Youngest Intern In The History Of Ppth's Oncology. Thats You.

mvm monday; bestfriend james Potter with a shyly horny-when-drunk reader!! just imagining him bluescreening n crashing when she mumbles out a gonna go touch myself now jamie, g’night

this post is 18+, minors dni.

You stand up at precisely 12:00 midnight, three hours into a party that you've drunk yourself silly at. James, who'd been sitting beside you, thigh happily pressed to your own, sends you a questioning glance, reaching out to grab the tips of your fingers as you sway slightly in place.

"Where you goin', love? Think you've had enough to drink." He looks up curiously at you, his own brain slightly fuzzy from booze.

"M'gonna go get in bed," You bend your thumb to squeeze his own fingertips, just barely not holding hands, "Gotta get up early tomorrow, 'n I wanna have enough time to masturbate."

James drops your hand. Then he goes back for it when you try to leave, lunging to catch you before you head upstairs.

"What?" He narrows his eyes, bushy brow scrunched, "What did you say, love?"

He must have misheard you, surely. After all, it's loud, the music is thrumming through his entire body, he's sure he's just mixed up your words.

"I'm horny," You whine, alcohol infecting the words that you'd never say sober, "I always get needy when I drink. So I've gotta touch m'self before I go to sleep, or I'll get all antsy."

"I- Alright..." James nods, dumbfounded. He blinks, once, twice, thrice, then lets your hand go, "Um- goodnight, love. Have a.. good time."

"I will," You giggle, leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, "Hey, Jamie? Do me a favor?"

"Uh," James flounders, not sure what he could possibly ethically offer you at a time like this, "What do you need?"

"Call me pretty," You beg, eyes wide and shiny and imploring, "I want to hear you say it so I can think about it later."

"You," James stammers, heart stuttering in his chest as his hand instinctively reaches for your cheek. He feels like he's taking advantage of you, even though you're the only one benefitting from this, and you've asked for it all.

"Uh, you're pretty. Gorgeous," He murmurs, gaze transfixed on your hazy eyes, "G'night, love."

"Night Jamie," You gush, kissing the pad of his thumb where it hovers by your mouth, and turning to head up the stairs.

Sirius rams into his back a minute later, where James is still trying to comprehend the situation. He's sure he looks possessed, standing stock still and staring at your closed door, but he doesn't care.

"Jesus, Prongs," Sirius scoffs, "Just stand in the walkway, will you?"

"She thinks about me." James informs Sirius, his voice a faraway whisper that barely hits the other man's ears, "She- she thinks about me when she..."

"When she...?" Sirius looks expectantly at James, "Plan on finishing your sentences anytime soon, big guy?"

James finally snaps back to attention, eyes almost comically wide as he looks at Sirius, "I have to go."

"Okay," Sirius chuckles, confused as James rushes for their dorms, "Hey- Hey don't run into those people!"

"What's he on about?" Remus steps up behind Sirius, and the shorter man looks back.

"Dunno," Sirius shrugs, "Mumbling something about Y/N, I think."

"So nothing new," Remus snorts, "Where is she?"

"'Think she went to bed," Sirius nods at your dorm door, still closed, "Probably passed out the second her head hit the pillow, poor thing drunk herself silly."

"James too," Remus scoffs, raising his cup to his lips, "'Guess it's nice they're equally lightweight, means they both crap out at the same time."

There's more similarities between you and James than just that, though. You're mirror images of each other in your rooms, the waistband of your pants and undergarments pressing to your thighs as your hands delve between them. You're twin sinners, each replaying the other's voice in your heads while you touch yourself, 'You're pretty. Gorgeous.' and, 'I want to hear you say it so I can think about it later'.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 (kr7) 𝐱𝐨 ୧˚

★ requested﹕yes/no — summary﹕in which you share chocolate, childhood memories and maybe a few kisses — warnings﹕another shit ton of pure fluff, crying but not necessarily angst, google translated finnish, probably not well proof read, kissing (gagg!!), childhood best friends to lovers, family friends, use of 'y/n,' tell me if there's any i missed!! — pairing﹕kimi raikkonen 7 x reader — w/c﹕ ★ start a/n﹕hihii! second fic with my fav retired driver. i srsly dont see enough fics with him, so i decided to try to write my own. im so busy with schoolwork n i should be doin it rn buuuuuuuut i couldn't get this idea out of my head 🤭🤭 ౨ৎ 𝑫𝑻 (tag list) ;; none yet but open :)

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౨ - 6 yrs old - ৎ

Little Kimi stood over you as you cried on the floor of your bedroom after you hurt your hand from drawing.

"Y/n?" Kimi crossed his arms.

You sniffle, trying to stop the tears. "..yes, Kimi?"

"Do you like Kit Kats?" You nod in answer, a little confused as to why he might be asking that.

Kimi takes out something from his pocket. "Have a Kit Kat." He takes off the wrapper, breaking the Kit Kat in half. He offers one Kit Kat piece to you. You hesitate before taking the Kit Kat, giving it a small bite.

Kimi sits in front of you in a criss-cross, placing his Kit Kat on the wrapper that layed on the floor next to him. He takes your hurt hand, giving it a little kiss. You wipe your tears with a smile.

"Better?" Kimi asks, a little softer in tone this time.

"Better." You nod, smiling widely. Kimi gives you a small smile, taking a bite of his Kit Kat.

౨ - 11 yrs old - ৎ

You watched from the sofa as Kimi walked into the pantry after a long day of karting. He came out with an unwrapped Kit Kat in his hand.

"Hi, Kimi-Kat." You say, going back to watching the TV.

Kimi tilts his head at you, visibly confused, his eyebrows furrowed. "'Kimi-Kat,' huh?" He asks curiously, in his usual monotone voice.

