#and like a year and a half in the second? sure

[syrecjh]

Wait hold up Bakugo getting ready for a photo shoot and starts bonding with reader who’s his stylist then it becomes smth special and cute pls? 🫣

The thing about Katsuki Bakugo is—he burns through stylists like wildfire.

Too loud. Too blunt. Too impossible to please. The industry’s learned to send their best, their most patient, their most fearless. But none of them ever lasted past two shoots. Some didn’t even last through the fittings.

Until you.

Your name wasn’t recommended—it was thrown like a Hail Mary across a room of overworked interns and desperate agencies. You’d worked with chaotic models before, but Bakugo wasn’t just chaos. He was precision rage. Fire in designer boots. But you had a fire of your own, and the first time he scowled at you for holding a comb wrong, you scoffed and told him to grow a better personality. He blinked. Then laughed. Then stayed still while you fixed his collar like nothing had happened.

And now? Two years later? You’re still here.

Today’s shoot is for a Pro Hero Legacy Spread, something bold and modern — “icons of the generation,” the magazine called it. But Bakugo couldn’t care less about metaphors and fashion lighting. All he knew was: it was hot, it was early, and his stylist—his stylist—was one minute late.

He stood in the prep room, arms crossed, scowling at the mirror. “Where the hell is she? Dead in a ditch or just incompetent?”

The assistant made a sound of terror.

Then—click. The door creaked open. And there you were, clutching your coffee and your notes, a devil-may-care grin on your lips as if you hadn’t just kept Dynamight himself waiting.

“One minute and thirteen seconds,” he snapped, turning with that signature glower.

“Wow, you counted?” you replied, breezing past him and setting your things down. “That’s the most attention you’ve given anyone all week.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe because no one else annoys me this much.”

“And yet,” you said, brushing a lint roller down his shoulder, “I’m still your favorite.”

He scoffed, but didn’t move when your hand grazed his jaw to adjust the angle of his collar. His skin was warm, always warm, like static lingering in the air between you both.

“Today’s concept is stripped back,” you murmured, focused on the minute details. “Minimal armor. Just you. Nothing flashy.”

He looked at you through the mirror. “So just me being awesome.”

“Sure,” you said with a smirk. “If awesome means frowning at the camera like it owes you money.”

He chuckled—chuckled, low and brief—and let himself be turned this way and that as you styled his hero jacket half-open, hair tousled perfectly to match the theme.

As you moved around him, laying the outfit across the dressing bench and flipping open your toolbox of styling essentials, he followed your every motion like you were a problem he hadn’t quite solved. You knew he hated this part—the prep, the waiting, the fussing. But with you, it was different. Always had been.

"Sit," you said, tapping the chair lightly with your nail. And—miracle of miracles—he did.

The moment you stepped in front of him, his eyes flickered upward. They always did. You weren’t sure if it was habit or curiosity, but you could feel the way his gaze tracked the shape of your concentration.

You adjusted the collar of his suit, your knuckles brushing against the line of his throat. His skin was warm. He didn’t flinch.

“Your hair’s a disaster,” you mumbled, reaching for a pomade jar.

“It’s always like this.”

“Yes, and I’m always fixing it. You’d think you’d be grateful.”

He huffed, but he was fighting a smirk. “Grateful’s a stretch.”

You slicked his ash-blonde hair into place—fingers threading through the strands, shaping the chaos into something sculpted. Somewhere in the middle of it, you heard him murmur, “You’ve got good hands.”

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Nothin’.”

You pressed your lips together to stifle a grin.

When you moved to fix his gloves—adjusting the fit so the metal knuckles didn’t crease weirdly for the camera—he watched you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then came the final piece: the belt. You crouched slightly, tugging at the strap, tightening it so it didn’t ride awkwardly on his hips. That’s when he said it.

“You always do this,” he muttered.

You didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Make me look better than I am.”

That silenced you for a beat.

You rose slowly, brushing nonexistent lint from his chest, and fixed his collar again, even though it was perfect.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered. “I just make sure they see you like I do.”

He stared at you. Really stared.

And when you picked up the finishing spray and said, “Close your eyes, Dynamight,” he didn’t argue. Just obeyed—like the moment belonged to you, and he knew it.

When the mist settled and the clock ticked closer to shoot time, he opened one eye and said, too quietly to be teasing:

"Don’t ever quit on me.”

You smiled then. Wide and crooked. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

And somehow, in the hush between hairspray and headlines, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

[missinggirls]

Thanks but there's more to it than just that. This is very complicated for someone like me.

