#both deserved the ending they had earned

[what-do-1000-swords-look-like]

This might be a hot take but I've gotta get this off my chest:

I have seen so many times in the past two years the point being made by a particular section of the fandom that Sam was the hero of SPN, the "Luke Skywalker" of the series as Kripke himself stated, and that the finale ending made sense for not only Sam getting to live but also for Dean's ending. And in the very same breath, it's mentioned that the show was always about the brothers, no one else, that's what Kripke always wanted, etc., but this argument is always made from a very pro-Sam slanted/skewed anti-ship (and sometimes anti-Dean) point of view without taking into consideration of just how much the story of SPN evolved even before Kripke left the show.

Like say what you will about Sam being the hero of the story, and I'm not going to disagree with you about that being Kripke's original intention because you're right. Sam was the main protagonist; that's clear from the outset of the series. The whole first season is everything being told from Sam's POV. It's evident in every single episode in how each case has resolution thanks to Sam. He is made to be the hero. The whole arc of season 1 is about Sam being dragged back into this world due to his desire for revenge for what happened to Jessica which turns into something more aka Sam is naturally a hunter and he wants to help people/help his family->Dean. It's even Sam in the season finale that chooses a different way compared to John's quest for revenge by choosing Dean/his family over his revenge.

So, yes, you're right when you say in the beginning of the series that Sam was the hero/main protagonist. Absolutely. But what is not being mentioned/realized is that somewhere along the way, during Kripke's era, Dean's own story within the series became just as integral to the main story like Sam's as did their relationship as brothers. Kripke developed the story to include both. They both become essential to the main overhead arc of the entire show. The whole reason John and Mary even got together (through Heaven's intervention as per SPN canon) was to bring about both Sam and Dean's existence. Dean becomes the complement to Sam's role. We find out that Sam is the chosen vessel for Lucifer, and then we find out Dean is the chosen vessel for Michael, which leads to the showdown between Heaven and Hell essentially through the two. Both have a decision to make; both are tapped on the shoulders by both sides (i.e. Cas/Ruby); both are essential to the main plot while having their own separate arcs/journeys. Dean is no longer a side character or even the "Han Solo". His story is developed and we not only see his own hero's journey that he has to go on (when physically separate from Sam for example; going into the future though this is still intertwined with Sam's journey itself; going back in time, etc.) but his own desires, thought processes, relationships (outside of Sam), are also brought into the forefront for his story. Can this happen with side characters? Sure. But that's not what happens here because Kripke not only develops/beefs up Dean's story but also interweaves it with Sam's very carefully, to the point that the show doesn't work without both characters. Hence, Sam is no longer the sole main protagonist.

Which is why, for example, Dean is the one to kill the YED even though Sam had been determined to make YED pay for what happened to Jessica. And Kripke masterfully balances the main plot between the two as the show develops, so much so that we get payoff for Sam's journey (which leads up to Swan Song but I'll get to that in a moment), by fulfilling big plot points such as his killing Lillith and setting Lucifer free. He even still gets the hero's end by choosing to sacrifice himself to save Dean and the world in 5x22. Kripke beautifully takes Sam's original journey and tweaks it in such a way that while Sam had his dad's training and a similar quest for vengeance, he made a different decision and he did that while having much more on his shoulders (literally the weight of the world) than John ever did. And we still get payoff for what was initially set up way back in season 1. We get a close out to the Jessica story line, to Sam's powers story line, all of it, before Kripke dipped out.

And in the same fashion, we also got a closeout to Dean's story line. If he would ever get out of hunting, would he allow Sam to go into that dark night alone, would he be the same as John -- all of it.

So the ending to 5x22 absolutely makes sense. And we get: Dean surviving and going to live a "normal" life & Sam making the sacrifice (as the hero the series started out with) while also somehow surviving & making his way back to his brother. That's Kripke's ending. Now to be fair, Sam making his way back to Dean more likely had to do with them setting up the next season, but ultimately he wasn't dead after throwing himself and Michael into the pit.

Then in the later seasons, which some fans like to exclude or dismiss (but it's still part of Sam and Dean's official story), their stories were still integral to the main story but they had also evolved to include other characters (such as Cas, Jody, Donna, etc) and they had developed over the next ten years. So when looking at the series as a whole, Dean and Sam's endings in the series finale do not make sense. Kripke already got his ending in 5x22 and the show moved past that, and quickly set out to dismantle it in 6x01. This theme continued and the idea of free will became the center stage even more than it had in the first five seasons. By the time the last season rolled around, Dean and Sam had different desires, their stories had not only been completely intertwined to make both of them the main protagonists but both the heroes, and how their ends/hunting boots were hung up in the end would both matter.

So if you watched all of the seasons, 15x20 doesn't make sense. Because Dean and Sam wanted very different things by that point, they had both built relationships with other characters (Cas and Jack were the biggest ones but those two were not the only ones), and their story had effectively changed.

And if you didn't watch any of the later seasons (or you dismiss it), 15x20 still doesn't make sense because this wasn't the ending Kripke had for the seasons 1-5 Sam and Dean. If anything, it felt like it could have been 1x02 instead of the Wendigo episode, ending Dean and Sam's story in two short episodes with nothing in between.

That does not make sense.

Imagine we were discussing the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. We all know how that ended (I'm talking TV only, not the comics). Buffy saved the world, she survived (finally!), and she was free from Sunnydale. Now imagine she had been killed off. Not only would it feel redundant but it wouldn't feel like a true ending for the story told over the past 7 seasons. What would have been the point of her being resurrected in season 6 then? What would have been the point of her relationship with Spike, Dawn, and the others? Could Joss Whedon have made it into another hero's sacrifice (instead of Spike doing the heroic/redeeming sacrifice), that she got Dawn, Willow, Xander, and the other Slayers ready to defend the world that she would die saving? Sure. But again, when you compare that ending to her story, it doesn't really make sense. There is no payoff, for the viewers or for the character of Buffy. She had earned that ending, the freedom from the Hellmouth and from the burden of being alone as the only Slayer (aka Chosen One). Which is why we get that great shot in the end:

Willow: "Yeah, the First is scrunched so...what do you think we should do, Buffy?"

Faith: "Yeah, you're not the one and only Chosen anymore. Just got to live like a person. How's that feel?"

Dawn: "Yeah, Buffy, what are we going to do now?"

The hero, who had already made the hero's sacrifice more than once, finally earned the ending that she wanted: freedom and the ability to choose to live her life for herself. The burden of being The Slayer had been removed and spread out to others (effectively building a network, hold that thought for a minute), she was no longer alone, she had defeated the Big Bad (which was effectively the Hellmouth since it kept creating/calling to these other Big Bads she faced over the years as well as the monsters she started out fighting), she might have more to face in the future, but it's up to her now what she wants to do. She is given the choice aka free will and that's what she earned after everything she had gone through during the duration of the show.

That's an ending.

This isn't:

Death wasn't supposed to be their ending. While some might be able to turn to you and say 'but they end up in Heaven together, they're at peace', that doesn't make it a payoff ending, for the viewers (early seasons only or all seasons) or for the characters of Sam and Dean. That's not effective storytelling. Neither ending was heroic or earned.

Dean dying, while again wouldn't make sense given the story, could have been painted as heroic if it happened during the battle with Chuck for example. Their final battle with the ultimate Big Bad. Even though they both died heroically quite a few times before this, it could have been done and while ultimately disappointing, it could have been the hero's end for Dean (just like Sam's end in 5x22 was the hero's end for him). This death wasn't heroic; instead it was from vampire stunt guy #4 who apparently juiced before that scene getting an upper hand on the hero and impaling him on a piece of sharp rebar. During a milk run hunt. Now imagine if that were Sam. Ask these people who think that by the end of the series that Sam was the only hero, ask them if that happened to Sam instead, would they still be praising the finale? Or imagine that was Buffy. That she survived like she does, the Hellmouth in Sunnydale was finally gone, only to be killed by a random forgettable vampire who she had faced off with in the first season and got away, only to suddenly return and take the hero out, thus negating the payoff/earned ending she and the viewers got. Doesn't make sense, right?

Now imagine if say Dawn was killed off in a similar way (though tbf Dawn's role was not the same as Dean's in the story) or during the battle, and we see Buffy living her life through the years, getting out of slaying, having a family which consists of a daughter she names Dawn, wearing her own Party City wig and looking at a picture of Dawn all teary-eyed, dying in her sleep as an old lady, and then reuniting with her in Heaven. It doesn't work. Not only because Dawn had a very different role in the show when it came to the main story but also because it DOESN'T WORK. What kind of hero's end is that? What payoff is that? Is it great that Sam gets to choose to get out of hunting and have a family? Sure. But that's not where his story was headed, in later seasons, or even during Kripke's era.

Going back to the network thing I mentioned with Buffy, Sam had done that. Not only were there strong hints of leader!Sam near the end of the series, but he had effectively built a network of hunters for a time until Alt!Michael killed them all. But he and Dean still had a network going through Jody, Donna, Claire, even Jack until he turned God!Jack. Wayward Sisters might not have taken off when it first aired but the point was made: a hunter network still existed. And these characters, this network, even though not shown in the finale, still survived no matter what happened with Sam and Dean in the end. Why is this important? Because not only does it extend the hunting universe, but it also removes the burden from the heroes' shoulders. So they could have gotten out of hunting if they wanted to, just like Buffy could have laid down her axe (or stake). The heroes had earned it.

So for Dean to die on a random hunt and for those few to say that it was being foreshadowed this whole time with Dean's quotes (from before season 15 btw) and a proper ending to his story...they really don't know what show they were watching or how storytelling works in general. Because when they say that, they negate Dean's whole arc of season 15 (while also negating his whole series arc). Dean was angry in the beginning of the season because he thought not only had his free will been taken from him, but also because he thought he hadn't had any free will this whole time. There's a reason why he says what he says to Cas in 15x02. There's a reason why he was so gung ho on letting Jack sacrifice himself, and only once once Sam and Chuck say what they say in 15x17 does Dean make a different choice: his family (and the world) vs his own desire (his idea of free will, not fully realizing that he's actually utilizing it by making that choice). It's only when he chooses not to kill Chuck in 15x19 that he is completely self-aware and that he is using his free will to make a choice. A choice that affects how the Big Bad is ended/defeated. "That's not who I am."

He was given the hero's choice and he made it. And his decision was the right one that had payoff from not only the events in 15x17 and 15x18 but for his overall story. That's why what Cas says to him in 15x18 about who he is as a character was so important. It set Dean up to not only have self-realization but to also act upon it. Think about how many times over the years Sam and other characters have told Dean this about himself but he never really believed it. Why? Because he hadn't reached that part of his journey yet. Because he hadn't reached the end of it yet. So it makes perfect sense how 15x17, 15x18, and 15x19 play out. This is the appropriate ending battle for not only Dean but Sam as well:

This was the hero's sacrifice they made. They could have been killed from Chuck beating on them as he did. He could have chosen to snap his fingers at any point. They made the sacrifice in order to get Jack the time and energy he needed to power up to overpower Chuck. And they never stayed down no matter the pain, no matter the potential of their deaths at Chuck's hand. They refused to give it up. This is why Sam helps Dean back up and why they're laughing/smiling. Because they know that no matter what happens to them, Jack/the world is going to win. "Why are you smiling?" "Because...you lose." And their sacrifice not only hands victory over to the new generation aka Jack but also instates the new God who replaces Chuck aka The Big Bad of the entire series. EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SCREAMS HERO.

So it's not only payoff for Jack's story (as well as Chuck's) but also for Sam and Dean's. And both brothers were the heroes. Which is why Sam tells Chuck that he loses and Dean tells him that they won. Why both of them tell Chuck about their plan that they formed together (and Jack doesn't say a word). Which is why Chuck says he's going to die at both of their hands, both Sam and Dean look at each other, and then Dean makes the choice not to kill Chuck. "See, that's not who I am. That's not who we are." Because they both were the heroes and main protagonists of the series. Something that Kripe had set up long before 5x22.

"What kind of an ending is this?" One the heroes had earned. Chuck as the Big Bad wanted violence and death, an ending he would be entertained by. And even for an ending he hadn't imagined for himself (where he loses), he still expected a grisly death at the hands of the heroes. Had either Winchester done that, then Chuck would have gotten what he wanted and it wouldn't be the heroes' end that they had earned.

This was the ending that Sam and Dean earned:

The choice to continue on if they wanted or to get out of hunting for good. To go see Jody, Donna, and the girls, or go get Cas out of The Empty, or go on milk run hunts for a while, or even to go to a freaking baseball game (screw you, John!); the point is it was their choice. That's what they had earned by the end of the series.

The ending that Chuck earned was not only the worst he could imagine but it was punishment for everything he had done. Both brothers say as much:

Sam: "I think it's the ending where you're just like us. And like all the other humans you forgot about."

Dean: "It's the ending where you grow old, you get sick, and you just die."

Sam: "And no one cares. And no one remembers you. You're just forgotten."

This was not the heroes' ending or the ending both characters had earned/deserved:

This was:

For the ones who insist that Dean's sacrifice was the right ending for his story and that he got a new Heaven as a reward are incorrect. Heaven wasn't what Dean wanted, not before he got what he earned.

For the one who insist that Sam's ending was right for his story and that he got to have a family and choose to get out of hunting as a reward are incorrect. Sam wanted Dean to be a part of that life (however it looked) and he had no desire to get out of hunting by the time the series came to an end.

15x20 is not the right ending for either Winchester.

And for those who say that Dean hadn't become one of the heroes in the series or that the finale was right because Sam was the sole main protagonist by the end (or even Kripke's ending in 5x22) clearly weren't paying attention. Not only did Sam not get the heroes' end or the end he wanted and earned, but neither did Dean who had been developed into the other main protagonist of the series, by the series creator himself before he left the show.

Bonus:

15x20 was not their real finale and here's how you know:

Next shot (after cutting to black):

Nothing after it.

SPN:

Next shot (after fading to black):

And then:

(while still in costume, the two leads thanking the fans and then the crew/bridge drone shot complete with show music)

Compare this to how 15x19 ended as well. We get the montage, the drive off shot, and then the scene from 1x01 of Sam shutting the trunk of the Impala as Dean watches. Then cuts to black.

That's their finale.

[tortademaracuya]

love being reminded by the "bestie" that keeps being close friends with all the girls that treated me like shit about the other friend not from that group that also treated me like shit and tried to convince others to leave me

[aeide-thea]

saw a post that got me thinking abt that whole 'yr brain doesn't fully mature until age 25 (at which point it abruptly congeals like an aspic)' pseudoscience fictoid again, and—

the other thing that gets me about it, besides my previously-registered complaint that the notion of a hard stop on plasticity at the quarter-century mark is depressing as fuck for those of us past that age who need to believe change is still possible, is that it's yet another instance of people looking to substitute a hard-and-fast rule for the active, careful exercise of their own judgment—life isn't a binary where pre-25 nothing goes and post-25 anything goes! you have to actively think about how to behave well and how to treat others well, whatever your age and whatever theirs!

[nadvs]

sleeping with the enemy (one-shot)

pairing basketballplayer! rafe cameron x cheerleader! female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary after getting dumped by the captain of the basketball team you cheer for, you find revenge in the form of rafe cameron, your ex-boyfriend’s worst enemy.

» masterlist

» all blurbs in this au

“How bad is it that I want us to lose?” you mutter, fiddling with your pompoms as you stand courtside.

“Against them?” Your friend looks out at group of athletes in red warming up for the game. “Pretty bad.”

The rivalry between the Hawks and the Wolves is one of the most vicious in college basketball history. You proudly cheered for your team up until a couple of nights ago, when the Hawks power forward dumped you over text.

Your relationship with Max had been relatively new, lasting just over a month. Still, it pissed you off that he didn’t have the respect to break up face-to-face.

The worst part of it was that he was trying to convince you to sleep with him for the first time the night before he ended things. He got frustrated and left your dorm in a huff. Then, he texted you that he isn’t looking for a relationship.

You’re sure it was his plan to get you in bed then bail all along, but he gave up once he got too impatient.

You wanted to take things slow. You thought maybe you could have something real with him. What a waste of time.

Now, as you stand on the sidelines of your college’s basketball court, the tension is palpable as both teams warm up for another game against their worst enemies. The crowds’ conversations loudly blend into a dull murmur in the stands behind you.

“I don’t think it’s bad at all,” the cheerleader on your other side chimes in. “Max is a jerk. He deserves to lose.”

You scowl at your ex as he rushes through a running drill on the other side of the loud gym. You had told your close friends on the squad about what happened. They may hate him even more than you do.

You glance at the opposite side of the court where the visiting team is warming up. You spot player #10, Cameron sprawled over the back of his red jersey, as he runs warm-up passes with one of his teammates.

