’d react if he found out. That he’d tell you you don’t deserve to be with me and that I should find someone else.”

His hand stilled where it had been tracing slow circles on your hip. His expression was unreadable, his golden-brown eyes fixed on you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he pulled away. Sitting up against the headboard, his wings stretched wide behind him, casting shadows over the sheets.

“That’s not what this is about,” he said. His voice was firm, but his gaze didn’t meet yours.

You pushed yourself up as well, keeping your eyes on him. You had thought about this for a long time now—how your brother would react if he knew about your relationship. You weren’t naive. You knew Rhys would be furious at first. But you also knew he would come around and realize that his little sister was grown, that he couldn’t keep males away from her forever. That she could choose for herself who to love.

“Az,” you called, taking his hand in yours. You waited until he finally looked at you again before you continued. “I know telling him might seem terrifying, but Rhys would be happy to know it’s you. You’re his best friend, and I’m his sister. If we make each other happy, why would he be against it?”

Azriel shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

That excuse again. It’s not that simple. You make it sound so easy. You don’t understand. He wouldn’t understand. Always the same words, but never a real answer.

And you were growing tired of it.

Frustration flared hot in your chest as you pulled your hand back.

“Then explain it to me,” you demanded. Your tone was sharper than intended, but you didn’t particularly care anymore. “Because from where I’m standing, the only other explanation is that you value Rhysand’s friendship more than… whatever this thing between us is.”

Azriel’s brow knitted together, his expression torn between confusion and disbelief. “You know what this is, princess. You know I love you.”

“So you’ve said.”

The words hung heavy in the air. You saw the flicker of hurt in his hazel eyes, and your chest ached in response. But you didn’t take it back. You couldn’t.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His voice was quieter now, cautious.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze and push the words out. “It means that saying the words isn’t enough. You have to show me. And right now, you’re not doing a great job.”

Azriel inhaled sharply, as if stung. “At least I love you.”

The moment the words left his lips, regret flashed across his face. But it was too late.

They landed like a blade to the chest, slicing through the last thread of your patience.

“Y/N, I—”

You batted away the hand he reached toward you and instead got up to collect the clothes scattered on the floor.

“I do love you, Azriel,” you said, voice tight as you yanked your underwear back on. “But do you want to know why I never told you?”

He looked startled by your declaration at first, but he quickly nodded when he realized you were waiting for an answer.

“Because I didn’t want to get hurt,” you admitted, fingers swiftly buttoning up your shirt. "Because you want to keep this a secret, while I think that what we have is worth so much more than just a few stolen moments in the dark.” You slipped into your trousers, your eyes still on him. “Because I’m tired of hiding from my friends and family just because you’re scared of how my brother might react.”

Azriel said nothing. His jaw was tense, his gaze locked onto the crumpled blankets, refusing to meet your gaze.

Despite the ache in your heart, you stepped back toward the door.

“I won’t hide anymore,” you went on. “Not when it makes you miserable, but you refuse to change it. It's making me miserable too.” You let out a deep breath. “You have to make a choice, Azriel. But if you really love me like you say you do… then it should be an easy one.”

Your fingers curled around the doorknob. Still, he didn’t look at you—didn’t try to talk you out of it, to convince you to stay, to stop you from leaving.

Your blood boiled in your veins.

“Good luck on your mission,” you spat, slamming the door behind you.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

my beloved husband (archive of our own) has returned from war and is back home safely (the site was down for maintenance) after six years (six hours) of me praying for him to come back to me (ao3 staff has stated since the beginning that the maintenance will take roughly six hours).

thank you god (ao3 staff) for returning my husband (archive of our own) to me. I am eternally grateful

[cherry-coffees]

"Yes, Princess"

princess!Caitlyn x f! lady in-waiting!reader

cw: 2.7K words | forbidden love, 18+ mdni, smut with a hint of angst, fingering, oral sex, implied scissoring, top!Caitlyn, mommy kink, praise kink, my first time writing smut so I apologize!

Head up, eyes bright, graceful walk, sweet smile.

Those are the words that repeat in your head over and over again like a broken record as you enter the ballroom. The Kiramman ballroom, to be exact: one of the grandest rooms in the Piltover palace. The scene is breathtaking: chandeliers emitting a warm glow over the room that’s filled with expensive champagne and linen tablecloths and gold trimmings along the walls. A picture of elegance and grace that perfectly matches the Kiramman royal family.