"Your favourite chocolate, Kit Kat + Kimi = Kimi-Kat!" You giggle from your seat.

You couldn't see it, but Kimi smiled. "Only you're allowed to call me that, then."

౨ - 22 yrs old - ৎ

Kimi throws off his racing suit as he enters your room, shutting the door behind him. You look up from your book as you sat on your bed.

"Bad race?" You ask softly, patting the seat next to you. Kimi flops down next to you.

"Yeah." He mumbled in response, looking at the ceiling as he layed on the bed.

You take something from your snack stash, taking the wrapper and cracking the chocolate in half. "Have a Kit Kat."

Kimi looks at you, then the chocolate in your hand. He gives you a small smile.

"What?" You look at him curiously, the Kit Kat pieces still held out in your hand. "I'll take both pieces if you don't want it. You always give me Kit Kats when I have a bad day. I should return the favour."

Kimi's small smile turns into a grin. He doesn't say anything, but he takes one Kit Kat piece and bites it. You smile at him, placing a bookmark in your book and putting it on your bedside table.

"Better?" You ask softly.

"Mm." He responds, finishing his Kit Kat.

You raise your eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean, Kimi-Kat?"

"I'm better. Ish." He shrugs.

"Kimiiii, what can I do to make it better?" You furrow your eyebrows, pushing some of his hair so you can see his face.

"A kiss."

A kiss?

You can't help but blush.

"Does the look on your face mean I can't get a kiss and my day can't get better?" Kimi smirks at you.

"Asshole. C'mere, Kimi-Kat." You wrap your arms around his neck, your lips meeting in a gentle manner.

Kimi grins against your lips, placing his arms around your waist as he let's you tackle him.

His tongue slides in, both of you tasting the sweet chocolate on eachothers lips.

A few moments later, you pull apart, looking into eachothers eyes. "I love you as much as I love Kit Kats." You giggle.

"I love you as much as anything." Kimi responds with a happy sigh.

chocolate love ; fin.

☆ end a/n﹕working on a better cover for fics once im free of school work! have a good day/night, angels <3

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notes, comments, reblogs, feedback and follows are greatly appriciated!

!!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ON OTHER WEBISTES/APPS OR COPY MY ORIGINAL WORK!!

Someone Sane

Max Verstappen x friends to lovers

Masterlist

Part Two to Always Walk Me Home (would recommend reading AWMH first)

Summary: You and Max have a shared love for strawberry wine. The rest of your friends think you’ve got bad taste. Or: @vetteltea read Always Walk Me Home and asked for more about the strawberry wine, and then I ran with it. So this is also a bit of a prequel, really 🍓

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication

You walk through the front door of the apartment, shucking off your coat and slipping off your shoes. Max Verstappen’s apartment is a shoes off household. You’ve learned that in the two and a half months you’ve known him. You can hear your friends in the kitchen, laughing loudly about something. One of Max’s cats- Jimmy or Sassy, you can’t tell them apart- is sitting in the hall, watching you curiously.

You’re the last one to arrive. You’d had to work late, had told them to get started without you. You bend to pat the cat on the head on your way past. Everyone is gathered in the kitchen, standing around the island. Someone yells your name enthusiastically when you walk in. Your friend Louise, the one who’d introduced you to this friend group, shoves a wine glass in front of you. It’s not full, just a half glass of something pink.

“Try it,” she says.

Her eyes are wide. Everyone is staring at you. This feels like some sort of initiation. You smell the cup- you’d have assumed it was a rosé, but there’s a hint of something else there. Trusting your friends to not have spiked it with something, you take a cautious sip. Strawberries. It’s strawberry wine. Sweet and sugary. Next to you, Louise laughs. You furrow your brows and stare at her.

“What?” You ask.

“The wine,” she says through a giggle. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

You take another sip. She raises her brows.

“No?” You say, before you down the rest of the glass. “No, that’s good. I love strawberries.”

Her jaw drops open. The rest of the group erupts into chaos. Someone calls you batshit insane. You look around in bewilderment.

“Thank god,” Max says, taking your glass from your hand. “Someone sane is finally here.”

He’s holding the bottle of wine in his hand. You don’t know Max very well- he’d been a friend of a friend up until a few months ago, when Louise invited you to a party and then kept inviting you to events. You’re… friendly. He intimidates you a bit. He’s smiling at you now, though, as he pours you a full glass of the wine.

“They all think it’s awful,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I was going to drink the whole thing by myself. It would’ve been sad.”

You blink and laugh, taking the glass back from him. “Cheers, then, I guess?”

He picks his glass up from the counter and clinks it against yours.

…..

“Does anyone want wine?” You call out from your kitchen into the living room.

It’s a quiet night. Not everyone was able to make it, so you’re at your apartment. There’s a football match playing on the TV that nobody’s really paying attention to. There’s a few people playing some sort of game of cards that you didn’t even try to understand. Everyone else is just sitting around and chatting.

“What kind?” Louise calls back.

You open the fridge and laugh. “Never mind.”

“S’that fucking strawberry shit, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you say in a singsongy tone.

You turn around, reaching for your corkscrew. At the very least, it means you won’t have to share with everyone. Just-

Max calls out. “Bring me a glass? And maybe just bring the bottle in here?”

Someone is making fun of him for it, you can hear it from the other room. You do as he said, though. You hand him the glass, having already poured the wine into it. Then you turn to head back to your original seat. Max reaches up with his free hand and tugs on your wrist.

He pats the open spot on the couch next to him. “Sit here? So we can share the wine.”

Your face grows hot, but you nod and come around to sit next to him. He’s potentially the only one watching the football match- you think his favorite team is one of the ones playing. You feel a bit out of alignment for a moment. You’re in your own apartment, on your own couch, but something about him asking you to sit next to him has thrown you off kilter. You take a breath and try to relax. He doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re overthinking it.