Max loathes him. And it’s not just because of the college’s long-standing rivalry. Your ex told you countless times what an asshole Rafe is and how much he trash-talks on the court.

Regardless, you could see it for yourself. Rafe taunts his opponents. He laughs in their faces when his team wins. He never shakes hands at the end of a game. He even shoved Max a few times, earning fouls.

You realize you’re staring at Rafe when his teammate misses a pass, sending the ball rolling towards you.

You’re so angry at Max that you almost want to wish Rafe luck when he comes near, picking up the ball off the glossy floor.

His gaze flashes at you as he straightens, and when you notice his blue eyes trail down your body, your skin pricks with heat. You’re sure you see a hint of a smirk on Rafe’s face before he turns around.

You probably shouldn’t be excited that your side of the rivalry’s most hated athlete is looking at you like that. But you’re not feeling particularly loyal to your team right now.

A loud whistle blows through the gym. The game is starting.

In Rafe’s mind, the only bad thing about basketball is that the sport has no tolerance for scrapping. Aggression is part of football. It’s encouraged in hockey. But the foul system in basketball is stupid. He never gave a fuck about sportsmanlike conduct.

He could have considered other sports, but he’s a natural at this. He has the height and agility and confidence for this sport. It’s what made him captain after his first year as a shooting guard.

Rafe paces to the center of the court for the coin toss, staring down at his opponent. Max Hammond’s always been easy to fuck with.

And honestly, it pisses Rafe off that lately, he’s seen the cheerleader on his rivals’ team that he’s been eyeing all season on Max’s arm. All the more reason to fuck with him.

“How’s that knee?” Rafe taunts. Their last game, he dunked over Max hard enough to send him hurling to the floor. Rafe laughed when he saw his opponent clutching his knee.

“Shut up,” Max mutters with a scowl. Rafe smiles pompously. Then, he wins the coin toss.

You halfheartedly chant through the cheers you’ve memorized when the game starts. The players rush up and down the court, shoes squeaking against the floor, sweat sheening their skin.

It feels weird keeping your gaze off of Max. You used to follow him with lovestruck eyes throughout every game. If only you knew what a douche he’d turn out to be.

So, for this game, you watch Rafe. You shouldn’t feel so satisfied every time he pushes past Max and earns a point for the rivals you’re supposed to be booing, but you do.

Shadows move with the edges of Rafe’s muscles under the bright gym lights. His lips are parted as he rushes down the court, feet moving quickly, hands controlling the ball with expert precision.

When the game ends with a loss for the Hawks, you’re not all that upset. Mainly because Max looks so devastated.

Afterwards, you decide to go out to a local bar with a few of your friends. You want to let loose. Maybe you’ll even find a meaningless hook-up. After the mess with Max, you want some fun, and you’re definitely not up for looking for any sort of emotional connection.

Both college campuses aren’t far apart, so the bars and clubs in town often see an overlap of students. Most people don’t care about the rivalry, especially when they’re off-campus.

But the athletes and cheerleaders never allow the tension to dissipate, especially after a game. The winners are always loud and celebratory, while the losers stare daggers at their enemies. Tonight’s no different.

The bar is dark and packed and loud and humid, your fingers wrapped around an emptied glass as you sit at a table with a couple of your friends.

When Max walks into the bar, unease rolls through you. You wonder how long it’ll take for you not to be so frustrated by his presence.

He finds seats across the bar with a few of the other Hawks players. One of your friends notices your discomfort and follows your eye-line.

“Do you want to leave?” she asks.

“No.” You’re determined not to let Max ruin your night. “I’m getting another drink.”

After making sure your friends don’t want a second drink just yet, which only serves as a reminder of how fast you downed yours, you drift over to the bar.

You find an open pocket in the crowd and you squeeze through, your hands resting on the hard edge of the bar top. You watch the bartender take orders, not yet aware of you.

You sigh to yourself, drumming your fingers, hoping you’re just one more drink away from feeling better.

Rafe watches the stranger beside him fidget impatiently. When he looks up from your tapping fingers, he realizes you’re not a stranger at all.

You’re the cheerleader he’s always checking out. The one who’s been on Max’s arm after games. But he usually sees you wearing a big smile, and there’s nothing happy about the way you look right now.

You can see from the corner of your eye that the person beside you is looking at you. You meet Rafe’s gaze, blinking a few times to make sure it’s really him.

You’re a bit embarrassed, considering you’d stared at him through tonight’s game. He’s in a dark t-shirt instead of the jersey you’re used to seeing him in. You can tell that is hair is just a bit damp, surely from the shower he took after the game.

You try not to think about him in the shower.

Rafe takes you in, the way your lips purse before you speak.

“You played well,” you say.

Rafe’s lids lower. You’re wearing a dress even shorter than the little cheerleading skirt he’s used to seeing you in.

“Me?” he drawls, his lips curling up in a surprised smirk.

You meet his eyes for longer this time, nodding at him with an indifferent expression.

“Aren’t you Hammond’s girl?” he says, clearly amused, a contrast from how angry you’ve heard him on the court.

You’re surprised that he knows you were dating Max. Maybe he noticed you more often than you thought.

“Nope,” you mutter. You tell him you have a name, then give him it.

Rafe’s eyes continue to travel over you, his pulse quickening as he takes you in. He knew you were hot, but he never got a chance to really look at you up close.

How the hell did Hammond fuck things up with you? He needs to know so he won’t make the same mistake.

“What happened?” he murmurs.

“With Max?” you ask. “He’s a dick.”

“Could’ve told you that.” You watch Rafe slightly tip his head back as he takes a drag of his beer.

“Really? I’ve heard the same about you,” you say. You realize you might be more tipsy that you thought once your brazen words spill out of your mouth.

“And what, you think it’s true?” Rafe asks with his eyes on your lips.

“I don’t know. You get fouled more than any player I’ve seen.”

Rafe huffs a breathy chuckle, obviously nowhere near offended by your words. He actually seems flattered.

Out of instinct, your eyes dart to the table you saw Max sitting at. His gaze is fixed on you. He’s likely shocked that you’re talking to someone you’re supposed to hate.

Rafe turns to see what you’re looking at. He smirks when he notices just how pissed off Max looks. He turns his attention back at you.

“Your boyfriend’s pissed,” Rafe says, a hint of mocking in his voice.

“I already told you that he’s not my boyfriend. And I couldn’t care less if he’s mad that I’m talking to you,” you answer, crossing your arms. Blue eyes dart down to your cleavage.

“So, you’re not using me to get back at him?” he teases.

“I didn’t even know you were here,” you say. “But it’s not a bad idea.”

Rafe cocks his head, his tongue jutting under his cheek. Getting to flirt with a hot girl and annoying someone he hates at the same time is a win-win situation.

“What can I get you?” you hear. You look over at the bartender and regain your composure to order your drink.

“Put it on my tab,” Rafe tells him. He watches your lashes flutter when you meet his eyes again.

“Thanks,” you say, lips lifting into a smile. You’ve been so deep in your anger that you haven’t realized that Rafe could be the meaningless hook-up you’re looking for tonight.

“That’s the first time you smiled since you came over here,” he notices.

“I’m in a pretty bad mood,” you admit.

“What’d he do?” Rafe asks, tilting his head back to Max.

“Probably something you do to girls all the time,” you say boldly. “He made me think he wanted a relationship, but turns out, he just wanted to get laid.”

Rafe’s eyes glint with something you haven’t seen in him under the muted bar lights. For a split second, his guard goes down.

“You think I do that?”

“Am I wrong?” you challenge. His laugh is dry and humorless. He leans closer to you, his cologne cool and sharp as he towers over you.

“You are,” he says.

The tension between you hardens. You stare up at him.

“Okay,” you say. At this point, you’re jaded and uninterested in dancing around the subject. “So, what do you do?”

You lift your glass to take a sip. Rafe watches the way your lips lock around the straw. He’s entranced by you, by how straightforward you are.

“I’m upfront that I’m not looking for a girlfriend,” he says. “I don’t have to play games.”

You know he’s being honest. Someone that looks as good as he does definitely doesn’t have to manipulate his way into sex.

“What are you looking for, then?” you ask.

“Fun,” Rafe replies. “And I think you need some fun, too.”

You feel your blood go hot. He’s right. This man and the no-strings-attached sex he’s proposing is exactly what you need right now.

You lock eyes with him as you swallow the last sip of your drink and put it on the bar with a clack.

“I do,” you answer.

When Rafe asks you if you want to go over to his place, you don’t need to even think about it.

You let your friends know you’re leaving and you follow Rafe out, his hand finding yours, callouses from his training hard over his palm.

It’s all such a thrill. The way Rafe looks at you. The promise of casual sex with him. The glare of your ex-boyfriend as you leave. And the fact that you completely forgot about how this started as revenge on Max because you’re so tangled up in the feeling Rafe is giving you.

When you step into Rafe’s single dorm, he crosses the small room to switch on the desk lamp, casting a dim glow over the space.

You notice a few toiletries scattered on top of his dresser, his jersey slung over the back of his chair. This is technically enemy territory, but you couldn’t care less.

It’s quite bare and not very lived in, but you didn’t expect him to be the type who cares to decorate.

“I’m guessing you’re not in here all that much,” you say, leaning against the door once it shuts behind you.

“You finally got something right about me,” Rafe replies, earning a giggle from you. He sits on the edge of his bed, staring at you. “Come here.”

His dominance, not just through his words but by the way he takes up space so confidently, makes arousal swirl in your stomach. You settle beside him, the mattress shifting with your weight.

“Are you always this bossy?” you ask.

Rafe takes in your pretty features. This might be one of the best nights he’s had. He played a great game, won against the team he hates most, and the girl he’s been eyeing all season is sitting on his bed.

“Right again,” he says. Now that you left the crowds and music back in the bar, his deep voice cutting through silence reverberates through you.

You breathe a quiet laugh. You first approached him feeling so bitter, but just like that, he turned your mood around.

His eyes trail the hemline of your dress. You watch as he places his hand over your thigh, moving slowly, his thumb stroking just below where the fabric of your dress ends.

Rafe’s skin is hot, his hand heavy, and your heart-rate quickens in a second.

“You know how distracting you are?” he rasps, recalling the countless times he saw you by the court as you danced around in your skimpy outfit.

“What?” you ask.

“It’s so fucking hard to focus on playing when you’re there.”

Your breath hitches as he leans in closer, his nose brushing against yours. You had no idea you’d caught his attention before tonight, but by the sound of it, this isn’t the first time he’s looked at you through lustful eyes.

When his lips capture yours, he squeezes your thigh, firm fingers sinking into your flesh. He kisses you again and again and again, every time deeper than the last, tongues meeting with heated ardency.

You let out a moan so soft when he bites your bottom lip that he takes your hand from where it’s resting to the bulge in his jeans, showing you how hard he is for you.

Your body flushes even hotter when you feel him, gently starting to stroke him over the denim.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your purse, vibrating in a rhythmic pattern you recognize as a call.

Rafe shifts back, his mouth an inch away from yours.

“You don’t have to get that, do you?” His tone signifies more of a statement than a question.

You pull out your phone, confused over who would call you now. You grimace when you see Max’s photo on your screen.

Rafe notices. You breathe out a quiet laugh of surprise when takes your phone, hitting “Message” and sending She’s busy, then declining the call.

You feel each other’s smiles under your kiss, this time moving even faster. Rafe drags his hand higher under your dress and inhales sharply once you instinctually spread your legs, allowing him to feel you.

The pressure of his fingers rubbing over your panties makes you ache.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” he rasps against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He pushes the fabric to the side, feeling how slick and soft you are.

“Goddamn, you’re so wet already,” Rafe groans, enjoying the ego trip from knowing he got you like this so quickly. His lips trail to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin as he glides between your folds, tracing circles.

He shifts, losing contact with you for a moment to pull your dress off. When he sees you in just your bra and underwear, he nearly grunts in frustration from not being inside you already.

His hold on your hips is so firm it hurts as he guides you onto your back. Hovering over you, Rafe pulls his t-shirt off with urgency. Your lips quirk into a smile at how impatient and hungry he is.

You find the button of his jeans, quickly pulling it through the loop. He does the rest, unzipping and throwing his pants onto the floor. He stands to find a condom in his nightstand, tossing it beside you.

You run your hands over the curve of his muscular back when he lowers to grind over you, his cock hard and twitching.

When Rafe feels your thighs squeeze around him, he tells himself to slow his breathing, almost worried he won’t last long. This doesn’t happen to him. Ever.

But then again, he’s never craved a girl this badly, for this long. Having you under him like this, bucking your hips because you want it just as bad, is unreal.

He roughly pulls the cup of your bra down, closing his wet mouth over your nipple, earning a shudder from you. As he flicks his tongue, he shifts to pull down his boxers.

You take off your panties beneath him, squirming out of them, watching him sit up and roll the condom over his length.

“You gonna show me how good you can take it?” he mumbles, leaning over you again. You meet heavy-lidded blue eyes as he holds himself up over you, biting your lip and nodding.

The world stops spinning when he pushes into you, filling you.

“Fuck,” he groans against your cheek as you squeeze him. “Even better than I thought.”

You tilt your head back and moan, taking all of him, stretching as he buries deeper and deeper, dazed at the fact that he feels so good, that he clearly fantasized about this before.

Rafe bottoms out and you dig your nails into his shoulder blades as he pulls back and thrusts into you harder, his breath hot on your skin.

You wrap your limbs around him as tight as you can as he starts to rock his hips at a faster pace. He puts his lips on yours again, your kisses wet and hungry.

The sounds of his skin slamming against yours and your disjointed, shallow breaths fill the room, making you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure.

Your moans get louder as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten. Rafe starts pounding even faster and harder when he feels you fluttering around his cock.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, shifting lower to put more of his weight on you, his fingers finding the roots of your hair. “You gonna come for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes.”

You tremble beneath him as you fall into your orgasm, holding your breath for a second before letting go. What finally sends him over the edge is when you moan his name.

Rafe comes with a low, drawn out groan, his thrusts quicker and sloppier, hips stuttering against yours. He stays inside you for a bit, his head buzzing as he comes back down from the high.

You sit up in his bed once he stands, your pulse still fast. You watch him pull his boxers back on, his skin shining with sweat.

You spot your underwear on his crumpled duvet and slide them on after fixing your bra.

You decide not to put your dress back on yet, shifting his pillow to sit back on the headboard, finding where he tossed your phone after he texted your ex for you.

You watch Rafe lean down to open the door of the mini-fridge on the floor. He pulls out a bottle and tilts his head back as he swallows down water.

The image of his tall, muscular, half-naked frame in the middle of his room, his jaw sharp as he tips his head back, his numbered jersey hanging off the back of his chair right next to him, is too nice not to capture.

You take a photo of the sight, the bottom half of your bare legs in the frame. Rafe hands you the cold bottle and as you take it in your hand, you show him your screen.

“Like it?” you say, still dazed.

He grins, dimples dipping into his cheeks, as he sinks onto the bed on his knees to sit beside you.

“You posting that?” he asks. You can tell he’s pleased by the idea, so you share it on your Snap story with the caption Post-workout.

Minutes later, the replies from your friends flood in.

IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS

omfg this is WILD

actually diabolical lmaoooo

Max’s message is the most satisfying of the bunch: Are you serious right now?? Call me back.

You shift to grab your dress off the floor. You’re never calling him. He lost his chance.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” you say, standing to pull your dress on.

“You know how distracted on the court I’ll be now?” Rafe mumbles, earning a laugh from you. “Let me get your number.”

You enter your number into his phone and smooth down your hair in his mirror.

Casual, easy pleasure. This is just what you needed and you found it in Rafe Cameron of all people. You look back at him as you put your purse over your shoulder.

“We’ll do this again,” Rafe says, drinking you in. That was mind-blowing. It can’t be the only time he does this with you.

“Bossy,” you agree with a smile. You slip out of his room, your legs weak and wobbly.

You’ll be sore tomorrow. And the cheerleaders and athletes who take the rivalry seriously might even give you shit for what you did tonight. But it was all worth it. You’d do it all over again.

(continuation blurbs)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

A Well Deserved Grudge

Summary: You still hate them after their overblot

Notes: GN Yuu. Some based off some stuff from the light novel. Yuu is pretty evil in Jamils. General edginess that comes with angst

Based on this old post abt Yuu with scars

Riddle Rosehearts

A familiar click of heels has you on edge. As they approach you turn around to face him, messing with some of the bandages around your neck from your last encounter. There stood Riddle, his confident stance dropping the second he meets your eyes. 

His usual piercing gaze filled with anxiety as the words he so wanted to say— needed to say— died on his tongue. He's such a coward without a rule book. He's even more cowardly under your scrutiny.

"What?” You deadpan at him and Riddle swallows, looking at the bandages on your neck and arms. He then looks at your face, covered in a few scratches from rose bushes.