You walk as gracefully as you can into the center of the ballroom to mingle with guests, bowing slightly and introducing yourself with a last name that always seems to catch people’s attention. You’re a Piltover noble, that much is clear. A pretty one at that: dressed in a baby pink, floor length gown that hugs your torso and chest just right, trailing into silk that parts in a slit up past your knee. Carefully chosen accessories, styled hair: you’re the picture of grace. 

After a few minutes of mingling with the other nobles in attendance, Mel finds you easily. “There you are!” She exclaims, gold flecks dusting her cheeks. “I thought I missed you; you took so long to join the party!”

Relief sweeps through you at the familiar face. “Sorry,” you sigh, adjusting your hair over your shoulder. “I was helping the princess get ready, and it ran a little late. I had to rush my own getting ready afterwards.”

“Ah, of course, my favorite lady-in-waiting,” Mel laughs airily. “How else would the Kiramman princess survive? And you look stunning, by the way; I’ve seen more than a few guys eyeing you since you came in.”

“I’m just happy I look composed” you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, surrounded by important guests. “These shoes hurt like a bitch.”

“Yeah, well,” Mel’s lips quirk into a mischievous smile. “It must be working because there’s one person who hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.”

Oh.

Your stomach churns a little as you follow Mel’s glance behind you, to the front of the ballroom where the royal family is standing. Or, more specifically, the Kiramman princess: Caitlyn. Navy hair combed out and hitting her mid-back, with a simple navy gown to match. Her posture perfect and poised as always. But through her polite smile at the nobles that greet her, her icy-blue eyes were focused elsewhere: you. 

You try to suppress the wave of heat that goes through you. You know those eyes. You see them every day, had zipped up her dress and clasped her necklace around her neck not even an hour ago. A usual everyday task for you as her lady in-waiting, it might seem, but you still have your moments of your cheeks flushing pink. How can you not? It’s Caitlyn. She must have been destined to be a princess, to be admired by millions with her Gods-given beauty.

In this moment, though, you only let yourself lock eyes with her for a second before you’re turning back to Mel. “Um, yeah,” you blink, desperately hoping your carefully applied blush covers your flushed cheeks. “She, uh, recommended this dress to me, so she probably just noticed I ended up wearing it.”

Mel nods, seemingly dropping the topic, though there’s a hint of knowing in her raised eyebrows. “Right. Anyways, I’ll find you later. Wanted to say hi before I grab more champagne.” She squeezes your arm and flashes you a smile before she disappears into the crowd.

Now alone, you’re thrown right back into the scene of music and ballgowns and a few too many overly nice men. You smile sweetly, making polite conversation. What’s a lovely lady like you doing by yourself? You look beautiful. Are you really the lady in-waiting for Princess Caitlyn? 

You can only take so much of the same conversations, the same flirtatious glances and smooth offers to dance. You’re knee-deep in another exchange with some noble man from Noxus, who thinks he’s being way more charming than he is, when you feel a presence behind you. And, when you see the man go wide-eyed, you have a pretty good idea of who it is.

“Excuse me,” Caitlyn’s posh accent rings from behind you. “I was wondering if I might steal my lady in-waiting for a moment?”

“O-Oh! Yes, of course, Princess,” the man stutters, hastily managing a bow and backing away — to find another girl to hit on, most likely. You turn to face Caitlyn, tilting your head upward to meet her gaze. Damn, she’s tall.

“If you’ll come with me,” her formalities don’t falter once as she gently takes hold of your arm, steering you towards a less-crowded corner of the ballroom. It’s inherently obvious that you don’t really have a choice.

Caitlyn lets go of your arm once in the corner, and you take the moment to adjust your dress, fluffing it out a bit. Her eyes follow the movement. “Having fun?” She asks, her voice calm and unwavering.

“Ah, you know,” you sigh, tilting your head. “Greeting everyone.”

“Mm.” Her hand makes its way back to your arm, tracing lightly over your skin. “Any suitors catch your eye?”

Her words are posed as an innocent question, but you know her too well to believe it. Her hand’s motions don’t cease, and you can’t help a half-smile. “Possessive,” you mumble, so soft that Caitlyn might not have heard it if she wasn’t so focused on your every breath.

She hums in response. “Can you blame me? Some of the men are a little too handsy. More than what’s appropriate for a ball.”

Again, you fight the instinctive roll of your eyes. “Sure.”

The reply causes Caitlyn to step forward, eyes just slightly narrowed. “Don’t sass me,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. 

“Then don’t lie to me.”