First of all- sharing my interests with someone who doesn't like my interests doesn't play out like how you're describing. Most people don't seem to adhere to this ideal situation where we're different and not pointing it out to one another.

Even people who say they adhere to that- they say things like "don't worry I don't judge" - THEY DO THO. They'll never admit they do, but they do.

Second, of course I am aware that there are online communities. Did you know that fandom communities are often toxic as hell?

This isn't my interest blog but rather my sideblog- so I don't talk about my interests here. But I'm almost 40 years old. I've been on the internet FOR A LONG TIME. I've been in those communities. I know they exist.

They're not great and I haven't made any lasting reliable friendships there.

I'm also someone who has no family, not even found family.

I have to watch my ass on EVERYTHING to make sure I don't lose my reliable friends that don't have the same interests as me.

It took me TWO years to find someone who could accompany me to a dr's visit so I could have my wisdom teeth removed.

So when I say that my interests have to be just for me - I am speaking from experience.

Hell I've already lived half a life. I have done and tried all kinds of things already. They don't work.

And I really wish people would believe me when I say that. People treat me like I am just not trying hard enough to find friends or something. There's only so much that can be done!!

I'm sorry but I am so incredibly tired of people telling me to not give up and just keep trying.

Like do people want me to just keep trying until I die alone?? What would be the point of that?!

Do I seriously have to die alone on my deathbed to get the point across to people that sometimes there isn't someone for everyone?!

what matters most about your interests is that they make you happy. whether other people find them productive is irrelevant. you don't have to produce anything. you are not a machine. your interests aren't for others. your interests are for you. do what makes you happy.

[grotesquevi]

fuck-fuck-fuck not being able to kiss your super hot drummer girlfriend properly ‘cause of that damn tongue piercing.

cw   #   18+, public sex, oral sex, bandmates!au, guitarist!reader, slight dumbification, vi’s hot as fuck i wont elaborate, 2.2k words of pure filth, pls take care of your fresh piercing and DONT eat your girl if its a tongue one thanks,,, art bellow by — robin-vb.

"you sure you don't want to try it out with the groupies out there?" it's a compromised position to even try to be a brat when her arm pushes you against the small space in between the piled transportation boxes behind the scenario, when her lips find yours and you cannot think of a response that's clever enough as her mouth trails an invisible path down to your jaw and you can feel the first traces of it, the metal that drags against your skin in a new, foreign sensation — "i mean, they are screaming your name, don’t you hear it?"

vi’s sure she can, but cannot bring herself to care when she lacks of decency like this. decency she should have as her hands got stuck beneath your shirt, stroking the skin that shivers beneath her touch like a chemical reaction. the concert has just ended, the fans keep screaming and demanding for more so there's no one around to make her think its a bad idea, not when you look so inviting in her arms, when your sweaty skin now feels warm in the drummer's own and it’s exactly what she needs to celebrate another successful night.

"you're not wearing a bra?" there's noise around, but vi remains unfocused, the rest comes to a second plane: of course you're not wearing a bra — "cheeky guitarist. why do you want a fan, huh? somebody else to watch? maybe she likes my piercing better than you do."

there's no real discussion at all, not when you miss her too much to even try to fight any witty comment she tosses at you when the drummer decided to get a tongue piercing out of nowhere a month ago, against your will at first cause she's unable to kiss you for the entire healing process, eat you out properly.

"fuck off, violet."

"nu-uh. nobody gets to see you this fucked but me," a problem. everything with her tends to be a problem when you first meet her years ago. "the view is reserved for my eyes only, sweetheart. let them get in line."

you knew it from before, when she knocked on your door months ago, claiming she had nowhere to go, soaking wet cause it's raining heavily and she cannot crash at the studio anymore when things get complicated with rent. treating your sofa like its heaven on earth, only an excuse to have you closer — push you against her half-asleep, wrap her arms around you in the minimal space of the squared cushions that work as an improvised mattress, you're the only one that's able to keep her alive in a cold night.

your rockstar girlfriend is an adrenaline junkie, cause she doesn't care about who could, or cannot see what she's doing behind the scenario with the promise it wont take more than ten minutes.