“... I… am here to… ” His voice shook toward the end and he took a breath to steady himself. “I'm sorry Yuu. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

You merely raised a brow and fully turned to him. Riddle could see the gash along your neck that peeked through some of the bandages. A grim reminder on how his magic failed during his overblot. The expression you had on your face as the collar around your neck continued to tighten and cut into you haunts him.

“You’re apologizing?” A flicker of determination flashes in Riddle's eyes as he nods. 

“Yes. I know it's not enough but… I'm sorry.” The dullness of your eyes reminds the dormleader that this was far from enough to smooth things over.

“I do not forgive you.” He should have expected that, yet he winces still. What is he supposed to do in this scenario? What else does he say? There is no rule, no guide to what he has done. Deuce and Ace said that he needs to make things right, but how?

“... I understand. If there's anything I can do to earn your forgiveness, please–”

“I don't think there's anything you could do that makes this okay.” Your voice is dull as you pull at the bandages on your neck. “Shouldn't you be in the headmage's office fighting your expulsion?”

It was true. Crowley was to judge whether or not he was to be expelled for his actions. It scared him. “I… I am but–”

“Then go. We both know you won't be kicked out– Crowley doesn't have a backbone and your bitch of a mother will make sure you stay in. You want to ‘earn’ my forgiveness? Stay the hell away from me.” 

Riddle grits his teeth and closes his fist tighter. Emotions of all kinds surge through him. He's confused, he's guilty, he's angry, he's lost. 

Most of all, he's scared. Scared of your gaze, scared of how you hold yourself. Your eyes remind him so much of the ones above him he tries to please and they're boring into him with such disapproval.

“I don't want to see you around, get your shitty tantrums in check. Just because you lose your head doesn't mean others have to. Just go.”

By now you've turned away and started walking off. Riddle could only watch, unable to find the strength to move or say anything. It was probably for the better. He needs to go to the Headmage.

Jamil Viper

He hates this feeling. You have forgiven him, though and through, water under the bridge and he hates it. He hates how you shrug it off. He hates that you don't hate him. He hates this guilt.

He mind controlled you. You. A magicless and defenseless human who was already helping him. You who are in a position so similar to his. You who had no way to fight back. He kidnapped you, keeping you in Scarabia for days regardless of your own plans. If it weren't for your dorm ghosts feeding the fire fairies, Crowley would have cut off your food for the week.

Then he tried to kill you, and had the audacity to be angry at you for it. To add even more salt into the wound you were so kind with him afterwards. You didn’t seem to take it seriously. Take him seriously. Your attitude reminds him so much of Kalim which makes this even worse.

He hates your smile. He hates your attitude. He hates the way you have to walk because of your injuries. He hates seeing glimpses of the wounds on your abdomen from him.

Yet another reminder of his failures. How he hates someone that's not entirely to blame. How he hates someone that's overly nice. He avoids your gaze so often he doesn't notice the glints of satisfaction within it.

Vil Schoenheit

He could only stare at the prefect within the mirror. Their gaze so fixated on themselves and their new appearance they paid no mind to the hospital bed they should be laying in. He wants to lecture them to sit, lay back down and to stop sitting up, but he's sure they would break down if he did.

Blackened veins run along your body, your skin reddened and inflamed in random areas. Even with all the magical remedies the doctors have given you, the black tar like substance runs through you still. “Good going Vil. Really fucked that one up huh?” 

Vil’s eyes met yours in the mirror, he could see your face steel itself before you turned to him. Your eyes stood out against the inky scrawls of venom coursing through you. They were so cold, so angry.

“... I know this is something I may never be able to amend…” Vil starts, taking a breath. Fuck. Years of acting and hard work are lost on him. It is hard to keep strong when seeing how badly your own childishness, your own selfishness hurt someone this badly.

“I want to apologize. I know this is far from enough. I plan to not only cover any costs that may occur in your recovery, but to also offer my support in any way I can during your recovery.” 

Your gaze only hardens. "Bare minimum I guess…” You sniffle a bit as words slur. It was clear you were still inebriated. You weren't going to be the most logical right now, but that's fine. He will say this apology a million times over if it would make it right.

“... If there is anything you need..."

“Go away.” You sniffle again, wiping away tears. “Just leave.” Vil swallows and shuts his eyes for a moment. “I understand.” 

As he turns to leave the drugs in your system really start to kick in. “You… You really are a villain.” The words come out crude and harsh, no doubt you are speaking to hurt him. Yet as you turned away he could see your face in the mirror.

Scared. You were scared of him. You were scared and truly believed in what you were saying. And you weren't wrong. He is a villian.

Malleus Draconia

A mighty dragon places his glass heart in the hands of a human without their knowledge, and is enraged when the human breaks it. Except here Malleus broke it himself to protect himself from the possibility of the human hurting him first. Now he holds the shards of what's left and sees them stained not by his blood, but by yours.

A position he put onto you, his only friend. He does not even know if he has the right to call you that anymore. Not after his little stunt. Children of men do not deserve to be locked away in the dark, no matter how beautiful you were in it. They were to be free. Even if it hurt him. You and him could have been free together.

He looks at your expression. It still holds no fear, no anxiety, just as foolishly brave you were when he first met you. Instead it holds disappointment. Such a pathetic emotion that he would smite off anyone else if it wasn't you. 

“... You're really selfish, you know that?” You mutter and look away from him, as if not wanting to believe the words coming out of your own mouth. “Were we really friends or was I just some doll to you? Some obsession?”

A sniffle. “I wanted to be your friend…” Malleus hasn't the words to respond. He can only open his mouth then close it. “I know. I'm sorry. You made me so happy I wanted you all to myself. It's not an excuse, but when I thought I would be losing you, it was too much for me. I made… A very rash decision.”

There's silence. More deafening than the silence at his birthday parties growing up. “Is there any possibility you could forgive me?” It was a daring question, one he was afraid to know the answer to. 

“... I don't know, Tsuno. I think… I think I need some time to think about it.” You turn away from him and his heart sinks, the pet name does nothing to soothe his nerves.

He remembers all the times he's told you how his kind are born cruel and you would tell him that his actions have shown just how kind he could be. That him learning to be nice and overcoming his nature is more meaningful than anyone who was born that way. 

And he ruined that. He may not be able to choose his nature but he can choose his actions. He chose to hurt you.

[ellecdc]

how do you think the boys would react to reader telling them that she’s like NEEDY needy (iykyk)

would they do it, or just like get shy and walk off? or? 👀👀👀👀👀👀

mature content ahead: view discretion is advised

So, are they in a relationship yet? I'm going to go with they're in a relationship for this but if you meant they weren't you can feel free to re-ask

James:

chokes on his spit and nearly trips as he turns to look at you in shock (not unpleasant shock, mind you)

"You're what?"

He'd coo in sympathy after you had to embarrassingly repeat yourself in a whisper, rubbing your thighs together desperate for friction

"awe sweets. Okay, come on." and he's leading you by the hand - he's almost more eager than you are as he rushes down the hall

ends up on his knees with his face under your skirt in the closest bathroom - you'd be taken care of for sure 😩

Sirius:

biggest shit eating grin you've ever seen in your life and you almost regret saying anything

I think he'd tease you a little bit: "Awe, poor dolly's feeling needy, hm?" He'd coo in faux sympathy, the bastard

He'd make you tell him exactly what you're looking for. "What do you want, dolly?" 'touch me' "Like this?" and all he'd do is push your hair behind your ear

two can play at that game: 'Fine, I'll go ask someone else.'

He'd let out a horrified squawk and throw you over his shoulder. "Now now, let's not get hasty. I don't want anyone thinking I don't take care of my girl"

bent you over in the nearest broom closet and you both leave flushed and satisfied

Remus:

would smirk at you but continues reading through the first draft of his essay "really dove? now?"

he'd chuckle listening to you pout and get all breathy as you try to sit still "We've got homework, baby girl."

You'd get petulant and lean back in your seat with a huff, crossing your arms.

without even looking, he'd grab the leg of your chair and pull it over towards him - he'd keep his head low and continue making adjustments on his paper as he slips his free hand under your skirt and moves your panties aside.

"Awe, poor dovey - you really were needy weren't you" he'd lightly tease, murmuring softly so only you could hear.

your breath would hitch as he slipped inside of you, earning you a gentle shush as he threatens to stop moving his fingers.

"I'll take care of you but you have to be quiet; only I get to know how pretty you sound, yeah?"

gets you off with just his fingers in the library - makes up for it again later once he's done his essay

Regulus:

he's mean, I'm sorry

he'd make you wait all day

he'd go to class, to every meal, to quidditch practice barely sparing you a glance leaving you all the more desperate

it was painful for him too, mind you. Thinking about you being needy made him needy, and he spent all day dreaming of taking you over and over and over again

but he's a bit of a sadomasochist lol

he'd finally be all wound up after quidditch practice and would pull you roughly into his room and, like he'd been imagining all day, take you over and over and over again

to the point of over stimulation

"Come on amour, you can give me one more, yeah? Wasn't this what you wanted? Weren't you so needy?"

he got three more for his dirty talk alone

Barty:

no questions asked

'Barty?' "Yes Treasure?" 'I...I want, erm....I mean I...I feel kind of needy'

slams book shut and throws it over his shoulder where it lands in the fountain with a splash

"Where are you two going?" his friends ask bemusedly

"I'm going to treat my girl like a slut the way she deserves, Black; if you're not going to help, mind your fucking business"

you spend the rest of the day in his bed, fucking, smoking, eating, fucking, smoking, fucking, reading, fucking again

you'd hardly ever need to worry about feeling needy with him - whenever, wherever, however - consider it done.

[keerysfreckles]

coming of age — MV1

pairing: max verstappen x fem!driver!reader

summary: in which a silly bet between the two redbull drivers becomes a reality when y/n wins the first race of the 2024 season.

warnings: not proofread, sorry for spelling mistakes!!

a/n: LET ME COOK ‼️‼️

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

ever since y/n l/n joined f1 in 2019, joining her best friends, lando norris, alex albon and george russell, her life flipped upside down.

she's been in four teams since her debut. she started in mclaren with lando in 2019, then got told the news carlos sainz would be taking her seat in 2020.

she then got moved to williams, which proved she deserved to be in a better car. she excelled as best she could with what she was given, securing the 10th spot in the drivers championship. but she wanted more.

so for the next two years y/n joined ferrari, alongside one of her formula one idols, charles leclerc. both ferrari drivers proved they earned their spots every year, until y/n got into a crash during an australian free practice. to put it lightly, she was forced to use crutches for the rest of the 2022 season. therefore at the end of 2022, she was told carlos would replace her for the upcoming years.

january 2023 rolls around, and y/n still didn't have a seat. however, a certain redbull driver had his eyes on her ever since she joined, watching as she made her way up the fornula one ladder. climbing each step in order to get to the podium, but not a win. the driver believed if she worked at redbull, she'd get that long awaited win.

so max verstappen had a plan. he spent the whole week trying his best to convince christian horner to take y/n in for the 2023 season. they needed a second driver anyway, and needed to announce it as soon as possible.

after days of constantly bothering the team principal, it was finally announced to the world that y/n would be joining redbull under a multi-year contract.

to say y/n excelled in redbull the past year would be an understatement. y/n was proudly on the podium nineteen out of the twenty-three races held. so close to the win, but always settling for second and third place.

y/n was done settling. she knew 2024 was going to be her year, and the pre season training was already going more than smoothly. both her and max were the fastest on track every day, with merely seconds between them.

from her first day in the redbull car, y/n and max had a bet going on; if y/n could win whatever race they were participating in that weekend, she'd have to kiss max. it started out as a small joke, but y/n couldn't help but wonder what max's lips would feel like on hers. would it be a quick kiss? or something more? all questions that wouldn't be answered until she won, and she was trying to do that here in bahrain.

it was a redbull front row, making the start of the race easy for both drivers. both pit stops went by smoothly, and their strategies were working wonders.

with only five laps to go, her race engineer spoke into her ear pieces.

"pace is still good, max is in front with 1.3 second gap," john spoke calmly, watching through the screens from the pit wall.

y/n replies shortly, before focusing back on the task at hand. every single race she's wanted to beat max, but this time felt much more real. maybe there was more adrenaline from the crowd, or maybe the car was going faster this year. whatever it was, she wouldn't know.

"gap .9 now, drs is enabled."

y/n pressed a button in response, turning on her drs as she passed down the straight. the muffled screams from the outside world seemed to get louder and louder as she got closer to the rear of max's car.

if she blinked, she would've missed the moment she finally over took her teammate. for a second, even she was confused.

"did we just pass max?" she asked john, her voice shaking slightly.

john chuckles into the microphone, "you did my dear. only two laps to go now, keep the pace."

y/n did as instructed. the world around her went quiet again as she saw the checkered flag, only a few feet away from her.

"y/n l/n wins her very first formula one grand prix! she wins in bahrain, making it a redbull 1-2 this evening!"

y/n instantly screams into her helmet, hearing the laughs and shouts from the pit wall and redbull crew coming out of the garage.

she slowed down for a cool down lap, waving and pumping her fist as she drove by the grand stands. max drove besider her now, giving her a thumbs up. he could practically hear the girls laughter and cheers from his own car.

y/n wasn't sure when the tears started to flow, but she kept wiping her face after taking her helmet off. as soon as she weighed in, she was running to the redbull crew waiting for her behind the barricades.

she yelled before being lifted into the air by the sea of navy blue. y/n was on cloud nine as she was being set back down onto the ground.

christian was waiting just outside the barricade, with his arms wide open.

"you stinker! i knew this day would come," he congratulates the girl, enveloping her in a warm hug.

the smile never leaves her face as the drivers come to congratulate her. max gives her a hug first, and y/n can't tell if he kissed her temple, or if she was just imagining it with all the adrenaline coursing through her.

lando was next, considering he got third, he was already waiting for her once he parked his car. he spun her off the ground, when the other 2019 rookies came running up to the pair.

a cameraman patted lando on the shoulder, gesturing for them to lift y/n up. he complied, as the three boys somehow lifted y/n onto their shoulders, posing as the shutters of the camera went off.

carlos and charles congratulated her next, both telling her how proud they were of her.

finally being able to sit in the middle seat in the cool down room felt unreal for y/n. putting on the winner's hat was more than enough, but sitting in between lando and max sealed the deal.

lando got to the podium first, with the mclaren crew cheering him on from the ground.

max was next, still with a big smile on his face, despite not winning the race.

finally y/n emerged from around the corner. y/n's heart swelled as the crowd below her cheered louder than anyone has ever heard it before. lando and max both held out their hands for high fives as she stood on the top of the podium.

she couldn't control the smile on her face as she recieved your first medal, and first formula one trophy. as anyone else wouldve done, she held the trophy low to the ground as the crowd below started to roar. once she lifted it above her head the crowd went wild once again.

she watched proudly as max and lando were handed their trophies, lifting them above their heads as well.

y/n basked in the bahrain sunset as the national anthem of her country played through the speakers. shortly after the austrian anthem played, while both her and max looked down to their team in awe. neither of them would be where they are today without them.

not even a second passes after the austrian anthem is over, and max and lando are ambusing y/n with their champagne. she laughs and screams as the cold alcohol sprays down her racing suit. she tries her best to spray max and lando, but can't help but continue wiping her eyes as a mix of tears and champagne fall down her cheeks.

as y/n's still wiping her eyes and the champagne in the bottles is almost empty, max takes her chin softly in his hand. she looks up at him, her heart starting to race again once she realized what her win means in terms of the silly bet the two drivers have.

y/n would've gladly payed a thousand dollars to see the look on everyone's face when max pulled her lips to his. still with her champagne bottle in one hand, she grabs onto max's bicep. making her realize he's really here and kissing her, and to keep her on her feet.

lando was the most caught off gaurd. he turned just in time after leaning down to grab his trophy. his eyes went wide as he watched the two redbu drivers.

the redbull crew all cheered, all silently hoping this moment would happen. they all knew about the longing glances between drivers, and how they got along so quickly when y/n first joined the team.

"finally a race winner," max mumbles against the top of y/n's head, kissing her hair. he wraps his arm around her as the two begin to walk out of the champagne covered platform. she waits for lando, pausing her and max's movements. once lando's by her side, she walks with both of them. her smile still never leaves.

after getting a group picture and video with the redbull crew, and probably taking a million pictures to post on the teams social media platforms, y/n and max go to their drivers rooms.

y/n facetimes her parents quickly, knowing how early in the morning it is for them.

finally changing into dry and much more comfortable clothes, a knock interrupts her thoughts.

"race winner looks good on you," max smiles after closing the door behind him.

y/n can't help but laugh, her smile growing once again.