You settle back into the couch by your second glass. By Max’s second, he throws his arm over the back of the sofa, his fingers just barely brushing your neck in the process. It’s nothing, but it makes you shiver anyways.

…..

Max is out of the country on your birthday. He’s in Spain for the Grand Prix. He’ll be back soon after, though, and then the next race is in Monaco. You’re already buzzing with excitement, chatting with your friends about outfits and plans and events throughout the weekend.

The night of your birthday your friends take you out to dinner. It’s a Monday night, so it won’t be anything too crazy, but it’s nice to know they’re thinking about you. You have good food, better wine, and then Louise invites everyone back to her apartment to hang out for the rest of the night. You’re in her kitchen when you hear the front door open. It strikes you as odd- you’d all walked here together. Though you suppose someone could be leaving, or popping out to get some air. You’re reaching into the fridge when someone clears their throat. You turn over your shoulder and find Max.

“Hi, birthday girl,” he says, voice soft and scratchy. He holds up a bag. “Brought you a present.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, because you swear his plane didn’t land until 8:00, and it’s only 8:30. You sort of want to hug him, but he’s not a very touchy person, and you’re not sure you know him well enough yet. You cross the kitchen anyway.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. “You were in Spain.”

He laughs. “It’s not that long of a flight.”

“Yeah, but…” you blink up at him. “You had a busy weekend. I didn’t expect you to come over.”

He tilts his head at you. “It’s your birthday.”

He says it like that’s enough explanation. To him, maybe it is. He may not be a touchy person, but he is the type to show up for his friends. You’ve seen examples of it everywhere- he’s the first to respond in a group chat, the first to show up to every party. It’s a side of him that you don’t think the rest of the world gets to see very often. You’re honored to somehow be a part of it.

He holds the gift bag out to you. “I don’t think I’m going to stay long,” he admits, scrubbing at his scruff with his free hand. “I’m exhausted. But I wanted to at least stop by.”

You take the bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to.”

Inside the bag you find a soft, light scarf, similar to the one Louise wore the last time you saw Max. You’d complimented it, asked where she got it- she’d answered a boutique in Spain. You gasp, running the fabric through your fingers. It’s cream colored, and you wrap it around your neck happily. Then you realize the bag still feels heavy. You reach inside again and your fingers wrap around the neck of a wine bottle. You know what it’s going to be before you even pull it out.

You hold the bottle to your chest and smile up at him. “My favorite.”

He’s smiling a bright smile, has been since you took the bag from him. It makes his cheeks squish and his eyes crinkle. The look he’s giving you is warm and soft. Your heart thuds wildly in your chest. It’s just him being friendly. That’s enough, really, isn’t it? Max picks his friends carefully. The fact that he’s here, that he made such an effort to be here with you for your birthday, is enough.

You uncork the bottle and pour two glasses- one for you and one for him.

It’s not until the next morning that you notice the embroidery on the end of the scarf- a tiny pink strawberry, hidden in the corner.

…..

Your apartment is packed to the brim with people. Your friends are here, your friend’s friends are here, people’s siblings and cousins. What started as a small Grand Prix afterparty has turned into a bit of an overwhelming event. The guest of honor isn’t even here, and likely won’t be. He may have showed, had told you he was planning on it, but then he went and won the race, and now you’re sure he’s busy. You’re sure Red Bull has roped him into some sort of sponsored event.

You’d texted him to tell him congratulations, but so far he hasn’t answered. You can’t say you blame him. You’d seen the celebrations at the podium ceremony- there’s no way he’s had a moment alone.

You and your friends had opted to go back to your apartment since it was closest. However, with this many friends all in town to watch him race, your home has become a bit of a landing pad. You can barely make it through your own kitchen without stepping on somebody’s toes. You’re running dangerously low on alcohol, though you wonder if that may be a good thing. Maybe it’s time to move this party to a club or a restaurant or anywhere other than your tiny apartment.

You squeeze your way through to the front hallway, trying to find anywhere that has any sort of space. You can see from here that your balcony is nearly dangerously packed with people. You reach into the hall cupboard, where you know you keep a couple bottles of wine-

The front door swings open. You groan at the idea of another person in your apartment, resting your head on the edge of a shelf in the cupboard. You don’t even bother looking to see who it is, because everyone you know is already here.

“Holy shit,” you hear. “I didn’t know you could fit this many people in here.”

You peer around the cupboard door. Max is standing there, a wide grin on his face. He smells like champagne and Red Bull. Someone makes their way through the hallway, and he steps back to stay hidden behind the open door.

“We figured you were out with the team,” you say, eyes wide.

“I’m going,” he says, jerking his head towards the hallway. “I came to get you guys. Who are all of these people?”

“Friends of friends, people’s families, I don’t know,” you say, still peering around the door at him. “I think someone’s grandma is here. We’re almost out of alcohol. I’m grabbing wine.”

You pull the bottle from the cupboard and hold it up to him. He grins impossibly wider at the label. Strawberry wine.

“Nobody else will drink that,” he says. “You’re going to have a mutiny on your hands.”

“Yeah, well, I got it as a gift for you, to celebrate the race, but now I’m thinking about chugging it and then locking myself in the bedroom.”

Max raises his brows. You stare back at him. Then it hits you. You step around the cupboard door and without thinking, you throw your arms around him.

“Congrats, by the way. On the race.”

You remember mid hug that this is Max, and that Max doesn’t really like hugs. Before you can pull away, though, he’s wrapping his arms around you. He squeezes you tight to his chest for a moment. You feel him rest his chin on top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says, quietly. “I’m glad you were there to see it. And thank you for the wine.”

You know he’s talking generally, about your friend group. But for a moment, you let yourself think he’s talking just about you.