"what's the worst that can happen in ten minutes?"

so this whole secretive thing is getting out of hand when she's unbuckling your pants, when her saliva's visible in the flesh and vi only takes what she needs, even when it goes too far, even when her hands slide under the rough fabric of your jeans and her fingertips burn against your body. its like taking care of a thirst that she's been carrying all this time, not aware of the consequences cause she's too busy worried about your fun, your desires.

there's no way to point out she's undressing you in public, that it would take only one of the assistants to go and search for a storage box or just cross the scenario from one side to another behind the curtains to see what's happening; there's no use in hiding the need that drags you closer to her, that permission in the air when her finger circles around your clit tight and trapped in your jeans and you part your legs further apart to give her more space, more of you.

a lot can happen in ten minutes. you become aware of it now when she's all over you, unable to walk you to her dressing room when vi's too hungry to try to resist that magnetism that pulls you closer to her, insane and tangible. something explodes after all that playful games in front of the public, the damn band when you seated in her lap whispering how good she's hitting every note, how good she looks as her muscles do the effort to catch up every quick note, when her leg muscles hold enough force to make you jump each time she pushes the pedal on her right foot: hot, it’s fucking hot.

teasing her the entire concert — you really think she was going to be patient enough to wait for privacy? violet's bragging the entire day on how her appointment with her piercer went so good to the point she can now do all those things she once was forbidden with; did you really believe she wasn’t going to use it on you the first moment she gets you alone?

maybe that's why she's kneeling in front of you, why you moan as her tongue soaks down the fabric of your tee and the piercing slides against your hardened nipple making you thank on your choices of not wearing a bra, gasp cause it's much easier without underwear, safer if someone catches the filthy atrocities an impatient drummer rockstar cannot wait to do.

silver metal, you can feel it when she's placing kisses in your belly, marks that will last for the entire week when she takes their time with it — your girlfriend wants you to fall in love with it like she does, love the damn piercing like a treat she's patiently waiting to show you.

"be silent," it's a warning, but really, why for? is there a point when your moans blend with the screams outside? when the electricity is still palpable in the air and you can feel vi's mouth similar to the most delicious sin to ever exist? it's warm when her tongue traces the bones in your hips, as her lips suction the skin right over the waistband of your underwear to leave a mark she'll be able to look at every time she wants to, unbuckled pants already, you’re so pliant in her touch, reactive — "been fucking with me in the scenario all night but you can't shut up for a while? make a damn effort."

she's never mean. she's rough but she's always tender, holds you close to hear the sound of your heartbeat in her ear like a movie soundtrack, relishes on how your pulse flutters against her hand as she whispers the most filthy sentences against your ear, unspeakable lust, like the way your girlfriend looks on her knees.

it would be an utter embarrassment to fold this easily for you in any other circumstance, wear the redness on her knees like a new tattoo vi wants to get done the minute she walks away from the stadium. the grid on the floor pushes against her skin to leave new marks like the ones in your stomach, and the pain is deliciously good— she's been there before, tugging your pants down to your ankles and running her short nails against the skin of your thighs to leave a red path behind: she's been there before, enjoying you.

"vi-- someone will come in, we can go to my dressing room," the words come out choked of your throat and you understand at the same time that it's not the common adrenaline what turns you on in the first place, the subtle desire of being discovered, pry upon, but instead, the way your girlfriend whispers against your skin something about how you can take it, how you already let her go that far only to undress you this quickly hidden by some amplifiers.

you’re so good: let her keep going.

"cum on my tongue and all resentment is forgotten, i promise" what fucking resentment? what is she on? you chuckle, shit. will she bother to undress you properly? take off your already soaked panties or keep the insane behavior going? vi's smile widens at the sight of the slick underwear bare to her sight, something your girlfriend wants to hold in her memory as something dear: the darker hue that she can almost not discern in the dark but its there, filling the air in the backstage with your intoxicating scent — "be quick and no one will notice, do we have a deal?"

she could convince you to sign a contract with the devil itself, a demon sent to hold you accountable of every whispered promise you made swearing to higher forces of the universe without knowing she was listening. you're nodding, she got the most handsome cocky grin in history and you are greeted instead, by the most recent addition in her mouth.

cold, gentle and constant drag of the metal bar making their way against her your soaked underwear, and you don't even notice when she's using her hands to spread you further apart, the fabric clinging into your folds and leaving behind easy access to delve deeper, sink her face in between your legs until you're all she can breathe and taste is your fresh arousal leaking and sticking to the cotton.