"i can't believe it finally happened," she shakes her head. max sits on her sofa, watching as she packs her backpack.

"we all knew it would happen, it was just a matter of when," max states, causing a small blush to adorn y/n's cheeks.

"i hope you know i'm more than proud of you," max admits, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

y/n zips her bag, not looking at the dutchman next to her, "yeah, the whole team seemed so." she laughs again at the thought of how happy the redbull garage was for the girl.

max chuckles, "no y/n, i'm saying i'm more than proud of you." he looks up at her now, meeting her eyes.

"thank you max," she smiles again.

before he can contemplate his own thoughts any further, he stands to walk out of the room. he rubs his hand on y/n's shoulder before exiting, "i'll be right out, so we can walk out together, yeah?"

y/n's lucky to catch max's attention just as his hand grabs the door handle.

"i'm surprised you stayed with your word, and kissed me today," y/n turns to face max.

he turns as well, still leaving a fair amount of space between the two of them.

he shrugs and y/n doesn't miss the slight blush on his cheeks, "well yeah, a bet's a bet. no one can back out of one."

y/n takes a few steps forward. the confidence could've been from the dying adrenaline, but whatever it was from, she was going to use it.

"so if it weren't for the bet, you wouldn't have kissed me?"

max chuckles, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. a stutter becoming more prominent between every word, "no, no i mean if it were a right time i would've kissed you. i just wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, yeah?"

he continues stumbling over his words, causing the girl in front of him to giggle. his heart bursts at the sound.

"are you just going to stand there while i make a fool out of myself?" he asks, out of breath from rambling. his hands fall to his sides.

"i could," y/n states, watching max's smile falter slightly. "or i could just kiss you."

before max could get a proper response out, y/n leans up to press her lips against his for the second time that night. his hands instantly find their way to her waist, as hers hold both sides of his face.

"so if i won a race earlier, would i still have gotten a kiss?" y/n asks, just centimeters away from max's lips.

"screw just a kiss, we would've been a couple a whole lot sooner."

max cuts off y/n's giggle with another kiss.

the second kiss of many between the drivers.

[thebibliosphere]

I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?

I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.

I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.

We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.

If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.

Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.

They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.

And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.

The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.

So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.

That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.

Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.

They're not.

If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.

Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?

[lyrefromthesea]

i imagine Giyuu to be extremely touch-starved. now imagine him suddenly gaining interest in another person.

it's not his fault, really, he just didn't have the time to form proper bonds with other people. he couldn't live with normal people, they wouldn't understand. he couldn't talk with the other hashira, he wasn't worthy and yet he still had to stand next to them.

then he met you, perhaps he had seen you on a former mission, but decided to ignore you. you weren't like the other hashira, you didn't think you deserved their rank.

"i wouldn't have survived without the other demon slayers. they had my back", he heard you say to Mitsuri once. you were modest and didn't boast. over time he found his gaze lingering on you whenever a meeting took place. perhaps he had imagined it, but when he found you sitting next to him, he could only think of the first meeting you attended. you had been on the other side of the room far away from him, now you were close.

when did you start greeting him? he couldn't remember, but he started answering. he found himself appreciating your small conversations with him. suddenly it felt normal to sit next to you during your meetings.

and even today he would silently sit next to you, glancing at you ever so often. however, when the meeting ended, something unusual happened. your fingers brushed against his and his eyes widened just a bit. he looked at you, his eyes meeting yours.

"apologies, Tomioka. i should really watch what i'm doing." you chuckled, soon leaving the meeting like everyone else. he watched you go, his hand still tingling from your soft touch. your voice was still ringing in his ears.

he found himself back in his estate, clenching his fingers. his hands were rough from years of fighting. yours were softer, there was a clear difference. his body had felt hotter since you've touched him accidentally.

he imagined your hand in his, would you enjoy it as much as him? he hoped so, the urge to touch your skin had suddenly grown so strong.

no, that wasn't it, it was something else. and when he imagined your delicate hands trailing down his uniform, he knew why his body suddenly felt so hot.

the once quiet room now was filled with quiet pants and shaky breaths. his uniform was thrown on the other side of his bed, completely forgotten. he couldn't think of such unimportant things, not when he was focused on squeezing his cock just right.

he sat on the edge of the bed, slowly stroking up and down, occasionally rubbing his hand over the tip and letting out a grunt. he had tried keeping his thoughts together, he really did, but they would always come back to you.

he didn't want it to turn out this lewd, but it somehow made him feel better when he thought of you being here with him. would you stroke him slowly, trying to coax sweet moans out of him? would you be rough, giggling at his sudden groans? the thought made his head spin, his hand squeezing his cock a bit tighter.

he could never tell you, never risk ruining your current relationship, but he wanted to feel your pretty hand wrapped around his cock so bad. it wasn't hard to imagine it, not when you were so beautiful and so nice.

he could see it right in front of him, your tender hands would be wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping it up and down. your lips would be curled up in a smile, watching him fuck your fist, bucking his hips up. he would try to stay composed, but both of you knew he wanted it.

he felt himself grow closer, much earlier than he would like to admit, his strokes speeding up, getting rougher. he wondered if you would let him cum immediately or if you would tell him to wait just a bit, only to tease him. "Giyuu, i want you to cum.. can you do that for me..?" you would coo, earning an eager nod and a few gasps from him.

he grunted, his eyes snapping open when he felt his cock twitch in his hand. he felt his muscles tense, his seed shooting out in ropes. he lightly bucked into his hand - it was the one you touched earlier. he quietly grunted, getting up to clean the mess and yet the lingering thought of you remained in his mind.

he would've prefered the sight much more on your hand.

[f1fantasys]

Zandvoort Fuck

Warnings - SMUT, minors DNI, fingering, oral, both m and f receiving, blowjob, p in v sex, un protected sex.

Your head shot up when you heard the front door open, the biggest smile plastered on your face - Lando was home. As he walked through, his face mirrored yours. Joy, happiness, relief, a mixture of everything. He'd just won the Dutch Grand Prix and as soon as all his media duties were done, the first thing he did was jump on a plane home to you.

You squealed as you leapt over to him, pulling him in for the biggest hug as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

''My fucking race winner'' you excitedly squealed again, holding his head in your hands and peppering his face with kisses all over, not giving him the chance to say anything back.

Lando quickly had you up against the door, he pulled back and looked at you, eyes full of mischief.

''Think I deserve a well earned prize, no?'' he asked, a smirk playing at his lips.

You pretended to be lost in thought, thinking his words through, but deep down you both knew how the night was gonna end. When he'd won Miami, you'd both had the best sex of your lives. There was something about doing it after a win that made fucking a thousand times hotter - more arousal, more sensitivity. It was a match made in heaven.

When you didn't say anything back to him, he continued playfully-

''Oh fuck you if you think we not doing the nasty tonight'' he said, voice low.

You'd tried to keep the smile off your face, though you failed as your mind was spinning with the anticipation of what was to come.

Again, you didn't say anything. Instead you responded by pulling your hoodie off and smirking at him.

Lando's eyes darkened as he saw you weren't wearing anything underneath. He's always had a ting for your boobs and whenever you surprised him like this, he responds immediately.

He put your body weight down and cupped your face, crashing his lips into yours with such a force, you couldn't help but let out a pornographic moan through the back of your throat.

Your tongues fought for dominance for several minutes until you finally allowed him to slip his into your mouth, letting him explore it all over before he sucked and bit on your bottom lip.

Lando pulled back to look at you, lips red and swollen, the both of you breathless.

''Bedroom, yeah?'' he asked, knowing you too were as eager and impatient as he was.

''Uh huh'' you mumbled, before latching your lips to his again.

He carried you to your bedroom, roughly placing you on the bed before hovering above you, lips on your neck, sucking and biting at it, leaving a string of hickeys all the way down until he reached your boobs.

Lando wasted no time in sucking harshly on your one nipple as he rolled the other through his fingers, pulling more moans and praises from you.

''Hmm, yeah, Lando, please'' you begged as you left your core dripping wet yet clenching around nothing, begging for something.

''Relax babygirl, we've got the whole nigh to celebrate'' he said, pulling his own tshirt off.

Your hands instinctively found his torso and traced every line of his muscles, traveling south until you toyed with the strings of his joggers.

You slid you hand past them and cupped his thick girth through his boxers - an action that had him jittering with want.

''Fuck baby, need to taste you first'' he said, quickly taking your hand out and getting off the bed to sit at the edge on the floor, on his knees.

He pulled your whole body forward so you were lying at the edge as he stripped you of your leggings and spread your legs in all its glory, revealing to him that you weren't wearing any panties either, and you were already slick and sticky down there.

He gave you a look that quickly had you looking around for something to hold on to - he was going to devour you.

So you grabbed onto the sheets and shut your eyes, waiting in anticipation as Lando kissed a trail from your knees upwards, getting closer and closer to wear you needed him the most.

''Please, Lando'' you begged again, needing to relieve the ache.

Finally, he let his tongue dance at your cunt. He licked, sucked, nipped and bit at every inch of you as two of his fingers slid through you entrance with ease.

You arched your back off the bed, biting your lips as how intense the feeling was.

''Fuck, Lan''

''Hmm, taste so good baby, and still so fucking tight for me'' he whispered at the feeling of how your walls were clenching around his fingers almost painfully so.

He added a third finger and roughly bit on your clit, toppling you over the edge with no warning. Your juices coating his lips and chin as he rode you through your orgasm, not slowing his fingers one bit.

''Fuck me'' you said as you finally felt your body calming down, Lando having soothed your core with his tongue before swallowing everything you coated him in.

He pulled his fingers out and reached them to your own lips.

You quickly allowed him to slide them in then you sucked on them, eyes on his as you watched how his grew darker with each second, a groan escaping his lips at how sexy you looked with his fingers in your mouth.

Just as you were about to get on your own knees, desperate to suddenly taste him for yourself, he got up and started walking out of the room.

''Lan, wha-''

''Patience baby, I'm coming'' he said, leaving you sitting there confused as hell.

When he finally returned, he had a cup filled with ice, then it clicked in you.

He placed the cup on the side table before hovering above you again and kissing you senseless, with urgency, as his hand reached to pick up a cube of ice before pulling back and popping it into his mouth.

You watched with your mouth agape, the way he swirled his tongue around the cube, letting his spit mess his chin before he lowered his head and quickly let the ice cube sit between your boobs.

Your body reacted to the cold, jumping as it hit you, feeling your nipples stiffen straight away.

Lando held another cube in his mouth, this time letting it wander around your nipples and down your torso as your breath hitched and pulse quickened.

As that piece melted quickly die to your body heat, Lando quickly replaced it as he was now letting his dance on your cunt.

The coolness again sending a jolt of electricity through you as he found your clit.

''Fuck Lando I need you, please'' you said, so turned on by his activities but now you were getting impatient.

As the last cube melted, Lando used his fingers to stretch your entrance as much as he could before he let his tongue thrust in and out roughly, while using his strong arms to hold you down from jolting.

''Hmm, yes, fuck, just like that' you begged, already feeling your next orgasm approaching fast.

In no time you were releasing all over his face again, this time more cum escaping you as Lando made sure to lick you clean before shimmying up your body again and giving himself a look like he was so proud of himself.

You couldn't help but chuckle at him. ''Oh don't boost your ego'' you said, running a hand through his hair as he licked his lips.

''Juuust giving credit where it's due'' he said, leaning down to kiss you.

''Yeah? Let me give you some credit for winning the race today baby'' you said, pushing him off you and straddling him.

''Hahhaha, i already know it's gonna be the best head you've given. After Miami'' he said, winking at you.

''Ha-ha'' you playfully mocked him, lowering his joggers and boxers at the same time.

His dick sprang free, standing angry and tall. You took it in your hands and pumped him a few times.

He hissed at the contact as you swiped your thumb on his tip, spreading the pre-cum all over.

When you didn't immediately take him in your mouth, it was his turn to be impatient.

''Fuck, y/n please, just do it'' he begged.

Normally you would have liked to tease him a bit more but today you were so desperate for him to fuck you so you didn't waste time.

You leaned down and took his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue through his slit as Lando bucked his hips upwards when you sucked hard, before taking as much of him in as possible, feeling him hit the back of your throat.

He took a hold of your head in his hands, guding you through your movements of thrusting his dick in and out of your mouth.

''Fuck, missed this so much'' he hissed as you quickened your pace and started gagging around him, spit running down your chin making a mess of you.

Tears were stinging the corners of your eyes as your hands pumped the part of him you couldn't fit, your other hand fondling and tugging on his balls as Lando let out obscene moans and grunts, praising you for how well you were taking him.

You could feel he was starting to twitch now, movements becoming sloppy and clumsy, so you took full control again, and within minutes he was shooting his load down your throat, warm and salty cum making a further mess, dripping down your chin with your spit as you pulled back, breathless.

''Fuck, so good, come here'' he said, pulling you onto his lap.

You leaned against him, the both of you catching your breaths as he draw random shapes on your back.

He licked all that was dripping down your chin and onto your neck, having you moan at watching his taste himself.

''Hmm Lando please, fuck me'' you begged.

He smiled, ''gonna do just that baby. You ready for me, yeah?''

''Always ready for you baby'' you said as he man handled you to get on your knees, pulling your ass to stick out in the air.

You heard him chuckle to himself and couldn't help but smile.

Lando slid his thick cock through your folds a few times, gathering up your juices as your hands held onto the headboard, ready for what he was about to give you.

He pushed in hard and fast, bottoming out, while your walls clenched him painfully.

''Oh fuck Lan, feels so full'' you said as you shut your eyes and took the pain, trying to find the pleasure which came as he started moving.

''Fuck y/n, how are you this tight already? We fucked barely a week ago before I left'' you said, pulling out completely before thrusting back into you.

''Faster, please, please'' you begged, needling more.

Lando held your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he steadied your body and began his onslaught on your pussy.

He slammed in and out of you, his tip hitting just the right spots which had you seeing stars, while you felt his hot breath on your back, whispering dirty words in your ear as he leaned forward.

''So fucking tight my angel'' ''Gonna fuck a baby into you'' ''Gonna make your squirt one of these days'' ''Gonna make a mess of you'' ''Gonna have my cum dripping out of your pussy'' '''Letting me fuck you so well, so hard baby'' ''You're so fucking sexy'' ''Such a slut for me'' ''My own whore. Only mine''

Hearing him say you were his whore has your orgasm come with n o warning.

Your body was shaking under his as your walls tightened and you released your hot sticky juice, coating his dick white, unable to form any words so all you did was let out a string of pornographic moans and grunts.

''Fuck baby, that was a load full'' he said, not slowing his movements, but picking up his pace, chasing his own high.

''Come on baby, i know you've got more in you'' he said as he suddenly pulled out and flipped your body over, this time taking you missionary.

He rammed into you again, fucking into you harder than he was before, as you bit your lips and chased another high, your nails digging into his biceps.

Lando leaned down and locked hips with yours, occasionally biting and gnawing at your bottom lip until your body was shuddering again, cumming all over his dick again as you let out more groans and praises for him.

''Fuck baby'' you said through gritted teeth, getting a burst of energy and bucking your hips up to meet his half way.

''Almost there babygirl, told you I'm gonna fuck a baby into you'' he said, as you started to feel his dick twitch inside of you.

His words had you cumming again, violently so, because the thought of having his babies had you feeling some sort of way. It turned you on SO much.

When Lando felt your walls clench him again it was easy for him to finally shoot ropes of warm cum through your body, painting you white on the inside.

He groaned in your ear as he slowly slowed his pace, guiding you both through the bliss until he collapsed his body on top of yours.

You wrapped your arms around him as your bodies stuck together with a sheen of sweat covering you both.

As he was softening, still inside of you he lifted his head and looked at you sincerely.

''I wasn't joking. I want your babies y/n. I want all of you''

Your breath hitched as all you did was lean up and kiss him, pouring all your love into it.

''I want that too Lando'' you said, unable to keep the smile off your face.

''So no more pills, yeah?

''Uh huh'' you said, eagerly nodding your nod.

''But first i need to finish showing you how proud i am of you for winning today. You were incredible out there Lan. I love you so much''

''I love you too baby, thank you for always standing by me in my highs and lows. I love you so much, forever.'' he whispered, kissing you again before dragging you to the shower, to ''start practicing,'' in his own words.

[mv1simp]

High For This ♥️

Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader

you don’t know what’s in store, but you know what you’re here for (trust me girl, you’ll wanna be high for this)

You’re celebrating your P2 out at a London club, hoping the shots you’re taking drown out the annoyance at having lost to your rival, Max Verstappen, yet again. But there’s something a little extra in the tequila tonight that has you set afire for the Dutch Lion. He’s all too happy to put the pretty Ferrari princess in her place - right underneath him.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark!max, sub! Reader, aphrodisiac use, breeding kink, mention of babytrapping, dubcon, size kink, WC 3.7k

The music in the nightclub is head pounding, the loud bass sending vibrations along the dancefloor and up your petite frame. It’s hard to keep track of where your friends have gone amongst all the flashing neon lights and you have to use all your energy to focus on keeping them in sight.