“I have a better plan,” he says, keeping you held against his chest. “You and I take that bottle. We sneak it into the club with us.”

“And all the people in my apartment?” You ask, flinching as you hear something that sounds an awful lot like broken glass.

He sighs. “We bring them with us. It’s better than them destroying your place.”

“Even the grandma?”

“Grandmas love nightclubs.”

You laugh into his chest. “You should go. If someone sees you they’ll go crazy.”

He pulls away and grabs your shoulders. “We should go. We’ll call Louise on the way, tell her where to meet us.”

Really, who are you to say no? He’s Max Verstappen, he’s just won the Monaco Grand Prix. So you slip on a pair of shoes and follow him out the front door before anyone can catch sight of him. Then you’re walking down the streets of Monaco, side by side with him. He takes the bottle of wine from your hands and stops at a crowd of people partying in someone’s front lawn.

“Has anyone got a corkscrew?” He calls out. Someone throws one to him. He opens the bottle, then calls, “and maybe a couple cups?”

Two plastic cups are handed through the crowd to him. They ask him to sign the corkscrew. He hands it back afterwards and shoves the cork in his pocket. Then he pours two glasses and hands one to you. Strawberry wine on a sidewalk in Monaco, in step with the man who won the Grand Prix. You’ve never had a stranger or better day.

He calls Louise when the club is in sight. “Yeah, just down the road. Uh-huh. No, bring everyone.” You hear Louise say something. “Well I don’t know, does the grandma want to come to the party?” He asks, quirking a brow at you. “Then bring her. Okay. See you soon, then. Oh- no, wait, Louise- she’s with me.” He reaches out and squeezes your upper arm lightly. The touch sends sparks shivering up your spine. “Yeah. Long story. Just meet us there, yeah?”

…..

It’s nearly Christmas, and you’re stressed. That might be an understatement, actually. The holidays are always stressful, plus a project at work that’s gone haywire, leaving you picking up the pieces. You wouldn’t even be at the party, too exhausted and so tired of people, if it wasn’t your last chance to see most of your friends before the holidays kick off. You’re leaving to spend time with your family soon. It’s one of the few things you’re looking forward to.

You wander through the party feeling a bit like a zombie. It’s Max’s apartment, with more people in attendance than your usual group. You bounce from friend to friend, always clinging to someone’s side, trying to avoid talking to anyone you don’t know, or anyone at all, really. You’re just socially exhausted.

Max finds you in the kitchen. He sweeps you under his arm into a quick side hug, and you force a smile when you look up at him. He sees right through it, frowning down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, poking your cheek lightly.

You try harder to make the smile genuine. “Nothing! Why?”

He stares at you, tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

You shrug. “M’just tired.”

You can tell he doesn’t believe you. But someone asks him a question, and the friend you’ve glued yourself to is leaving the room, so you follow. You don’t see Max for a while. In fact, it’s been a suspiciously long amount of time. Somebody else has noticed and brings it up, asking where he’s gone off to.

“Oh, he ran to the store, I think. Didn’t say why.”

Someone suggests a drinking game. You make a break for the balcony. Jimmy is standing in front of the door, staring up at you.

“Jim,” you mutter, bending to pet him. “I know you’re gonna make a run for it the second I open the door.”

He meows at you, like he understands. You try to usher him towards Max’s bedroom, but he stays put. You sigh in frustration. In the living room, the noise kicks up another notch. When Max steps into the hallway, there are tears in your eyes.

“Did he scratch you?” Max asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut. “No. M’fine.”

Max clicks his tongue at you. You sigh, again. There’s a shuffling noise, and then you hear the sliding door open. Cool air hits your face. Max’s hands land on your shoulders and he leads you outside. You’re in socks, and the concrete is cold on your feet. You open your eyes and sit down on the patio couch. Max closes the door behind him and sits down next to you. It’s then that you notice the bottle of wine in his hand. Strawberry wine. You’d checked the fridge earlier- that bottle wasn’t there. So either he’s been hiding it, or… he ran to the store. Didn’t say why. Your throat feels tight.

He hands you the bottle carefully. He’s already opened it, but he neglected to bring any glasses. You shrug and tip the bottle to your lips. Sweet, sugary, room temperature wine washes over your tongue and you sigh.

“What’s going on?” He asks, gesturing for the bottle. He waits patiently as he takes a sip, too.

You huff and rub your cheeks with your empty hands. “Nothing, Max. I’m fine. There’s a whole party inside, I’m sure they’d love to play drinking games with you, so-“

“But I’m here with you,” he says patiently, voice soft. Your heart is cracking wide open in your chest. “Because I want to be. So tell me what’s going on.”

There’s so much to tell him that you don’t know where to start. It’s your family, it’s the traveling you’re about to do. It’s work, so stressful you wish you could just quit. It’s this awful feeling you can’t shake that maybe none of your friends really want you here. It’s Max, and the way your heart skips a beat when he looks at you. The way your stomach fills with butterflies when he touches you. The way he could have any girl in the whole world, and you’re just his friend. You curl your knees close to your chest and wrap your arms around them.

“I’m just stressed,” you admit, figuring that’s the easiest answer. “Work, and the holidays, and… just , everything. You know?”

He nods, passes the bottle of wine back to you. You take another drink. You study the label of it to try and keep yourself from crying in front of him. That would be embarrassing. That would scare him off. You rest your chin on your knee. Then you feel it.

Max’s arm, draping over your shoulders. The weight of him is heavy and steady and warm. He’s going to throw you into a tailspin with just that one motion. Then- like he doesn’t know how much he’s already affecting you- he presses his hand to your shoulder and pulls you against his side. Fuck. You’re not going to cry in front of him. You won’t do it. But Max doesn’t do hugs and cuddling, he’s not a touchy person, and yet he’s wrapping himself around you to hold you close.