“Fair,” Caitlyn’s laugh is quiet, her hand falling to your waist. “So what if I want my lady in-waiting all to myself?” The emphasis on the word my isn’t lost on you. Admittedly, you don’t mind it. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” You ask, blinking your wide eyes up at her with a slight furrow of your eyebrows. And oh, Caitlyn’s weak to your innocent expression. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress the urge to kiss it off your face.

She lets out another hum, if a little more breathy this time. “Darling,” her voice is hushed. Now it’s your turn to go weak at the pet name falling from her lips in that hot-as-fuck accent of hers. “You know how I feel about you in pink. And with the slit? Are you trying to get me to loose it at my own ball?”

Well. You really don’t know how to respond to her accusation given that it’s true. So you just toss your hair behind your shoulder, glancing around at the crowded ballroom. “How unofficial for a princess.”

“I wouldn’t tease,” Caitlyn warns, moving behind you so her breath ghosts over the back of your neck. She doesn’t miss the gooseflesh that springs up at the contact, and she has to bite back a smirk. To anyone in attendance at the ball, it would just look like she’s fixing your dress. Her plan, you suppose.

You swallow, keeping your eyes trained on the opposite wall of the ballroom. So no one will suspect anything, you tell yourself. Definitely not because it makes you straighten up a little more and listen to every word she says when she uses that authoritative tone of hers.

“Hm,” Caitlyn lets a hint of a smug smile grace her features as she moves again, this time in front of you so your gazes lock. “I suppose I’ll see you later.” She leaves you with a brush of your hands before drifting off to rejoin Cassandra, Piltover’s queen and her mother.

You’re frozen for a moment, unsure of your next move. After a few seconds, you blink rapidly to compose yourself before moving over to take a glass of the champagne Mel had mentioned earlier. You really need a drink.

I------» ~~~ «------I

“Gods,” you exhale shakily as your body’s practically slammed against a wall. The precaution is a pale hand that cradles the back of your head, shielding it from hurt.

Caitlyn noses into the corner of your jaw as a silent apology before her mouth drops, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat. The scent of her shampoo floods your senses — some kind of flower, maybe?  

It’s been maybe an hour since the ball’s end, and you had come to check on Caitlyn before going to bed for the night. Though, not before stopping by your room to freshen up. Your guess had been proven right when she had opened her bedroom door at the first sound of your knock, yanking you inside with zero hesitation. She had been waiting for her chance, it seemed.

You can’t help another breathy sigh as her lips find your pulse point, sucking the sensitive skin into her mouth in a way that makes your hands find her shoulders, squeezing gently. “No marks,” you breathe, and you can feel Caitlyn’s annoyed huff against your neck.

“Why can’t I just mark what I want?” She presses another hot kiss to your pulse. She’s almost like a child, pouting over things she can’t have. But it’s not either of your doings. 

You can’t say anything to that because, if it had been your decision, you would have let her paint your neck with her love bites long ago. Caitlyn, too, seems to notice your tension, and she lifts her head back up. “You’re thinking too much,” she murmurs, her nose brushing against yours. “Don’t.”

Any reply dies on your tongue as Caitlyn kisses you with a fiery passion, presses of lips turning into the strokes of her tongue into your mouth. Her knee finds its way between your thighs, even with both of you still adorning your long dresses. You gasp, but she swallows it, continuing to kiss you deeply like she’s been wanting to for hours.

“Still worked up from earlier?” Her mouth breaks from yours, lips twisting into a lazy smirk. 

Your cheeks flush with a pink hue, and you glare at her. You both had gotten more than a little distracted when you had helped her get ready for the ball, ending with heated kisses and grinding that did little to relieve your ache for her. “Don’t tease.”

“Mm, you’re telling me what to do now?” All it takes is an arch of Caityn’s eyebrows and your gaze drops from hers. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, conceding by leaning up to kiss her jaw. Though, when you see the muscle flex, you feel a sense of satisfaction rush through you. She’s not as immune to you as she might pretend. That much is clear when she tugs you over to her bed, bringing you to straddle her lap.

“You’re making me crazy,” Caitlyn mouths at your collarbone, her hand sliding up the slit of your dress to squeeze your thigh. “I hated everyone looking at you. You’re mine to look at.”

“Ah,” you sigh, running a hand through her now-messy navy hair, the locks tangling in your fingers. “Everyone’s looking at you, Princess.”

Caitlyn’s icy eyes flash at your emphasis of her title, and before you know it, she’s flipped you onto you back on her bed, one of her hands pinning both of yours above your head. “That’s not what you call me when we’re alone.” 

“Cait-"

“Nope,” she tightens her grip on your wrists as punishment. “Try again.”