You hadn’t expected to go this crazy tonight, truly. It was meant to be a relaxed night out at dinner with a few friends to celebrate your P2 today in Silverstone. An outstanding result for Ferrari’s first female driver, and anyone else would be celebrating grandly for ending up on the podium as a rookie instead of having a lowkey night! But the victory was bittersweet for you as P1 had been stolen by an….aggressive driver who’d almost slammed you into the walls when you tried to go overtake him. Max Verstappen, Redbull’s golden boy, wasn’t going to give up his status as reigning champion for anyone - even if she was the latest media sensation as the new, pretty Ferrari driver.

It was so unfair, you thought, how Max always seemed to respectfully drive wheel to wheel with your teammate, Charles. You got that they’d driven together for years but didn’t you deserve to be treated with some goddamn respect too? You’d earned your seat, after all, having leaped through endless hoops and battles to get your position and ranking consistently each race! But even though both the Ferrari drivers could make Max sweat, he only seemed to care about his childhood rival, Charles.

Meanwhile, anytime you’d try to sweetly smile at him in the post race debrief and congratulate him, he would ignore you completely at best - or look like he wanted to cut off the conversation at worst. He was probably just a sore loser who couldn’t handle feeling threatened by a girl, you thought sourly a couple races ago when he yet again ignored you, acting as if you didn’t exist but animatedly laughing with your teammate.

So you’d pushed down any feelings of awe or admiration you’d once had growing up for the Dutch Lion and traded them in to throw shady insults and catty comments in the post race interviews. They definitely didn’t go unnoticed by the media, who had a field day with the normally perfect Ferrari princess finally giving them something to gossip about - her star crossed rivalry with the reigning Redbull champion who’s started to turn his stormy gaze on you with the recent change in your attitude. If he was going to just ignore you either way, you thought smugly after your post-race interview today, you might as well have some fun with it.

Tonight you were dragged out by your friends to at least enjoy a nice dinner after P2 - even though you’d been upset about missing out on P1 again. But dinner had turned into cocktails, and then into hopping around a few bars, and finally you’d ended up in a popular booming nightclub, littered with socialites and many of the F1 paddock personalities - even your fellow Ferrari driver. Charles had come upto congratulate you when you arrived, even though you could tell from the clench of his jaw he hadn’t been happy with a rookie outperforming him today. See, you thought brattily. If even your teammate could put his ego aside why did the Redbull champion have to act so up himself?

Your friends distracted you from your tension by handing you a shot. Feeling quite sober, you’d easily slammed it back, and then were handed another. You swear you hadn’t had anymore than that, knowing you were in a very large, popular club with phones trained on you as a pretty F1 driver.

Yet you found yourself feeling heady in the lights and sweat of the neon club, head thumping to the rhythm of the bass as you twirled your body to the beat. Your friends had thought you were finally letting loose and had excitedly gone to get more drinks, and deposited you at Charles’s side while they went to the bar. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a handsome, tall figure at your teammate’s side, intently listening as his muscled forearm nursed a beer. Max.

You can’t resist the scowl on your face as you recognise him. When both drivers immediately turn to you, you realise that you’d accidentally said his name out loud. Oops. Just ignore me. Like you usually do.

Charles glances between you two, somewhat amused, as Max’s eyes narrow at the overly sweet tone that don’t blunt your bratty words. Before your teammate could intervene, his phone rings, with his girlfriend Alex’s photo popping onto the screen. Making you promise to wait here for your friends, Charles takes off into the crowd to find his girl.

You sighed deeply as you watched him go, leaning your head against your palm as you leaned against the counter. Your body felt so heavy suddenly, as if you couldn’t support it anymore. Strange, you really hadn’t thought you’d drunk that much…

Max chuckles lowly next to you. Maybe the precious Ferrari princess just can’t handle her alcohol. You did only have two drinks, after all.

You try to snap your head towards him and glare, but your movements feel sluggish. What, are stalking me now, Verstappen?

For some reason you’re feeling hotter now, almost by the second, fanning yourself despite the cute matching miniskirt and cropped long sleeve set you were wearing. The very picture of the pretty princess you’d been nicknamed, of course, your lush figure and caramel skin highlighted by the revealing and tight outfit. Max is watching you intently, tilting his head to the side. With a start you realize he’s never focused that icy blue gaze directly into your brown doe eyes before - not that you’d noticed, at least. It makes you feel even hotter, pink flush spreading across your chubby cheeks as you dazedly look up at the much taller and broader Dutchman.

Then he’s asking if you want to go somewhere quieter, cool down. You faintly remember promising Charles you’d stay at the bar for your friends but in the moment you take to hesitate, Max has taken your small hand in his and lead you through the crowd. His warm skin against yours makes you feel even hotter, a fire now spreading through your body. You’ve never felt like this before, stumbling in your strappy heels but his strong, vein arm is immediately around your waist and pulling you into him.

Max, you say breathily, letting your head fall against his broad chest as he easily guided you into a secluded hallway. His heartbeat against your ear sounds sounds so much calmer and slower than your rapidly beating one. You feel so desperate for something, but you don’t know what. You close your eyes for a second because your eyelids feel so heavy, and then you’re being lowered onto a sofa, the amazing relief of an aircon blowing across your tanned skin.

You can’t help but moan at the sensation, pretty nipples hardening in the chill and your back arching to bring yourself closer to the cool air as your head lies back. When you’re finally able to open your eyes, you see Max sitting next to you, his icy blue eyes still fixed on your cute blushing face, on your thick, glossy lips that were now parted and breathing heavily. You’re in some sort of private VIP booth, you realise slowly, the door firmly closed behind Max, with the neon red lighting and thumping bass making it clear the club was on the other side.

You feel like you’re forgetting something but it takes all your energy to focus on what it is. Oh! That’s right - I need to tell my frie-friends where I went, you say, feeling out of breath, looking down for your phone but seeing it’s nowhere in sight. Max takes a slow swig of his beer, his gaze also wandering down your body, taking in the way your generous curves were on display in the slutty outfit you’d worn instead of your race suit for once. Already told them, he says casually. They already left to the next club, said they’d meet you there once you’d…settled down a bit.

Oh. You blink, still flushed, your throat feeling parched. Can-can I have some water then, Max?

He smirks. You’re so much cuter when you’re all shy like this. Go on then, get your water.

He gestures behind him, where a pitcher of cool water sits - but with the wall on one side of you and a table directly in front, you have no choice but to go over Max who’s blocking you in. Normally, you would’ve just stood up, or even told him to fuck off and get you the water. But you feel so heavy, so clouded, that it just feels right to just crawl over Max’s legs, to reach past him and grab the jug with a hand…

You’re gulping down the refreshing water, feeling temporary relief to the dryness in your throat. When you finally put the jug down you find that you’re firmly in Max’s lap, your plush thighs straddling his hips and his large hands gripping onto your soft waist. You can’t quite remember just how you ended up like this, so you whine a little and wiggle your hips to try you slide off him. But his grip tightens, angling you forward so that you can feel something very large and hard pressed up against your skirt. He’s eyeing your tits hungrily, your nipples so painfully hard now that the edge of them are peeking out over the top of your neckline. Max licks his smirking lips. Feeling a little hot, Princess? He coos. Do your pretty little tits hurt? Want me to make them feel better?

You quickly shake your head, your pride still standing strong, not sure what he’s talking about when he says he can take away the pain -

But then he’s moving your small body easily against his hard on, his powerful hands controlling your hips. You whine then because oh, this is what he meant, it feels so good, Maxie. Your tiny palms latch onto his muscled shoulders as sparks shoot up your cunny from the delicious friction of his jeans pressing into your soaked panties. You’ve never felt this sensitive before, felt so responsive to someone’s touch…but of course Max would be able to do this. He was just so good at everything. He was the driver you’d always had a childhood crush on - that apparently hadn’t faded away as you bury your whining mouth into his thick, muscular neck, suckling and biting weakly. He chuckles, his large ands greedily roaming across your barely clothed back, sending shivers everytime his skin touched yours. It’s so hot, Maxie, I feel like I’m burning-

When he sweetly whispers that he could take your clothes off, just the outer layer of course, he’d let you keep your bra and panties on. You’re nodding obediently, even the act of moving your heavy head feels too much and grateful he’s here to help you take your miniskirt and crop top off and toss them to the side.

If you were a bit more alert you might realize that you’re now in your rival’s lap, jumping and grinding on his jeans in your cute white lace lingerie. But instead all you can focus on is how good grinding against his impressive hard on feels, mmh, oh my god, even your vibrator couldn’t make you so wet-

Max laughs in your ear. He teasingly asks if your fans know about your little toy, wasn’t that too naughty for their perfect princess to use? He didn’t believe it…unless you told him exactly what you fantasized about when using it, hmm?

The heady feeling from the drinks, from the tension, from Max’s addictive touch sending sparks all over your body as he squeezes your plump ass, has you spilling secrets you never thought you would. About how you’d always think of a certain blonde Dutchman when using your tiny bullet vibrator, biting your lip and imagining how much more exciting the post race interview would be if you two had some other physical way of proving who deserved to win….

You can barely keep track of what’s happening next because the pleasure you’re feeling is already so overwhelming. You can only think about how good you feel, of how Max is huskily whispering that he knows, Princess, what you always wanted because he’d heard you through your hotel walls moaning his name.

You’re so caught up in it all you’re not sure how you ended up panting into Max’s mouth, his tongue shoved deep past your lips as he languidly explores your mouth to his liking. And dazedly you realize your hands are gripping onto his bare shoulders as he’s shirtless now, your soft chest all flushed up against his hard pecs. At least you were wearing your underwear, so it wasn’t that bad-

You finally notice that your lacey bra is actually nowhere in sight, and your bare, juicy tits are now bouncing up against him with each grind. And at some point your cute panties have been ripped in half, hanging on by shreds as Max’s teasing fingers are now toying with your dripping slit from behind.

You squeal, completely startled at the new position, embarrassed that you’re so wet, you hadn’t even known you could do that - so Max lifts you up to throw his jeans to the side because you were making such a mess, Princess. Your mouth eagerly finds his, the deep passionate kiss providing some mind numbing relief to the burning desire you feel. Filthy sounds fill the air - from your kissing, you think dreamily. But you’re so wet you hadn’t even noticed his thick fingers slipping inside until he was buried deep, pumping them in and out of your tight cunny easily.

Within seconds he has you cumming, spraying slick everywhere and making Max smack your ass aggressively as punishment for making such a mess all over his lap. You tear up at his mocking tone, your wide doe eyes pleading for his mercy. He tells you there’s only one way you can make it upto him, a wicked smile on his face as he rubs your pouting thick lips.

That’s how you end up with his cock shoved down your throat, choking and drooling on it as he moans and praises you. Sitting on your generous ass in between his spread thighs, your tiny palms rapidly jerk off his base while you worship his cockhead. You don’t think you’ve ever enjoyed sucking a cock as much as this in your entire life, your pussy continuously gushing and leaving slick all over the dirty club floor. You blush prettily when he tangles his hands through your dark curls, thrusting his hips to fuck your eager mouth.

Things are getting hazier and hazier and your eyes can’t keep themselves open, so overwhelmed from all the sensations and dirty sounds that sounds straight of a porn video filling the air. When you blink them open them again, you’re lying on your back on the sofa, looking up at the dim red lights dazedly. And then you feel the delicious mind numbing pleasure in between your legs, and look down to see Max grunting as he thrusts something thick and veiny in between your spread thighs, sweat dripping down his abs.

It takes you a few seconds to realize that it’s his cock, all thick and angry looking, that he’s bullying into your pussy - making you take him completely raw. Somewhere in the back of your mind you feel like something’s wrong, like maybe he’s forgetting something. But it feels so good that you’re squirting again all over him, throwing your head back and squeezing your eyes shut while he praises you for being such a good, obedient little girl…why weren’t you like this all the time, hmm?

Your mixed juices have ruined the sofa beyond any hopes of repair. Max will have to leave a cheque behind for the clubowner, he thinks wickedly. But that’s for later. For now, he only cares about your twitching, sensitive body underneath him that he’s meanly abusing to pleasure his cock. Your tiny cunny is stretched impossibly wide, so much that it should hurt but instead it feels so addictive, making you pant ah, ah! even in your semi lucid state.

Max grins devilishly as his gaze shifts from your glazed eyes to watch the messy sight of himself sliding in and out of you. He looks even hotter to you in the red neon lighting, all sculpted jawline and his muscled, broad figure highlighted above your much smaller body. He’s gripping you by the hips to move you up and down his length, watching your drooling pussy cover his aching cock in your sticky sweet cum, a creamy white ring forming around his base.

It feels so fuckin’ good you whine, your head lost in cloud 9 of sinful pleasure. You’re confused because you know you’ve already cum twice, and normally would feel so overstimulated by now. But the desire and raw lust is just getting stronger and stronger. It’s all cause you’ve been ignoring how attractive you’ve always found the blonde currently having his way with you, your blissed out brain convinces. So when Max presses down, and you can feel his warm chest up against your bouncing tits, and you wrap your arms around his thick neck and desperately beg him for more.

He smirks, pleased with your obedience, and doesn’t hesitate to ask you to use your words, Princess, making you spell out how you wanted him to fuck you harder, please, you felt like you were going to die if you didn’t cum-

Max makes sure to give you exactly what you so sweetly asked, your cute face flushed and breathless as you gazed adoringly up at him with hearts in your eyes. Your throat becomes raw from how much you scream his name without any regard for who might hear as you reach your high, squirting on his cock, for the third time that night. Your fucked our body finally passes out and you’re sinking into a blissful sleep, finally satisfied. But you don’t know that you’re still split open with him deep inside you as he selfishly chases his own high. His large palms greedily roam all over your pliable body on display under him, biting your soft skin to mark his territory.

The next time you open your brown doe eyes, you’re in an unfamiliar dark room, sprawled across a comfortable white bed. An alarm clock tells you it’s well into the next morning, and you’re sure your manager is furious with the morning debrief you missed hours ago. You’re confused again, not sure how you ended up here, and then your mind catches up to feel a warm and large body pressed into you from behind. Their strong arms are caged around you, so strong that you can’t move, their toned chest rising with every breath they take in deep sleep.

You let out a panicked gasp, the earlier desperation between your thighs now gone intense and replaced with fear at the unknown location, at the unknown man who’s behind you-

Shhhh, prinses, a deep, familiar Dutch voice sleepily murmurs in your ear. It’s just me, hmm?

You immediately relax, a pretty blush spreading across your face as it turns out you’d gone home with the handsome Redbull champion. He hums, the low sound vibrating across your neck and making somehow making desire bloom in your gut despite how thoroughly you’d been fucked last night.

You find yourself teasingly pressing your juicy ass behind you, grinding on his impressive morning wood. He growls, still half asleep himself, but when you brattily grind harder he rewards you with his wandering large hands. You eagerly moan as he squeezes your luscious tits and rolls your pretty dusky nipples in between his fingers, letting out a squeal when he occasionally pinches them.

Soon enough the air is filled with the raunchy sounds of your cunny being used as Max’s hands slide down your hickey covered hips and he sinks a finger into your wet heat. You’re so impossibly wet, and you can’t tell what’s yours and what’s his. Did y-you cum last night Maxie? You ask breathlessly. You’re getting deja vú, as hazy memories of last night surface. You used a condom, right?

He stop your anxious questions by sliding his tongue back into your pouting mouth, darkly promising you that he’d tried to put on the condom, really, but you’d begged and begged him to cum inside, remember? You kept asking to be filled up until it dripped down your legs cause there was so much of it.

You flush furiously at his words, embarrassed of your earlier slutty actions and obediently buried your teary face into the pillow when he pressed down on your head. You let him replace his fingers with his raging erection instead, grunting with each thrust that rocks your petite form underneath him. The silk pillowcase is quickly ruined with your tears and drooling tongue as he presses a heavy palm in between your shoulder blades and practically fucks you into the mattress.

And when Max finally tenses above you, panting into your ear and gripping your ass as he presses his weight down on you from behind, your pussy twitches and spasms as he floods your walls again with his gooey, thick cum. It tastes so good so good, too you think when he sinks his fingers into your folds and makes you lick them clean.

Safe to say, the Dutch Lion had ruined the precious Ferrari Princess for good and left her craving his thick creampies. The sight of you diligently taking your pill every morning as he watched you from his bed, early Monaco sunshine filling it as your scandalous affair continued well after the season, regularly filled Max with annoyance.