You rest your head against his shoulder and take another drink of wine. He takes the bottle back and does the same. His hand sweeps up and down your upper back in a soothing motion, over and over again.

You’re not going to cry. You won’t. You close your eyes instead. You feel Max’s cheek against the top of your head. You won’t cry.

“Maybe after the holidays we should all go somewhere warm and relaxing,” he says. You let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I think we could all use a bit of a break, no?”

You nod against his chest. He squeezes your shoulder. If you keep your eyes squeezed shut, he won’t see the tears. You can’t cry in front of him. So you sit, blind to the world around you, your head pressed to his chest.

Later, you blink your eyes open to the sound of voices, feeling disoriented. Someone is saying something to Max, saying your name. And Max, his voice rumbling beneath your chest-

“-walk her home, or she can stay here,” he says. “I’ve got her, mate.”

The sliding door closes. You realize you’d fallen asleep. Your face heats up, unsure of if you should pretend you’re not awake or if you should pull away immediately. You’re still trying to decide when Max’s hand starts brushing up and down your back again. Your eyes slip closed. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. No wonder you fell asleep.

Max shifts, squeezing your shoulder. “Schatje, time to wake up,” he whispers, close to your ear.

You sigh and pull away, sitting up to look at him. He keeps an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You rub your eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them. You’re too exhausted to find it in yourself to be embarrassed about falling asleep on him. Besides, he could’ve woken you up if he wanted to. He’s being a good friend.

“It’s late,” he says. You swear you’re imagining it when his hand comes up and his fingers brush against your cheek. “Do you want to sleep in the guest room?”

You nod.

In the morning, when you drag yourself out of bed, Max is gone. There’s a note on the counter. He had early morning training, and then a padel game. Didn’t want to wake you. Next to the note, there’s a bowl of strawberries. Sassy winds herself around your ankles. You smile and try to slow the beating of your heart.

…..

Max is standing in your empty apartment one night, the last of your friends to leave. You’re wandering through the living room, picking up cups and trying to pretend he isn’t watching you. When you try to walk by him and head for the kitchen, he grabs your hip.

You stop and stare. His eyes are boring into yours, wide and blue and soft. There’s a smile on his lips. You haven’t asked him yet why he’s still here, mostly because you don’t really want him to go. His hand is burning a hole in the fabric of your shirt where he’s holding onto you. You think if you look down, you’ll find flames licking up your side. But you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

His other hand sneaks up, and his fingers brush against the side of your face. It reminds you of the moment on his balcony, weeks ago now. You’re caught between wanting to let your eyes slip closed and never wanting to break his gaze.

You realize moment’s later he’s looking for some sort of confirmation from you. He’s waiting, though you’re not sure exactly what he’s looking for. In an act of blind, foolish courage, you take a step towards him and wind one of your arms around the back of his neck. Max sighs. You twist your fingers into the hair on the nape of his neck.

Max is your friend. This could ruin everything. If this goes badly…

You take another step closer. You can hear his soft breaths. His fingers brush against your cheek- you swear you feel him tremble, just slightly, just enough for you to know. He wants this, but he’s scared, too. His heart is beating just as fast. His mind is racing just as fast.

When he kisses you, his lips taste like strawberry wine.

…..

Max is holding your hand on the sidewalk. He’s walking you home from a club you’d been at with your friends. You love him, but you haven’t told him yet. You’ve only just realized it that night, seeing yourself laugh in the bathroom mirror and then seeing the smile on his face when he looked at you.

Next to you, though you don’t know it, Max is having the exact same realization.

…..

“Can you grab my watch?” Max calls out from the kitchen. “In the bedside table, top drawer?”

You’re trying to resist the urge to tell him to find it himself. You’re horribly late to a dinner, this stupidly fancy dinner that has you second guessing every piece of clothing you put on. Max was no help, telling you that everything you tried on was perfect and beautiful and would look even better on his floor. You love him, but today, he’s driving you insane.

You stomp over to the bedside table and open the drawer. The box with his watch is sitting there, nestled in with other odds and ends. You pick up the box and almost close the drawer without even noticing. But something makes you pause and stare.

In the drawer there’s a little plastic tray, and it’s full of wine corks. You recognize the logo. Max is calling your name in the other room, something about hurrying up, but suddenly you don’t care about the stupid dinner. You’re thinking of that sidewalk stroll you took so long ago, the corkscrew he borrowed, the way he put the cork in his pocket. You’d thought it was to throw it away later.

He calls your name again, from the doorway. You reach into the drawer without turning around, running your fingers over the corks. He makes a noise and walks across the room to you, wraps his arms around your waist and tucks his chin over your shoulder.

“Did you save the all corks?” You ask, voice breathy.

Max nods, presses his lips to your bare shoulder. “All except the very first one. By the time I… when I went to grab it, it was gone.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You turn around and press yourself into his arms and laugh. He’s staring down at you in bewilderment. He’s been driving you crazy all afternoon, he must think you’ve finally snapped.

“The first cork is in my jewelry box,” you tell him, and a laugh bubbles up between his lips, too. “I took it off the counter. I didn’t know why, at the time. Just felt like I should.”

You’re late to the dinner. Max makes an excuse. Nobody believes it, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

…..

Some time later, there will be a moment. It won’t matter where you are, or what you’re doing. It will be you and Max, and you will look at him and the whole world will melt away. And the strangest thought will pop into your head.

Our friends are going to send us strawberry wine when we get engaged, you’ll think. And they will bring it to the wedding.

He’ll turn to you, like he’s heard your thoughts. He’ll smile, cheeks pink as the strawberry wine. At that same moment, he’ll be wondering if strawberry shortcake is an acceptable wedding dessert. Every time you taste strawberries, you’ll think back to the kitchen in his apartment. The wine you were supposed to hate. And Max, a smile on his face, glad to not be alone.