“Mommy-"

“There we go,” Caitlyn coos, letting your hands free and trailing her perfectly manicured nails down your arms. “Now, why don’t we get you out of this dress, hm?”

She’s tugging at the zipper of your dress before you can even respond, and you arch your back — half to give her more access and half because this all feels so good that you crave more. More of this, more of her.

And when Caitlyn tosses the fabric to the floor without sparing a glance at it, you swear the look in her eyes is predatory as she stares at you in your lingerie. “Beautiful,” she breathes, like she hasn’t seen you before, and you feel a wave of heat straight down to your core. 

“You knew I’d do this,” Caitlyn accuses, making quick work of slipping off your bra and panties. More specifically, the navy set that's her favorite of your lingerie. She claims it’s because the color suits you, but you know better. You know it’s because she likes you in her color: a silent claim on you. “You wore this knowing I’d want to fuck you.”

“You want to fuck me?” You question in mock-surprise, though immediately regret teasing her when she tangles your hair in her fist and angles your face up to meet hers.

“What was that?” Caitlyn’s voice is strict, composed even as her other hand grips your hip so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise. 

“Nothing,” you’re quick to assure, because if you sass her, Caitlyn won’t let you come. And gods, you want to come. She’s already worked you up so much that your thighs are slick with anticipation.

“And?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “‘m sorry, Mommy.”

“Good,” she releases your hair to move down your body and you hate how much wetter you get at the smallest of praise. “Now, be a darling and spread your legs.”

Your thighs fall open at the order, and you don’t have to see Caitlyn’s face to feel the smug pride radiating off her. She presses her thumb to your swollen clit and coos at the strangled gasp you let out. “I- please,” you whimper, pleading for any kind of relief.

But Caitlyn, though very sweet and attentive, is just a little bit mean, too. So she teases her fingers along your soaked slit, not giving you the penetration you desire. “What do you want, love? Fingers, tongue-?”

“Anything,” you whine because it feels like she’s been baiting you forever now, if only a few minutes. 

“So desperate for me” Caitlyn smirks teasingly as her gaze meets yours, but gives in all the same, plunging two fingers into you. Because she loves it — loves how badly you need her. She starts slow, but eventually builds up speed when you whimper in protest.

“Oh,” you mewl, fisting at her sheets when she angles her fingers upwards to meet that sweet spot inside you that dissolves you into pure pleasure. “Oh, please, I need-"

“Shh, I know,” Caitlyn soothes, her other hand on your thigh surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the rapid thrusts of her fingers. And she does. She’s so in-tuned to your needs, knows exactly how you like to be touched after months of secret affairs that no one in the palace would suspect.

With that, her lips wrap around your aching clit and suck, tongue teasing your most sensitive nerves as her fingers continue their rough motions inside you. You let out a squeal of pleasure, immediately clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your noises. But Caitlyn doesn’t let up in her relentless stimulation, and it doesn’t take long for you to keen into your palm as you come around her fingers.

She helps you through your release, letting your hips angle against her mouth as your orgasm racks through your body, before she gently slips her fingers out. You shakily prop yourself up on your elbows and god, you could come again just from the dark look in her icy eyes as she looks up at you from between your thighs. “Fuck, Caitlyn.”

“You’re not done, you know,” Caitlyn murmurs, smiling all the same as she moves up your body to kiss you. 

“I know,” you mumble against her lips, reaching up to tug her hips down to meet yours. Caitlyn hisses, shifting to slip off her own lingerie before pressing her dripping core against yours. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

And, as she descends upon you once again, the brief thought enters your mind that you really hope you get to stay like this forever. Even if forever is only until the sun comes up.

Ugh. Need her.

As said, this is my first time writing smut so...I hope it didn't suck? Thank you sm for all the love and support on my writing in the month-ish I've been on here! Sending love to everyone <3

Reminder that my inbox/requests are open :)

[writeouswriter]

No, ao3 doesn't need a second kudos button or a kudos button each chapter, because you know what you can do each chapter? Comment. It needs your words, your comments, there is a comment draught, kudos is lovely, but it is a ping in a lonely chamber, a lecture hall where you can tell students are listening but no one ever raises their hands to speak or engage with the professor, if you love it so much you want to give a second kudos, you love it enough to type even just a couple words into the comment box, "love this," "neat fic!" It's just a couple more clicks!

[maxtermind]

FUN UNDER THE TABLE W/ F1 DRIVERS

( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ★ : genre :: public smut?; dirty talk; use of slut; includes crack

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★ : a/n :: ignore the typos, feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[curiositysavesthecat]

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