But the dark look on his face always disappears by the time you’re crawling back into his strong arms and nuzzling your face into his neck.

Maybe one of these days he’d have to replace your little pills with some of his own again to keep you off the grid and in his bed…permanently. You’d look so pretty knocked up with a Verstappen brat, after all.

—————————————————————————

A/N: I can never resist an enemies with sexual tension with max he’s just so coded for that. Thank you all for the amazing requests I am buzzing with ideas, lmk what you think of this!! 🫶

[fangswbenefits]

Sharing is Caring (I)

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: A mission has both Miguel and you sharing a room… what could possibly go wrong?

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. ‘There’s only one bed’ trope. Dry humping. Fangs. Wet dreams. Love bites. Miguel in denial of his lust for the reader, but secretly touch starved.

You glanced at the watch on your wrist, suppressing a yawn.

Three in the morning had rolled around, and there were still no signs of the anomaly. Miguel O’Hara stood by the hotel window, gazing into the distance through narrowed and ever-watchful crimson eyes.

He was also not showing any signs of stopping for the night, but you were already far too sleep deprived to go on.

“Miguel…” you said miserably, sinking into the bouncy matress. “We should get some rest. We’ve been at this for hours…”

His face hardened slightly. “Get some rest, then. I’m staying up.”

Impossible man.

He was as relentless as he was stubborn. Once he had his mind set on something, there wasn’t much one could do to talk him out of it. He always had to have his way.

“We have sensors scattered all around the perimeter,” you said, feeling every last ounce of patience leave your body. “Any movement and we’ll be on it.”

This time he turned his head to you. “Sleep,” he grumbled, positioning himself closer to the windowsill, but just out of range of the raindrops that began to fall hard outside.

You exhaled in defeat. “Suit yourself.”

The bed squeaked as you moved to find a comfortable spot, eagerly flopping onto your back, facing the bland ceiling of the poorly lit room.

“The bed’s really comfy,” you said with a sigh of sheer relief, feeling the soft material dig into your sore muscles pleasingly. “You’re missing out.”

“The bed’s too small,” he said simply.

Right.

Trust Miguel O’Hara to find flaws in anything whenever it's convenient.

"Don’t be ridiculous," you scoffed, earning an intense glare from him. “We can totally fit here.”

“Uncomfortably, yes.”

You bit the inside or your cheek to keep yourself from mumbling a snarky reply, deciding not to push it and dive into a never-ending argument. You knew better than to do that with him.

Miguel suffered from chronic last word syndrome.

You exhaled noisily, as you pulled the soft sheet up to your shoulder before flipping onto your side to face the wall, ready for a much well deserved break from this boring mission.

Thankfully, the pouring rain outside presented itself perfectly, lulling you into a state of relaxation, and you felt your eyelids heavy as you drifted into sleep.

You weren't sure what time you awoke, but the room was now engulfed in darkness, with only the moonlight casting a dim light through the window.

The bed was dipped lightly behind you, and you glanced over your shoulder to find Miguel sleeping on his side. He had retracted his digital suit and you were now faced with his broad bare back.

You had never been in such close proximity with him, let alone in this state of nakedness, which had your stomach do a sudden flip. But both of you were beyond tired, so you told yourself to go back to sleep.

But then you heard it.

A soft grunt coming from him made you look over again. The muscles in his back twitched lightly with each breath. But something was off. his breathing was harsh and erratic, as if he was in a state is distress.

Another low and throaty moan was heard.

Was he having a nightmare?

He suddenly flipped onto his back and you were met with his bare chest, covered midway by the flimsy sheet you both shared. His face was twisted into a light frown, eyed firmly shut, but mouth parted, revealing his protruding fangs.

That was odd... Miguel wouldn't bare his fangs lightly unless the occasion called for it during missions.

But then your eyes traveled down his body to find a tent rising in his lower half, and your eyes nearly bulged out.

Miguel O'Hara's cock was pressing against the fabric proud and erect. The faint lighting was enough for you to make out the growing wet stain. From time to time, his hips would buck instinctively, causing a few beads of precum to seep through.

Oh.

You had nearly forgotten Miguel wore nothing under his suit.

Your mouth went suddenly very dry at the realisation that Miguel was actually having a wet dream.

Maybe you were the one dreaming, because the alternative just felt too much to be true. Witnessing the Miguel O'Hara in such a vulnerable and intimate position was not something you had on your bucket list, for sure.

Did you find him attractive? Yes. Would you gladly fuck all that grumpiness out of him if given the chance? Definitely.

So now you were torn on what to do. Should you wake him up? Should you just try to ignore the pant and grunts that kept spilling from his mouth? Should you also ignore the way your clit was now pulsing?

But the answer came with him moaning your name.

Your eyes widened and you gasped, immediately flinching away from him, turning to face the wall, heart drumming fast and in unison with your clit.

Before you could fully process the initial shock, a second one quickly followed as you felt him shift next to you to swing a strong arm over your waist. The top half of your suit had ridden upwards from all the commotion, and goosebumps immediately spread across the point of contact between him and you.

"Miguel..." you whispered, too afraid to make a sudden move.

He hummed softly, his large hand pressed flat against your tummy, as he pulled you closer into him, his breath hitting a sensitive spot just below your ear. But what truly made you jolt against him was when his cock came into contact with your ass.

At this point, you knew you had to brace yourself somehow, because you were too far gone to fight the overwhelming wave of pleasure that washed over you. It hit you slowly at first, and then all at once, as he slowly jerked his hips into you.

You were essentially trapped between his large body and the wall, leaving you with no choice but to press your hand against the latter, trying to steady yourself as he picked up the pace.

He mumbled your name under his laboured breath once again, rubbing his cock harder against you, the unmistakable spill of precum now coating your skin.

Your eyes were fixed on your fingers that soon curled into a fist against the wall from the jaw-dropping sensation, and you couldn't stop yourself from undulating your body to match his.

"Miguel..." you groaned in a miserable attempt at waking him up.

His hand slid up and below your covered breasts, his thumb dipping inside the tight fabric of your suit.

You immediately clenched around nothing, and felt your own wetness drip into your underwear.

There was only so much one could take. The voice of reason inside you was telling you to put an end to this right away, but you were not one to listen to reason, especially when you had Miguel O'hara humping you desperately.

His hand slid down to the hem of the bottom half of your suit and began to tug at it.

That was enough to snap you from the haze of lust. "Miguel!"

The reaction was immediate and you found yourself quickly being flipped onto your back and pressed firmly into the mattress, arms pinned above your head, as a breathless Miguel positioned himself on top of you, baring his fangs.

"Miguel... it's me," you said, eyed meeting his crimson ones. "You were..." your voice immediately died down as you felt the weight of the underside of his cock pressed firmly against your covered clit.

The grip on your wrists loosened and his eyes narrowed as confusion settled on his face. "What..."

You were trying your best to ignore his heavy cock, but failed miserably with a whimper, eyes snapping shut and your back arching reflexively.

Miguel grunted from the friction, and you felt him press further into you. "What are you doing?"

With a roll of your hips, you moaned. "Me? You were having a wet dream about me and dry humping me..."

His face drew near yours. "Nonsense."

"It's true..." you whispered shakily, yearning for more.

He moaned again, his balance faltering momentarily, head dropping next to your face. "I would never think of you that way."

You weren't entirely sure why he was now saying this, while still firmly pressed against you.

"Why not?"

He grazed his fangs along your neck. "You're too annoying."

"Then how do you explain that hard cock?"

"Biology," he groaned, hips jerking slowly.

Somehow, his refusal to accept his lust for you only served to fuel yours for him. His subconscious had dragged him earlier into a wet dream about you, and he wouldn't never be able to square this circle.

"So we should stop," you teased, dragging your soaked suit along his cock.

He stilled you with one hand, teasing your skin with his fangs once more. "Yes."

"Then stop."

"Hmm."

His lips latched on to your pulse point, sucking lightly, as one hand beside your head held his weight above you, and the other snaking in between your bodies.

"Let me just feel it... with nothing in the way," he grumbled after tearing away from your skin, and probably marking you with a hickey.

"Why?" you moaned, feeling your clit throbbing uncontrollably. "I'm too annoying."

He pulled the fabric down at once, visibly impatient. "Too annoying."

And when you felt his cock settle between your soaked folds, you jerked with a gasp. Miguel shuddered and glanced down along the length of your body. You followed his motion and were presented with the most alluring sight ever.

His cock lay neatly settled against your, strings of precum drooling from the tip and onto your skin, letting you know his body craved more.

"We should stop now," he said with a feral grunt rumbling from his throat.

You began to roll your hips to have your clit slide effortlessly along his cock, wet sounds filling the room. "You don't want to."

The way he snapped into you next almost had the tip at your entrance, earning a gasp from you.

"I do."

"Then why don't you?" you pouted, caressing his face and having him lean into your touch.

"Biology."

And as he closed the remaining distance with a searing kiss, his tip slipped past without much obstacle as your wetness mixed with his made it way easier. You felt the air in your lungs being crushed by the sudden stretch and you immediately parted your lips from his to let out a strained groan.

He was too thick.

"Just the tip, then," you panted against his lips.

He remained still inside you. "You can take more than that."

Probably, but all the teasing and unintentional foreplay had dragged you so close to the edge you feared you might combust before he buried himself balls deep.

Miguel proceeded to plant persuasive pecks along your jawline and down to your neck. "You can bite down on my shoulder, if it helps."

Your eyes widened at the proposal, and you nearly jerked into him, the promise of struggling to take all of him being way too alluring.

"Okay... but I'm too close..."

"I know."

He positioned himself and your lips brushed against his shoulder, before sinking your teeth into the flesh, and that was enough to signal him to slide in deeper.

You tried to easy the pressure on his skin, but the stretch was too overwhelming and he next thing you knew, your fingers were clawing at his back.

"Stop clenching...." he moaned and you detected despair in his voice.

You would if you could, but the friction was too good to turn down.

He growled in your ear, one hand gripping your knee to further spread you open for him. “Almost there, cariño..."

And just as you were finally beginning to easy your grip around him to fully accommodate him, the obnoxious sound of an alarm flared across the room, lighting up your travel watches.

Fuck...

The fucking anomaly...

Part 2

Masterlist

[pucksandpower]

Hey Natalia, hope you’re doing good ❤️ Please could I request enemies to lovers with Max. You’re constantly at each other’s throats in front of everyone and Christian has had enough of your shit and demands to see you in the office. But when you continue to fight, he’s like nah I don’t wanna be involved, sort your shit out together and leaves. And you end up fucking on his desk and after you’re suddenly super friendly around eachother. Thank you lovely! xxx

Whiplash

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: You and Max discover that there is a thin line between lust and hate

Warnings: 18+ content

You storm into Christian’s office, scowling as Max follows right behind you. He slams the door shut and you both take a seat across from Christian, refusing to even look at each other.

“I’m sure you both know why I called you in here,” Christian says sternly. “The tension between you two has gone too far. It’s affecting the team and we can’t have that.”

You scoff and cross your arms. “Why don’t you talk to him about it then? I’m not the problem here.”

Max scowls. “Oh please, don’t pretend like you’re so innocent. You’ve been nothing but hostile towards me since the start of the season.”

“Only because you did the same!” You retort. “I was nothing but nice when I first joined the team. You’re the one with the attitude problem.”

“Enough!” Christian shouts, silencing you both. “I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it. We’re in the middle of a championship fight and I need my drivers to work together, not against each other.”

You sink lower in your chair, still refusing to look at Max. The animosity radiates off of him in waves.

“Now you’re going to stay in here until you work this out,” Christian says firmly. “I don’t care if it takes all night. Fix this mess or both of your seats are on the line.”

He heads for the door and you spring up from your chair. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly,” Christian replies before shutting the door. You hear the lock click into place from the outside.

You jiggle the handle and pound on the door. “Let us out!”

No response.

He’s really done it, that bastard. Locked you in a room alone with your most hated rival.

You take a deep breath before turning around. Max sits there glaring at you, jaw clenched. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“For once we agree on something,” you snap.

His glare hardens. “Don’t pretend you’re blameless. You’ve been nasty since you got here.”

You storm over to him. “Because you decided to hate me from day one! I tried to be nice but you were so damn hostile. What’s your problem with me anyway?”

Max stands up abruptly, getting in your face. “My problem is you waltzing in here like you own the place when I’m the number one driver.”

You shove him in the chest. “Get over yourself! I earned my spot here.”

He shoves you back. “You don’t deserve to be here.”

Your blood boils as you stare him down. God he’s infuriating. And stubborn as hell. You doubt you’ll ever get him to admit any fault in this situation.

“Well I’m not going anywhere so I guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” you snap.

Max steps even closer, eyes blazing. Your noses nearly touch from how close he stands. “Is that so?” His voice comes out low, almost husky.

A shiver runs down your spine but you keep glaring at him. “Yeah, that’s so.”

You expect him to shoot back some nasty retort. Instead his eyes flick down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your heated gaze again.

Suddenly the energy shifts between you. The anger and tension remains but it transforms into something more primal. More dangerous.

Your breaths come heavier as electricity crackles in the nonexistent space left between you. Max’s pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as your own.

“I ...” Your voice comes out hoarse. “We should ...”

But neither of you make any move to step away. Without thinking your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips. Max tracks the movement with his intense stare.

“Fuck it,” he growls before crashing his mouth onto yours.

You gasp into the kiss and he takes advantage, deepening it. His hands grasp your hips roughly as he walks you backwards until your back hits the wall.

You barely process what’s happening. One second you were at each other’s throats, the next his body is pressing urgently against yours.

A moan escapes you when his lips move to your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin there and you thread your fingers into his hair.

“This is insane,” you pant out even as you tug him closer.

“I know,” Max breathes against your neck. His hands skim up your sides, pushing up your shirt. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.” You crash your lips together again, tasting blood when you nip at him.

Max groans into your mouth as your tongues slide together. He hitches one of your legs around his hip, grinding against you.

You break the kiss to tip your head back, moaning at the feeling. Fuck, you despise this man, but right now you need him more than anything.

His hips keep up that delicious friction as he mouths at your collarbone. “I’m still going to beat you,” he rasps out.

You smirk, nails digging into his shoulders. “In your dreams.”

Max’s eyes darken at your taunt. Without warning, he grips your thighs and lifts you onto Christian’s desk. You gasp as he pushes between your legs, his growing arousal obvious.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before crushing his mouth to yours once more.

You moan into the frenzied kiss, tongues tangling as you tug at his hair. His hands slide up your thighs, fumbling with the button of your jeans to push them down around your ankles. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him against your heated core.

Even through the layers of clothing you can feel how hard he is. You rock your hips, desperate for more friction. Max groans and moves his lips to your neck, nipping down to your collarbone.

Your head tips back as his fingers dance up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “God, I hate you so much,” you moan.

“I know.” His voice comes out rough, filled with lust.

Impatient, you reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, tossing it aside. Your eyes rake over his muscular chest and arms. Unable to resist, you lean in and scrape your teeth over his nipple.

Max hisses in a breath, hands clenching on your hips. “Fuck ...”

You grin, laving your tongue over the sensitive nub as your fingers move to his belt buckle. With shaky hands you get it open and reach into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his thick length.

He shudders against you. “Shit, Y/N ...”

You stroke him firmly, reveling in the moans and curses falling from his lips. His own hands move under your shirt, palming your breasts through your bra.

It’s not enough. You strip off your shirt and reach back to unclasp your bra. Max wastes no time dipping his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips.

“Oh god ...” you gasp, back arching into him. His teeth and tongue work over your sensitive peaks until you’re writhing beneath him.

The sound of voices outside the door makes you both freeze. Fuck. The race weekend is still going on around you. Anyone could walk by and hear what’s happening.

You meet Max’s heated gaze. “We should stop,” you pant out half-heartedly.

His eyes blaze with defiance and lust. “No fucking way.”

Before you can react he drops to his knees, grasping your hips to pull you towards the edge of the desk.

Max tugs strongly on your lacy underwear until it gives way at the seams, baring you to him. He pauses to appreciate the view, eyes roaming hungrily over your glistening folds.

“I’m still going to beat you tomorrow,” he rasps.

You tug on his hair impatiently. “Just get on with it before we get caught.”

With a wicked grin he dives in, mouth latching onto your throbbing clit. You cry out, quickly slapping a hand over your own mouth.

You fumble with his belt, desperate to feel him. Max groans as you wrap your hand around his length.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groans against your skin, increasing the rhythm of his tongue in response. The desk rocks dangerously beneath you but neither of you slow your ministrations.

You whimper his name, pleasure building steadily under his expert touch. The fingers of one hand twist in his hair while you keep your other hand moving up and down in measured strokes as you near the edge.

“Look at me,” Max commands raggedly. You open your eyes to meet his wild gaze. The connection between you crackles.