Someone sane is finally here, he’d said.

And then everything had changed.

p.s.: am I way too invested in this pairing? Probably. Have I already decided what their wedding song would be? Definitely.

p.s. again: ironically, it turns out both @vetteltea and I hate strawberry wine 🍓

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt

mind is stuck on challengers sauna scene ..... art's thighs are so fucking sexy, so thick and sweaty and the way he's bouncing his leg? oh lord give me five minutes with him. just imagine his hands on your waist and his sweet, encouraging words as you sit on his wet skin and grind your even wetter cunt onto it. and he bounces it, gently hitting your clit in the right angle and it feels so good. i am going to combust. and you're like crying because while it feels good, you're just so so needy and want to feel him inside you but he thinks you look so sexy like this, he tells you to keep going just for a little bit more then he'll reward you for being good and listening to him.

i just knoooow my man (little leclerc’s man) jenson has such a pleasure kink… like he’s not enjoying himself unless you’re a withering mess, he would know every trick in the book to make sure little leclerc/reader is satisfied even if he gets nothing from it physically.

but then add in any competition with seb who has to be the best at everything and little leclerc wont even consider any man on the 2023 grid bc how are they gonna make her feel what Seb and Jenson did??? anyways that’s all from me

DKCJDOFKFI ⚠️

"you're taking me so well, my sweet girl." jenson would rasp lowly, breath coming up in short pants as he marvels at the sight of you; looking so blissed out, eyes hazy from the feel of his throbbing cock just kissing the tip of your cervix. you were both gasping for breath for varying reasons; his, one of self control while yours were in pleasure and feeling so foreign, by being so deliciously stretched out.

"at your pace," he murmurs, pressing open mouthed kisses at your neck, eliciting a deep moan from you. "take it. take whatever you need." he utters, grunts, reverently. in awe. jenson grips your hips with barely restrained strenght as you started to bounce on top of him.

also tag teamm?!!?!?!? ask again bcs i malfunctioned,,, sorry ily😩😩😩😩

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ us as parents? (luke castellan x fem! reader)

summary : you find out that a lot of the kids at the camp see you and luke as parents leading to silly deep talks by the lake at night

‘you what?’, you exclaimed in shock. ‘i see you and luke as like my second parents’, a young kid from your cabin repeated. multiple other kids hummed in agreement. a wave of stunned disbelief ran through your entire being. complete and utter disbelief. that was the last thing you expected to hear today. ‘huh alright, anyways let’s get back to it’, continuing your arrangement of chores for the cabin.

in the early afternoon, you get lunch and meet up with your friends. ‘oh my, do you know a lot of kids in my cabin see luke and i as their second parents?’ you uttered to them still in a similar state of astonishment. ‘that does not surprise me, a few kids have told me that as well to be honest.’ one friend spoke up. ‘whattt!’, surely not. maybe?

as you the day progressed you could not get the thought of you and luke as parents out of your head. it felt as though it was consuming you. there was plans to meet up with him at the lake tonight, you wonder what his reaction to the news that he is perceived as a father by a multitude of kids is going to be like.

as the sun set you got ready to meet up with luke at the lake, you grabbed a towel and your sandals and off you went. as you arrived you noticed a familiar looking head splashing around in the water, luke. you quickened your pace, threw your towel down next to his and kicked of your sandals to join him in the water.

‘hey there baby’, luke said as he heard you come into the water. ‘hey there handsome’, you responded placing a quick kiss to his cheek as a greeting. he picked you up bridal style and began going out further into the water, giggles erupting from you. when he was around hip length into the water, he let you go. for some odd reason, a tradition. when you emerged from the water you saw his charming smile on his stunning face.

after around an hour of messing around in the water you left to dry up and lay on the shore of the lake. the night sky was littered with thousands of glowing stars and the moons light radiant. the view was priceless.

while you lay on the shore, your limbs slowly became entangled with lukes. warmth. ‘oh yea guess what?’ you spoke with excitement for his reaction, ‘what my love?’ his words laced with affection. ‘apparently, several kids at camp see us as second parents!’, you gushed. a beaming smile burst onto his face at your words, ‘is that so?’ he said with a soft chuckle. ‘yesss! some kids in my cabin told me today’, you spoke.

a moment of peaceful silence passed. ‘imagine as us parents.’ you thought aloud. you turned your head to look at luke and saw he was staring at you with the most smitten look you had ever seen. ‘i have had dreams about that’, he admits. ‘best dreams ever.’ he continued. ‘really?’, you questioned, gods you were infatuated with him. ‘mhm baby, you’re always such an adorable mum in every dream.’ you were smiling like an idiot now staring at your lover. ‘you’d be such a good dad luke.’ you admitted. ‘i can imagine you running around chasing them around, it’s like i can hear your laughter with them.’ the picture running clear as day in your head as if it had already happened.

‘our little ones are gonna be the cutest.’ he said before stealing a kiss from you.

authors note : we’re gonna ignore how the three pictures give off percy vibes.. anyways requests are open as per usual!

word count : 603 words

heyyy i’m not saying we want but WE NEED a sequel to dad’s best friend!mark webber i have not been the same since, maybe them secretly continuing to hook up or maybe he’s picking her up from a party again aaahh i really do need it

ly ✌🏻

hi babe! it's not often that I get a request for mark so obviously I had to write this one <33 -- kinktober: dad's best friend + mark webber -- tw: age gap (reader is over 20!)

The sound of his phone blaring woke him up, his arm stretched out to find the phone without opening his eyes. "Yeah, hello?" He says when he finally finds it.

"Oh thank god you picked up." The person on the other side says and suddenly he's a little more awake. "Y/n? Is everything okay?" He asks, pulling the phone from his face to check what time it was; 4:15 in the morning.

"Yeah no, I'm at this party and I need a ride. Everyone else is drunk and I didn't drive, my friend did but I can't find her and I don't wanna take an uber cause it's late."

Mark was already out of bed, searching for his shirt in the darkness when he hit speaker on the phone. "Yeah I'm coming, send me your location and I'll be there soon."

--

You were sitting on the curb of what looked like a shitty frat house when Mark pulled up. He winds down the window and honks, you look up and get up when you see him.

It was pretty chilly outside and he tossed you a sweater when you get in the car. You drape it over your legs when you get in the car, "I'm taking you to my place, figured you don't want your parents finding you coming in, especially since you smell like a brewery."

"Yeah, thanks." You tell him, picking at the chipped nail polish on your finger.

The drive back was quiet, the windows were cracked a bit and the fresh air was sobering you up the rest of the way.

"I'll leave some clean clothes for you in the guest room," he says and he can't help but notice how you smile drops at the mention of the guest room.

"You're welcome to stay with me, if you want."

"Can I?" You ask and he hums, gesturing for you to walk towards his room. You sit on the edge of the bed as he digs out a shirt for you to wear. He hands it over to you and you get up, turning around and it doesn't need to be said, he knows; Mark reaches for the zipper on your dress and pulls it down.

His eyes fixed on you as the black dress falls to the ground and leaves you in your underwear. "I like those," he says, making his way back to bed.

You had already pulled the shirt on when you got on the bed. "Yeah, cute aren't they?" You chuckle, crawling up the bed to sit on his lap.

Mark's hand rests on your hip, rubbing it softly. "You're not tired, darling?" He glances at his phone on the nightstand, "it's nearly 5."

"Not really," your finger dragging down his now bare chest. "I've been thinking about you." You whisper to him and his brows furrow, "is that so ? When do you think about me?"

"Like when I'm touching myself," you mumble and Mark flips you two over, you're flat on your back looking up at him.

His hand wanders down between the two of you and your back arches, a little whimper slips past your lips when you feel his fingers push into you. "Can you do it like that?" He asks you quietly, watching as your face twists with pleasure.

"Mhm, only you can." You tell him, one of your hands wrapping around his wrist as he curls his fingers. You spread your legs a little more, squeezing his wrist.

"Mark, please," you breathe, eyes meeting his. "Please what darling ?"

Between the way he was looking at you and the way his fingers were moving, you were barely able to get the words out. "Fuck me," you mumble and he smiles.

"That's my girl."

i'm giving myself an emoji by the way hehe it's 🦢

also girl you hooked us on jenson and little leclerc & seb and little leclerc i fear paddock bunnies will have meltdown after meltdown at this rate...

also i just read the previous asks and yikes 😐 it's not a kink it's disgusting i hope they were joking but i have a feeling they weren't...

🦢

hi 🦢 anon!! 💖💖💖💖

imagine being in that dilf wdc sandwich 😩😩 little leclerc would be worshipped every day and night. literally the most spoilt rotten little princess when it comes to these two 😩 they're literally coaching the bratiness out of her methinks, just that unreasonable side from her because she's incredibly composed and understanding all the time, just kinda teasing too.

the paddock bunnies would be pissed from their displays of affection. cause you know once they're grouped together or left somewhere (as a collective or even by pair) they're unable to keep their hands off her so their presence are mostly ignored 😩😩

just going all, "sit on my lap baby" and kissing her shoulder, and kissing her on that certain spot on her eyes (love mark kinda)

they don't gaf so they're making everybody else just seethe in jealousy, just squinting at them sweet talking and whispering some kinda incantations (so they think, because hey, sorcery must be the answer)

college art and patrick giving you oral at the same time ; mdni

when you first suggested the idea after a night out at a pub, art and patrick thought you were insane. there’s always been tension looming between the three of you, although the idea of acting on it never seemed like a possibility.

the next day, however, when the two boys were sitting on the bleachers and watching you stretch before your tennis match, they turned to face each other with knowing looks on their faces.

now, you’re sitting on the edge of your small dorm bed, your legs spread as far as possible.

“are you sure this is okay?” you breathe out, asking the two boys as they kneel between your legs, their shoulders pressed together.

“yes.” they reply in unison, their eyes lighting up with a sense of eagerness.

you place your right hand in art’s hair and your left hand in patrick’s hair, wordlessly signalling for them to continue.

art makes the first move, gently kissing up your thigh before sticking out his tongue and flattening it, licking a stripe along the folds of your wet cunt.

“fuck.” you gasp, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as art moves his tongue to your clit, tracing circles on the sensitive bud.

“art, move over a little.” patrick interrupts your moans with his sharp tone. “play nice, share with me.”

art keeps his tongue on your clit but moves over slightly, following patrick’s demands. unlike the blonde boy, patrick doesn’t bother slowly making his way towards your cunt. instead, he immediately darts his tongue out, flicking it along your clit, making contact with art’s tongue.

it takes the two boys a moment to work out a rhythm and get used to their tongues so close together, but once they do, it feels like paradise for you.

your back arches and you can’t hold back your desperate moans. “oh my, fuck! yes.” you swear you sound like a porn star, but the pleasure takes over any common sense you have about being too vocal.

art opens his eyes and shifts his gaze to sneak a look at patrick, who’s flicking his tongue on your clit even faster. the blonde was already hard as he licked your pussy, but now he feels like a teenager again, as if he could cum just from the sight of patrick devouring you like it’s his last meal on death row.

as if patrick could feel the blonde eye fucking him, he glances at art, still working on getting you to climax.

you look down at them, curiosity taking over your facial expression as art stops his movements on your cunt, simply panting while staring at patrick, his shallow breaths hitting your cunt and sending shivers down your spine. “what’s wrong?” you breathe out, your eyes glazing over as a knot tightens in your stomach.

just as you’re about to cum, patrick and art lock their mouths together, their tongues clashing on your clit as they start making out, eliciting even more pleasure from your body.