“Max ...” you gasp as your climax crashes over you. You slap a hand over your lips, muffling your cries.

As you float back down, Max withdraws his mouth. You keen at the loss but then he’s lining himself up at your entrance. Gripping your hip tightly, he pushes inside in one smooth motion.

You cling to his shoulders, nails digging in as you adjust around him. Max trembles with restraint, giving you a moment before he starts to move.

Then he sets a relentless pace, the desk slamming against the wall with each powerful snap of his hips. You wrap your legs around him, spurring him even deeper.

Max pounds into you relentlessly, wrenching desperate moans from your lips. You’re vaguely aware of picture frames and papers tumbling to the floor around you but the chaos only adds to the thrill.

You’re close, the pressure building deep inside. With a few more well-angled thrusts you topple over the edge, coming hard around him. Your breasts bounce as your back arches sharply off the desk.

“There you go, princess,” Max rasps. He continues driving into your spasming center until his rhythm turns choppy and erratic.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Max grits out. You clench around him, greedy for his release. His hips stutter and then he spills inside you with a guttural groan. The sensation pushes you over the edge again, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Breathing raggedly, Max collapses on top of you, pinning you to the desk. You’re both slick with sweat and utterly spent, your heart rates slowly returning to normal. You run your fingers through his damp waves soothingly.

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing. As the haze of lust clears, the ramifications of what just happened settle over you.

You just slept with your sworn rival on your team principal’s desk.

After a long moment Max pulls out of you and steps back, tucking himself away. On shaky legs you slide off the desk, stumbling slightly as you find your feet, and rush to put on your clothes.

Max grabs his shirt off the floor and shrugs back into it. His hair is mussed wildly and his lips are kiss-swollen. You’re sure you look much the same.

You and Max spring apart at the sound of the lock clicking open. Christian strides back into his office, oblivious to the disheveled state that both of his drivers are in.

“Well, have you two worked out your differences?” He looks between you expectantly.

You smooth down your rumpled shirt and attempt to tuck your wild hair back into place. Your cheeks flame as you meet Christian’s gaze.

“I think we’ve come to an ... understanding,” Max says evenly, though you notice a hint of color in his cheeks as well.

Christian surveys his office, taking in the askew trophies and books scattered across the floor. You hold your breath, certain he’s going to put two and two together.

“It seems you had a disagreement about reorganizing my office during your chat,” Christian says wryly.

You nearly choke in surprise. Does he really not realize what just transpired on his desk? You chance a glance at Max and have to suppress a hysterical giggle at the disbelief on his face.

“I apologize for the mess, we got a bit ... heated,” you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the double meaning.

“Yes, clearly things escalated between you two.” Christian frowns at a photo of him and Dietrich Mateschitz now lying cracked on the floor. You resist the urge to shrink under his disappointed dad stare.

“However, the important thing is you’ve worked through this animosity once and for all, correct?” He looks between you expectantly.

You and Max nod in unison. “Water under the bridge,” Max assures him. You’re impressed by how steady he manages to keep his voice even as you can see the barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Excellent. I’ll inform the team that tensions are resolved and they can stop walking on eggshells around the both of you.” Christian claps his hands together, apparently satisfied. “Now get out of here and get ready for free practice.”

You and Max don’t need telling twice. As soon as the door shuts behind you, the laughter you’ve been holding in bubbles out.

“I can’t believe he actually bought that,” Max says between chuckles.

“We literally destroyed his office and he thinks we just had a minor spat,” you giggle, shaking your head incredulously.

Your laughter trails off as the reality of what happened sinks in. You just had crazy hot sex with Max Verstappen. Where do you go from here?

Before you can overthink it, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Meet me at the hotel tonight? We should continue this conversation somewhere more private,” he murmurs suggestively.

You bite your lip but find yourself nodding. As complicated and ill-advised as this may be, you can’t find it in yourself to deny your attraction to Max now that you’ve given in to it.

“It’s a date,” you whisper back.

Max grins and steals another quick kiss before you part ways to get changed.

[froggiewrites]

Follow Through

Pairing: Ace x Reader

NSFW

Summary: Portgas D. Ace may be a flirt, but he doesn't think he deserves more than that. You try to prove him wrong. Warnings: Smut, Self Loathing, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort Word Count: 5.8k Crossposted from Ao3

His hands are warm.

That was your first thought when you met Fire Fist Ace. You quickly learned that the rest of him was warm, too, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, from his beautiful smile to the depths of his heart. But the hands were first, calloused yet gentle, holding yours for a handshake and welcoming you aboard. You were reluctant to let go of them, barely able to muster enough willpower to pry yourself away. They were comforting, but enough to engulf your own but barely gripping, ensuring he didn’t cause you any discomfort.

The second thing you noticed was his smile, boyish and bright, and the way it made your heart flutter. There was something terribly honest about it, in a way that not many men let themselves be. He never held himself back in his joy, always busting into a wide smile and a laugh that made his whole body shake. You can’t even remember the joke you made to make him react in such a way, but you do remember your own smile falling as you just stared in awe at him. He was beautiful in a way that felt so very alive.

You couldn’t hide your feelings for him then, and you certainly can’t do it now. You’ve been with the Whitebeard Pirates for nearly six months, long enough to truly embrace your new family and friends. And they’ve wholly embraced you too, giving your life a meaning you had never had before. It felt so right to finally have a place in life, and people who accept you for who you really are. But with acceptance comes familiarity, with familiarity comes comfort, and with comfort comes the constant needling teasing that only comes from someone who truly loves you.

“Staring again? It’s getting a little sad at this point, honestly.” Thatch’s words may have a little edge to them, but his tone is light and teasing, without a hint of malice. He’s been kind to you, as he is to everyone, so you don’t take it too personally.

“Yeah, so I keep hearing.” Your eyes are still on Ace, laughing with his head thrown back without a care in the world. He’s so handsome like this, shining in the sun and absolutely bursting with joy. He’s always like this at banquets, stuffing himself full and laughing like he’s never known sorrow. He always draws your eye, but especially in moments like this. He’s surrounded by people all smiling just as widely as he is; he tends to have that effect on people.

Thatch laughs a little. “And you don’t plan on doing anything about that?”

“Not really.” The idea of it makes your chest seize. It’s terrifying, to imagine change, and even worse to imagine how it all could go wrong. As much as you’d like to, you can’t imagine any response to your confession but rejection. Some kind, some less so, but you never imagine a yes. How could you? How could such a man want you? Want anything less than the perfection he deserves?

Thatch sighs. “You both are a nightmare to deal with, do you know that?”

You finally let your eyes leave Ace to look at Thatch with confusion. “What do you mean?”

He sighs again, significantly more dramatically than the first time. “Nothing. Just…I think you should tell him, ‘s all. Nothing will change if you don’t.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“To never know if your feelings are reciprocated? Yeah, sounds pretty bad.”

“No, but–You don’t get it. Yeah, I won’t know. But I’ll get to stay by his side. I’ll get to stay his friend, his confidant. Can’t that be enough?” You don’t want to get greedy. You don’t want to demand more than you’ve earned.

“Maybe it could, I guess. But why should you settle for ‘enough’ instead of reaching for happiness?” You hate it when he makes a good point.

“Enough doesn’t hurt.”

“Neither does more than enough.” He pats your shoulder soothingly. “And a little hurt is worth it in the end. You’re stuck in limbo, right now. But if you say something? Well, who knows where that might lead.”

You had resigned yourself to limbo, back when you first saw his beautiful smile and known you were smitten. You weren’t used to getting what you wanted. But oh, to imagine a life where you did. To imagine a world where he knew your feelings and you knew he felt the same. Where you were able to see that beautiful face first thing every morning, and last thing every night. What a life that would be. You would never want for anything again. “...Maybe I could say something. Someday.”

“Maybe someday soon.” He pats your shoulder again before walking away, probably back to the kitchen to make up for the dent Ace made in the food for the feast.

Someday soon, huh? You try to imagine it. A day where you look him in the eye and tell him how deeply you care about it. You couldn’t open with telling him you love him, of course. Didn’t want to scare him away. And you couldn’t say you liked him like some teenage girl with a crush. You wanted him to know it was deeper than that, a feeling that ran to your bones, to your soul. How could you say it?

Your eyes flicked back to him, and they met his. He was grinning at you, toothy and wide, like he always did. And you returned it, like you always did. A moment you had lived a thousand times, and hoped to live a thousand more. It always made you feel so warm and fuzzy, soft at the edges. You could just melt, looking at him like this. You could fade into nothingness and not feel a moment of regret if you just got to see that smile one last time.

He waves you over, and your feet begin to move, helpless to his whims. Before you know it, you’re sitting directly next to him, his arm slung around your shoulder as he excitedly regales you with a tale of his latest adventure. Your shoulder is pressed into his chest and you try not to pay attention to how hard and strong it feels against you. His warmth radiates through your shirt, and you feel it slowly moving through your body, melting you further into him. It takes all of your concentration not to lean your head into his chest and make a home there.

“Hey, are you listening?” The arm around you jostles you a bit, bringing you back to earth. 

“Oh, I–um–”

“I know it must be distracting being so close to someone this hot, but really, you gotta keep it together.” His tone is light, and his smile full of mischief. He pulls you a little closer, and speaks quieter against your ear. “I’m trying to impress you, y’know. It doesn’t really work if you don’t listen to how cool I am.”

Your face flushes, and you scramble for a response that doesn’t show how flustered you are. “Oh, is that what you think you are? Cool?”

You can feel him smirk against your ear. “Well I guess it’d be better to call myself hot.” He blows on your ear and you shoot up, hand pressing against the side of your face as you desperately try to cover the red seeking its way up your neck. He laughs good naturedly, and puts his hands up in some form of surrender.

You skitter off, throwing yourself into the throng of people, trying to catch your breath. He teases you often, hands reaching just a little closer than appropriate to certain places where his eyes like to linger, words just a touch beyond friendly. But it doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself.

But could it?

Maybe someday soon echoes in your head.

Maybe someday could be today. Maybe you could say something. You could be brave. His bravery is one of the things you admire most about him. You could try to imitate that, in some small way. After calming down, you seek him out, like a moth to a flame, and pull him aside. “Can I talk to you later? Once everything calms down a bit?”

He regards you with a good natured concern. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I just need to talk to you. Nothing’s wrong or anything.”

He smiles at you fondly, though you could swear you see something in it—some sort of nervousness, unsteadiness you aren’t used to seeing in Ace. “Well, good. Yeah, we can talk later. Party’s winding down now, so we can probably sneak off soon.”

“Good. See you soon, then.” You skitter off before you lose your nerve, not seeing the way his eyes follow you across the room.

Soon turns out to be over an hour later, once half the crew has passed out drunk and the other half has dragged the first half back to their beds. You meet Ace on the deck, in the cool ocean air, and admire the way he seems to shine in what little light there is. He smiles at you, and the moon seems dim in comparison.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet and deep, and it plunges right through you.

“Hey.” You twitch nervously, hands fidgeting and eyes focused anywhere but him. “I…Sorry, I’ve been rehearsing this in my head over and over and I forgot everything I was going to say the moment I saw your face.”

You expect a reassuring smile, one that he usually gives freely when you’re nervous, but his mouth remains flat. “It’s alright, take your time.” The words are right, but the tone is wrong.

You persevere. “You’re…really special. To me.”

“Is that so?” He leans against the railing of the ship, hair blowing in the breeze, moonlight dancing in the dark strands. His energy has gone strange, unfamiliar in a way you have never known him to be.

“I really care about you, Ace.”

He isn’t looking at you. His eyes are to the sea, staring into the horizon, a million miles away. They’re devoid of their usual warmth, you realize. There is no mischievous twinkle, no crinkle at the edges indicating a smile.

“You shouldn’t.” His voice is soft, but not tender. It’s filled with resignation, with shame, with a deep seated self-loathing that startles you so badly you almost flinch.

You realize the downside of this beautiful, burning flame: he cannot see himself. He cannot see his own brilliance past the light in his eyes. He thinks himself weak and small and ugly, and you have no way to show him how wrong he is. He carries this burden silently, as he does all his burdens, because he thinks he has to. Because he thinks his only use is as a candle burning itself down to keep the rest of the world in the light.

You take his hand in yours. He jumps a little at the contact, and he looks at you with confusion, like he can’t figure out why you’re still here, why you haven’t already run from him. “But I do. And I don’t think anyone gets to decide how I should feel except for me.” You start to slowly rub your thumb over the back of his hand, and he looks at you with such a horribly lost look it makes you want to weep.

“I don’t–” Ace tries to keep his voice from cracking, choking down any sound that gives away the weakness he is so desperate to hide. “I don’t understand why you would want me.” Why anyone would want me remains unsaid, but it hangs in the air between you nonetheless. He takes in a ragged breath, still holding back tears, and the hand that isn’t holding his cautiously makes its way to his cheek, gently tracing over his freckles.

“Ace, I can say with complete and total honesty that I don’t understand how anyone wouldn’t. You’re the most wonderful, kind, and passionate man I’ve ever met, and from the first moment I saw you I knew that you were going to be important to me, even if I didn’t know how. You’re strong, brilliant, fiercely loyal, fun—You’re just…warm. Like the sun. Like surfacing out of cold water on a summer day and feeling the sunlight on your face. Like napping outside and feeling it wash over you and gently pull you back to sleep. Like seeing the first ray after a storm and knowing everything is going to be okay, even if you don’t know when.” You trail off, a bit embarrassed at going on for so long with no response, but when you see how he’s looking at you, your breath catches in your throat. He’s so vulnerable, so open, and looking at you with the sense of awe and wonder you once thought exclusive to gods and angels and Ace himself. The warmth is slowly making its way back into his eyes, softening his face and making him look younger. His mouth is slightly open, lips parted as though he was about to speak but couldn’t choose between a confession of love or a prayer.

“You–you really mean that.” His voice is little more than a whisper. It isn’t a question, just a simple statement of disbelief. “You really feel that way about me.”

“I do. And all of that still isn’t enough to really describe it. You’re…everything, Ace. Everything good and kind in this world, and then some.” He doesn’t believe you. You can see it in his face, his lack of understanding. He knows your words are sincere, that you mean everything you say, but he doesn’t understand that you���re just finally putting into words the unspoken truth of this world, the one that everyone who has ever met him understands instantly. It is one of the few things that you can rely on in this world, that you know will forever be true: the sun will rise in the morning, the world will keep spinning, and Ace will always be good.

“You’re wrong, you know. I can't–I’m not anything special. I’m not even anything decent. Every good part of me is borrowed from someone else. I’m stubborn, and angry, and–”

“So?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I never said you were perfect, Ace. I never thought you were. You’re just wonderful. That doesn’t make you flawless. It doesn’t make you inhuman. And all of the best parts of you are all you, Ace. You’re just too close to see it.” You try to let go of his hand so you can fully clasp his face, cradle him like he deserves, but he grips it tightly, pulling it to his chest. He’s frightened to let you go, like the moment your hand leaves his you’ll disappear, slipping through his fingers like so much else has.

“I don’t believe you.” His voice is soft, without much fight in it.

“I know. I wish you did, but that’s okay. I’ll tell you as many times as I have to. I will spend every day for the rest of my life telling you, if you let me.”

“That sounds like a proposal.” There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, just a small amount of his humor leaking through. There was a question in it as well, a quiet could it be? One day, when I believe you, could it be?

“Maybe it could be, someday. But I don’t want to skip any steps. I want to remember each and every little minute I have with you, every moment, no matter how small. If you let me, of course.”

You weren’t expecting him to kiss you. You weren’t expecting his lips to brush against yours so softly you almost didn’t feel them at all. You weren’t expecting the press to continue until you can feel every inch of them, chapped and cracked, against your own. The hand not holding yours rests on your cheek, pulling you closer and taking your breath away. You had imagined your first kiss with Ace many times, most of them as fiery as the man himself. But you had never pictured such tenderness, such care. He holds you like you’ll crumble beneath his fingers. The gentleness of it makes your chest ache, and you feel like maybe you really will shatter under his touch.

Even when your lips part, you stay close, breath mingling and foreheads pressed together. You open your eyes to stare directly into his, and the pure adoration in them brings tears to your eyes. The only thing you can see are his shining, beautiful eyes and the freckles dotting his cheeks, and you don’t know if you ever want to see anything else again. It’s every beautiful sight you’ve ever seen reflected back at you in a single image, in a single tight frame, and if you died right now you could rest easy knowing that you truly had seen all of the beauty and glory and grace this world had to offer.

“I would let you.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I would give you everything I had. I would let you take anything from me.”

“I’d rather share it, I think.”

He closed his eyes at that, basking in the idea, imagining a life for two. A life worth living, perhaps. “I think I’d like that.” His smile grows wider, though you cannot see it as he lifts his head and drags you forward into his chest. He presses your ear against his heart, and you can hear its beating, quick and growing quicker. He rests his chin on the top of your head, and lets out another whisper. “That’s for you. Always has been.”

You sit like that for what feels like hours, intertwined and listening to Ace’s heart. It calms to a steady beat, and soon after that he slides you down onto the deck so he can lean against the railing of the ship. You’re unsurprised when you hear snoring shortly after. His arms around you don’t loosen at all in his sleep, holding you tightly like you’ll be gone when he awakes if he even thinks about letting go. The weight should be suffocating, but instead it’s soothing, warm and heavy in the same way as a thick comforter.

When he awakens, you ask him a quiet question that has been nagging at your heart. “Ace, why did you hit on me so much? Why were you so kind to me, if you didn’t want me to care about you like this?”

When he talks you can feel it rumble through his chest. “I never said I didn’t want it. I wanted it more than anything. I couldn’t stop myself from getting closer, even when I knew I didn’t deserve it. I kept telling myself that it was fine, because you didn’t want me anyway.” He laughs a little. “Clearly I was wrong.”

You turn around in his arms to face him, your noses brushing together. “I don’t think there’s a world where I don’t fall for you, Ace. I think I’d always want you, in any way I could have you.”

“In any way?” His voice takes on a tone you’re a bit more familiar with, but even underneath the flirtatiousness there’s a vulnerability beneath it, like he’s still checking, testing if this is solid ground that won’t fall out beneath his feet.

“In any way, Ace. Any way you’d let me.” You kiss the tip of his nose, keeping it light, allowing him to make the choice here. He can pull out if he wants, pull away, and you will take whatever step he wants.

He responds by pinning you to the deck.

You let out a soft squeak, and at the sound his eyes darken a bit, though he’s still clearly holding himself back. You can see the question in his face: Is this alright? Do you want this?

You kiss him hard, and he finds his answers in your lips.

His hands are everywhere, spreading their warmth, and you feel like there’s a fire spreading in your blood. You can feel the tips of his fingers digging into you through your clothes: your hips, your breasts, your thighs. It feels like he’s everywhere, and you can barely keep up. Your own hands brush against his chest, and you cannot seem to pull them away when you hear what might be a soft whimper against your lips when your fingers make contact with his nipple.

You tweak them lightly, and he pulls back as he makes another sweet keen. “Not fair, sweetheart. You can feel so much of me, but you’re so covered up.”

“Not my fault you don’t own any shirts, Ace.” 

He laughs a little, his hands reaching for the bottom of your shirt. “May I?”

“Oh, ever the gentleman. You may.” He removes your shirt slowly, seeming to drink in every inch of skin being revealed. His fingers finally lightly brush against your bare skin, and you burn so hot you think there will be nothing left of you when this is done. When your shirt is gone, he stops all movement for a moment, just staring at you in the moonlight. His gaze bores into you, eyes filled with a mix of lust and affection that makes your stomach flutter. He adores you. He wants you. He needs you.

“God, you’re so…perfect.” His voice is thick with emotion. “You’re really here. This is really happening.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“You’re even better than I imagined, and we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” He reaches back to unhook your bra, and sucks in another breath at the sight of your bare breasts. “God, I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

Before you can respond, tell him that you feel the same desperate pull toward him, his mouth is on your chest, and you let out a moan. You can feel his teeth lightly drag across your sensitive skin before his tongue reaches your nipple, his hand reaching up to roll the other between his fingers. He rolls his hips lightly against you, and you let out an even louder cry before he lifts his mouth.

“Not too loud, sweetheart. Don’t want to risk anyone hearing.”

“It—ah!—It’s probably a bit late to start worrying about that considering where we are.”

He pauses, as though he just now realized you’re entirely out in the open on the deck. He considers for a moment, before calmly picking up your shirt and bra, stuffing them haphazardly into his pocket, and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Ah! Ace!”

“You don’t need to start crying my name quite yet,” he laughs. “I don’t want anyone else to see you. I’d like to keep this sight to myself.” His hand rubs against your thigh as he says it, but the gesture strangely feels more fond and affectionate than it does lustful. He carries you to his room quickly, stumbling over bottles or other pieces of evidence from the earlier banquet but somehow ensuring you’re never jostled. He doesn’t put you down even as he locks the door behind you, even as he kicks on his heavy boots and slips off your own shoes. Only after this does he flip you gently onto the bed, pressing you lightly against the mattress and ghosting his lips against your own. “Are you ready for the main event, sunshine?”

“I’ve been dreaming of it since the day we met.” You’re breathless at your admission, but you have to let him know.

“Oh, me too. But we’re about to blow all those dreams out of the water.” His smile now is one you’re familiar with, a cocky boyish grin that fits him perfectly. “I’ll start.”

With that, his hands slip below the waist of your pants, and they slide you out of them with ease. As soon as your thighs are exposed, he’s on them, kissing you tenderly before nipping hard enough to leave marks. You know tomorrow the evidence of this will be there, something that proves what you and Ace have here together. You can’t help but be pleased this will be more than just a memory.

He makes his way up your thighs slowly, teasingly, before you feel his breath against your panties. Even before he’s made contact he’s breathing hard, chest heaving like he’s physically holding himself back. His nose makes contact and you whine, hands fisting the sheets beneath you. He licks a strip up the fabric, and he groans at the wetness seeping through. His voice is thick with want as he quietly murmurs, “Fuck.”

His hands rip your panties down before diving in. You can feel his tongue as he savors your taste, making absolutely shameless slurping noises echoing through the room. You keen sweetly, and he moans into you, hips rutting into the mattress. His lips and tongue find your clit as one of his hands leaves your thigh and one of his fingers enters you. He works it slowly, teasingly, before adding another and curling them, finding a spot that makes you whimper.

When he hits a particular sweet spot with his fingers while his tongue circles your clit you can’t help but reach a hand down to grab his hair, which makes him groan even louder, a deep sound that rumbles through his chest. At the same time his hips slam hard into the mattress, and the hand still on your thighs grips tight enough to bruise. It instantly loosens, his fingers moving gently across the spot as if apologizing. His fingers inside you start pumping faster, his tongue maintaining a steady pace, and you can’t help but scream “Ace!” as you cum onto his face.

He works you through your orgasm, fingers and tongue still moving until your thighs stop twitching. When he pulls back, you can see his face is covered in your slick, from the bridge of his nose to his chin. He pulls his fingers slowly out of you before making eye contact with you and sticking them in his mouth, sucking on them without looking away from you. When he’s done, he pops them out of his mouth and runs his fingertips against his freckles, collecting more, only to bring his hand down to you. You open your mouth without thinking, and the pads of his fingers are pressed against your tongue as you can taste yourself.

“Best meal I’ve ever had,” he mutters with a cheeky smile, before taking his fingers back and leaning in to kiss you.

“Do I get one too?” You ask it quietly, eyeing the belt buckle hiding him away from you.

He chuckles. “As much as I’d love to indulge you, I think if I don’t fuck you right now I’m gonna go insane.”

With that, he reaches a hand to his belt, unceremoniously throwing it across the room and wincing when you both hear a loud crash. He quickly recovers, sliding off his pants and boxers and setting them gently on the floor next to the bed. “Just in case,” he mutters, and you giggle.

Your eyes take in his cock, as big and beautiful as you’d imagined it, and you can’t help but let out a quiet noise of appreciation. “Like what you see?” He asks cockily, but you can see a blush working its way over his cheeks, painting him a gorgeous shade of red.

“It’s just as beautiful as the rest of you.”

“Beautiful? Not handsome? Not hot?”

“Beautiful, handsome, hot, pretty, gorgeous, all of it. They all apply.”

“Is that so? I think some of those are better applied to you, pretty girl.” He leans down to capture your lips, one hand reaching down to align himself with your entrance. He slowly rolls his hips forward, sliding in at a torturously slow pace, as you moan into his mouth. When your hips make contact you feel so stretched you might burst. He reaches both hands up and intertwines his fingers with yours, pressing you firmly but lovingly into the sheets.

His lips leave yours. “You ready for me to move, princess?”

“God, yes, please.”

He slides back slowly, before starting a steady pace hammering into you. He stares at your face, soaking in your expressions, before starting his work marking every inch of your neck as his. You cry out whenever he finds a particularly sensitive spot, and he always notices, nipping and sucking harder.

It all feels delicious, but it just isn’t enough. You buck your hips up into him, whining, “Harder, Ace, please!” You feel him smile against your neck before he pounds into you so hard you begin to see stars. You feel a coil building in your gut, tighter and tighter as you feel every bit of Ace’s warmth seeping into you, taking you over, making you his. You squeeze your eyes shut, face twisting, as you feel the edge get closer and closer.

Ace finishes his ceaseless attack on your neck, and you can feel his breath against your lips. “Want—ah—want to see your face as you cum. Want to look in your eyes. Ah—please open your eyes, sweetheart.” How could you deny such a heartfelt request? You open your eyes to see him looking at you with pure awe, like he still can’t quite believe this is happening. He looks at you like you’re a miracle, an angel, any and everything holy in this world.

With one final roll of his hips, you’re pushed over the edge, tightening around him and crying out, and you only just barely manage to keep your eyes on his as you lose yourself in your pleasure. He finds his own end just after you, and you can feel warmth as he spills into you. His hands tighten on yours, grounding you both, and as your orgasms both come to an end his head falls into your neck.

You sit in the moment for a few minutes, catching your breath, reluctant to part. Ace moves first, slowly pulling out of you, hissing from the overstimulation. He does not, however, let go of your hands. He simply pulls out before falling back on top of you, nose pressed in the crook of your neck.

You kiss the top of his head. “Ace, I think we probably need to clean up.”

“Probably,” he mutters, just barely awake. He nuzzles deeper into you.

“Ace, once we clean up we can both go to sleep.”

He looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. “We could also go to sleep now.” The dim moonlight coming in through the window reflects on his face, making him look positively angelic.

You sigh. “We could…at least let go of my hands so I can hold you.”

He gives you a heart-stopping grin as he lets go of your hands and flips you so you’re laying on his chest. You wrap your arms around him, and he wraps his own even tighter around you. “I knew you’d see things my way.”

“I always seem to.”

He kisses the top of your head tenderly as his hands rub gentle circles onto your back. His expression is peaceful, but you can see a cloud of worry briefly pass over him. “Do you promise to still be here when I wake up?”

“I promise,” you say quietly. “You couldn’t get rid of me now even if you wanted to.”

“Good,” he mutters quietly. “I–” his words catch in his throat, but you know what he means. You can feel it in his touch, see it in his face.

“I know, Ace. I do, too.” You could say the words now, they could burst out of your chest at any moment, but you pull them back. You should say them together.

“I really care about you,” he murmurs.

“I really care about you, too.”

His snoring starts soon after, and as loud as it is you can’t help but be lulled to sleep by the sound.

[inklessletter]

Thinking about Eddie using an old trick his father taught him when he was eleven years old to sneak in any big place by just carrying a ladder and looking like a worker, to get Steve in a concert that had been sold out for weeks.

Thinking about Steve complaining all the way there, calling Eddie irresponsible, reminding him that he followed the rules, that he's a good guy, telling him that they were going to be caught, that it was stupid and wasn't going to work.

Thinking about how hard Steve rolls his eyes when it actually works and Eddie is just one breath away from his "I told you so," but it never comes.

They actually get to see for free that show of Tears for Fears and Steve expects Eddie to complain about shitty music, or how lame Steve taste was, or even Steve's lack of faith in his poor soul.

And again, it never comes.

Everything in Eddie's behavior is so nice that something must be awfully wrong, and Steve spends the whole concert trying to get a reaction out of him, spiraling, thinking that maybe he'd been ungrateful by spending all that time complaining and that he very much earned that silent treatment (not really a silent treatment, more like a not 'in your fucking face, Harrington' treatment), so immersed in his own thoughts he barely enjoys the concert.

Thinking about a comfortable silence in Eddie's end, when they're driving back to Hawkins, and Steve breaking it by finally muttering a soft "I'm sorry."

Thinking about Eddie puzzled about whre that apology came from and asking why he's sorry, and pulling over when he just glances at Steve's troubled face when he can't actually answer.

Thinking about the heaviness of Eddie's voice when he asks a second time, looking Steve in the eye, why is he apologizing, and Steve breathing that he doesn't exactly know, for whatever he did that Eddie's mad, he guesses.

Thinking about Eddie pulling every bit of knowledge about Steve Harrington together, and finally, finally realizing where Steve's coming from.

Thinking about Steve's face when Eddie tells him softly "I just wanted to do something nice for you. Just wanted to make you happy."

Thinking about the ten seconds of full silence, ten seconds both of them staring at each other, the air feeling heavy, Steve's shallow and fast breathing, and his whispered "but why?"

"Because you deserve to be happy. You really, really do, Steve."

Thinking about every fiber in Steve's body yelling "that's a lie", and Steve having no energy to actually discuss Eddie's estatement. Steve looking down, then away, then swallowing around nothing. Steve just saying "uh, okay," in a shaky, whispered voice.

Thinking of Eddie finally hitting the road again, with his eyes ahead, his heart in the passenger seat, and his head replaying the chorus of Head over heels in repeat (and he's shocked to his core that he's actually liking it.)

[inafever]

On how much Aziraphale has learned since season one:

This is about character development. Inside of a story, everything that happens, happens for a reason. It's meant to tell you something, to teach you or the character of your story, something.

So if the story continues and your character repeats the same mistakes again you know that they are bound to be doomed this time, and even worse the audience is going to certainly lose respect for them, cause they have made the same mistake twice, they haven't learned anything, they're gonna do it again another time, they don't deserve a happy ending. (yes I'm talking about good omens here) So you don't do that to a character that matters to you and you respect even the tiniest bit.

A Lot of us here are thinking that this is what has happened to Aziraphale's character at the end of season two, that he has done it again, repeated the same mistake again and has left Crowley to join heaven and it's been because of reasons like wanting to change Crowley (not true, see this post), still believing in heaven's goodness (not true at all), not being on the same page with Crowley (I'm gonna talk about this one especially in this post) and such likes. But these are the things he should've known better about after 6000 years and all the events that we've learnt about especially throughout season two. (It seems to be rather the whole point doesn't it?)

But we all seem to rather believe that he's made that mistake again nonetheless. so what we're doing here is trying to find reasons to justify the mistake and somehow make the reason behind the wrong actions something relatable to ourselves so we can forgive him when the time comes.

In fact I don't believe that he's made a mistake. for Aziraphale's character to be redeemable, what he has done, must be the only option that he's had for saving them both. I don't care what kind of situation could have resulted in him making this decision, but the only reason, the one and only reason, must be his love for Crowley. Otherwise it'll prove that he hasn't learnt his lessons or doesn't love Crowley enough to make a compromise, and in both cases, he's not worthy of love. He won't earn his happy ending by being tortured and feeling sorry and doing the apology dance for Crowley if he's hurt Crowley out of selfishness and stupidity again

But I'm sure he'll earn his happy ending and I'm sure he's learnt his lessons and it's too late for him to have unlearned them all in a matter of a few seconds. (He is an idiot but he's not stupid) and it's mostly because of this, that I believe the reason why he made that decision, must be very different from what it appears to be on the surface.

Anyway, this post is about what Aziraphale has learned and how he's changed.

I have made a post about their moments of conflict from both season one and two, it's here and you can look it up. This is where you begin to understand how Aziraphale has changed since season one because these are his dialogues after he's had a fight with Crowley in the bandstand, season one:

"even if I did know where the antichrist was I wouldn't tell you we're on opposite sides"

"friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don't even like you"

"there is no our side Crowley. Not anymore. It's over"

And then there's season two, when they disagree on what to do with Gabriel, Aziraphale is the one to point out that they both rely on the life they've built together

He's asking him to help him take care of Gabriel together and in response Crowley leaves

In the final scene he asks Crowley to come back to heaven

"work with me" "We can be together as Angels, Doing good" "I need you."

He says anything he can think of literally to convince him to stay with him and it doesn't work

We start from "we're not friends" and arrive at "work with me. we can be together"

Even if we don't know the reason why he's insisting on taking Crowley back to heaven with him, this is an Angel that has picked up the pace. That wants them to be an us. No matter what.

But these are only a few dialogues. I think there's more than that. I think the show in five and a half episodes (out of six) has tried its hardest to make the point quite clear about how Aziraphale feels about Crowley (or how strongly he feels those emotions). all through the way he looks at him and through his gestures and soft touches from time to time

I'm gonna make another post of those moments separately and I'm gonna link it to this when I do.

update: (here's the post. not just average moments of Aziraphale looking cute, it's something about the way he looks at him)

And I'd like to even compare those wishful glances to some of those from season one, but I can't, cause they are nonexistent in there.