“patrick, art…fuck, i’m so close.” your words seem to only motivate the two of them as they pick up the pace of their tongues in desperation. “you’re both so fucking hot.” you moan.

the knot in your stomach gets even tighter and after a few seconds, your thighs shake and your mouth parts as the knot releases and you cum on their tongues.

patrick and art pull away from in between your thighs, still kneeling beside each other, a mixture of their spit and your cum left over on their lips and chins.

“i think we should do this again, hm?” you give them a small smirk.

they look up at you intensely, then they turn their heads to look at each other, “yeah.”

Like a fucking dream i’m living in

jake peralta turns into a thief for you.

Perv!peralta x reader. When Jake and reader temporarily live together, reader’s things suddenly begin to go missing. Mdni; 18+

you first noticed the lingering glances.

you tried your best to avoid peralta in the late night, walking on tip-toes and staying confined in your room for as long as you could bear. You had already done him a huge favour by inviting him to live in your apartment while he searched for his own, so you figured it was best to keep things at least somewhat professional.

Still, the apartment wasn’t that big (it was New York, after all), and despite your best efforts, you encountered him more than you would’ve liked.

You’d often catch him in the kitchen late at night, pouring himself a glass of water while you awkwardly approached to grab a quick snack. The interaction is silent, and yet you were always uncomfortably alert. You didn’t need to look over at him to feel his gaze falling down your body, his gaze focusing primarily on the mound of your chest peeking through the thin pyjamas.

you took note of his loose grey sweats and the casual white tee he wore so well, but you were careful to not show your interest— even if he was obvious with his. The interaction would end almost as quickly as it started when he’d awkwardly raise a hand in greeting before retreating back to his guest room.

then, it was the persistant touching.

You’d be struggling to grab a cookbook perched on the top shelf of the cabinet, and before you could even ask for help, Jake is behind you, lowering the book with a soft hand on the small of your waist. “Thanks,” you’d mutter, eyes fluttering all over his face, and he’d say nothing except flash you a crooked grin.

Once, you were heading out for drinks and right before you could reach the door, he called your name with a tone of rushed urgency.

“wait, uh, you got a little…” he pointed to the corner of his own lips.

You quickly reached up to wipe away whatever was on your face, but after multiple attempts, he insisted it was still there, and so he walked over and slyly swiped it away with his hand. The pad of his thumb stayed on your lips longer than necessary, his eyes on yours longer than needed, and when he finally pulled away, you swear his fingers were squeaky clean.

your last straw was when your things began to disappear.

They were small things at first— the pen you used for all your police paperwork, the bowl you used every evening for dinner. Then, the casual robbery escalated to your bedroom.

The lace bra you wore on special occasions, the skimpy pair of panties you had hidden away deep in your drawer. There could only be one culprit, you knew that, and yet, you didn’t feel a need to confront him.

Instead, you began to wear the bra you normally wouldn’t wear on a random Tuesday, making sure the delicate lace trim was visible through your low-cut tank top. You reciprocated the endless touching; a light touch on his bicep as you laughed at his joke, or a press of your ass against him as you reached for a spatula.

You were more on edge than you had ever been, but there was always a delicious thrill that ran down your spine the second you both came home to resume the unspoken game.

You had almost forgotten about everything tonight, coming back late from a meeting that had drained the energy out of you. But on your way to your room, you couldn’t help but take an extra step towards the guest room. A sliver of dim light was visible through his half-closed door, and while you couldn’t see him, you heard him.

You hadn’t gotten any for longer than you’d like to admit, but you were still able to recognize the sounds of sex, all sloppy and dirty and wild. Except there was only one voice, one tone in the string of moans that escaped through the cracks and into your perked ears.

“Uh- fu- fuck, yeah, just like that.”

You remained frozen in shock for just a moment, staring at the door, then, through a sudden burst of adrenaline, you shifted your head until Jake finally came into view.

He was sat on the edge of the guest bed you had meticulously made that very morning, except now the sheets were wrinkled and undoubtedly covered in his sweat. Jake’s head was thrown back in a fit of indulgence, his eyes squinted closed as if the pleasure was painful to even think about. Your quiet breaths hitched as your eyes trailed down his open button-up, soft abs decorating his torso.

Then, you saw it. A pair of pink panties, your panties, scrunched up in his left hand as his right pumped up and down his length. Rather than feeling disgusted or relieved that you had finally caught the thief using your expert detective skills, something much more dangerous was growing in the pit of your stomach.

You found your breaths linking up with his as they got more frantic, more hungry for a release that could never be matched to that of his imagination. You couldn’t tear your eyes away as he vocalized his thoughts, muttering your name as he pleaded, “please, just give it to me,” and “show me how much you want me, baby.”

You almost gasped when he loudly groaned one last time, his whole body shaking stiffly as he came, short spurts of white falling where your panties were now wrapped around his cock. You were carefully observing the way the aftershocks came over his body— heaving breathing, faltering hands, when suddenly, he turns his head.

He looks directly at you, and for a moment, panic flashes over his eyes as if he’s waiting for you to yell, to scream, to burst into the room and ask him what the hell he’s doing. But you don’t do that, and soon, any signs of anxiety dissipates from his eyes. There was only desire in his gaze, a heat that was dark and brewing and matched the one between your legs, begging to spill over.

As a corner of his lip lifted up casually, yours did too, and you knew, if you didn’t make the first move now, he was about to.

-

A/n: officially on winter break from school so I’m locking in on this acc (I’m lying.)