"cat got your tongue?" funny. so fucking funny when her thumb find your clit already marked in your clingy underwear, stroking it with a practiced ease: she knows the rhythm you like, your own maddening course she has learned to the heart — "use that pretty mouth and answer me. you're good at that."

your rockstar girlfriend aims to please. that's why she got the tongue piercing done in the first place, cause she wants you to enjoy every second of it. a secret reward for vi herself, cause the love she feels on her stomach when your head falls backwards and she can hear the moans you're fighting to hold? should be damn studied, used as a reference for the increasing desire that manifest sticking to vi's underwear.

you understand now. the sounds outside become silent now when you distinguish the lewd, slurping sound she makes cause despite being in clear public, your girlfriend cant help but be a messy eater, dripping saliva against her chin, smearing against her face as your hips roll forward in almost an automatic proof of your need.

holding you in place, the sight of your knees shaking makes vi smile; damn right you cannot speak, damn right you move cause you're always so greedy, greedy little guitarist who's always asking for more.

swollen clit, it aches under her touch, the sensitive bundles of nerves responding to her — no need for fingers, no need to anything else more than a sinful tongue to get you there, your own hand covering your mouth to somehow stiff the moans as the other grips vi's cherry strands to hold her close to your cunt.

your bandmate satisfies your needs like no one else does, communicates with your body without having to talk with you first cause her hands now force you to move against her mouth, ground your hips against her mouth to get the perfect friction. the metal drags against your underwear, rubs between your folds and stimulates your already swollen g-point in a devastating bundle: there it fucking is.

vi can feel it too after a while, when your grip turns almost painful as you try to draw her closer: travels down your spine like a current of electricity waiting to strike. you're on the tantalizing edge of a delicious orgasm and vi's never felt more holy than in that very moment when you're biting your hand to hold in the moans of her name that threatens to be loud as hell, repeating like a prayer over and over again.

it's such an intoxicating feeling, to be wanted without an ounce of restraint.

your body convulses, and your girlfriend has to fight against the gravity to keep you standing, feasting on the white-ish discharge that now coats your underwear and she wishes to get on her tongue instead.

fucking greedy.

so how was it? everything's a problem with your bandmate/girlfriend. everything's a problem and it's so intense with her. the first make-out high on weed, the tattoo's she gave you at 3am after you both received the first paycheck, high on love, high on life, high on the devastating sound of the music.

"you think someone saw?"

"no," vi reassures you when you're using your thumb to clean the traces of you in the corners of her mouth — "what i'm really curious about, is what the tabloids will say about your flirting tonight."

"my flirting?" you question, fixing your outfit.

"do we think sitting in my lap and whisper filthy things to my ear will go unnoticed?" she chuckles likes its obvious, cause after all, it is obvious.. "i mean, even good guitarists have their limits, people can tell when you're looking at me with those eyes."

"what eyes?"

"you know what eyes. those fuck me eyes."

it's raw and unfiltered. when you kiss her vi's sweaty and it's clumsy and perfect, full of saliva, your own taste, metal and something that's uniquely your girlfriend.

ah. it was never fucking casual. you should have known from the start.

maybe it is time to tell the band, you can't really tell when vi's making you dumb on her kisses again: your girl's always playing dirty.

[formulafanfics13]

reader is half italian but her bf charles has no idea. she makes her appearance in the paddock for the first time and when introduced to the mechanics she talks to them in italian. when they’re alone charles asks her about it. he asks why they never talked in italian and reader gets playfully defensive, «that’s not your first language!», he mentions that english isn’t either, and that he’s basically an honorary italian citizen. it’s clear that charles is turned on by it, he jokes about hearing more of it in bed. reader goes «ew, charles. does hearing italian turn you on? should i worry about the fact that half of italy wants you?» and he says it’s more about her speaking italian that sounds so sexy

la tua lingua - CL16🔥

Masterlist

summary: Charles Leclerc has been dating you for a while, but your first paddock appearance comes with a surprise — you speak fluent Italian. He’s stunned, turned on, and completely obsessed. You? Just a little smug.

warnings: mild language kink, soft dom!Charles, implied smut, public tension, teasing, banter, playful possessiveness, Charles is a flirty menace in love, language switch during intimate moments

He’s stunned the second you open your mouth.

You’re being introduced to a few of the Ferrari mechanics, Matteo, Luca, a few of the older engineers, and they greet you with easy smiles, expecting the usual hello-nice-to-meet-you paddock girlfriend nod.

Instead, you reply in perfect, melodic Italian. Not hesitant. Not textbook. Fluent. Confident. Native.

And every head turns.Charles included.

You carry on with them for a few minutes, gesturing casually, laughing with them like you’ve known them for years. Meanwhile, Charles stands beside you, stunned into silence.

When the greetings end and the group walks off to prep for FP1, he leans in close. “What the fuck was that?”

You blink up at him. “What?”

“You speak Italian?”

You blink again, like it’s obvious. “I’m half Italian, Charles.”

He stares. You grin. “You never told me,” he says, half accusing, half in awe.

“You never asked.”

“We’ve been dating for ten months.”

“You speak French, I speak English. It’s worked fine.”

“But you’re Italian.”

“Half. On my mum’s side.”

Charles shakes his head, still dazed. “Why have we never spoken Italian to each other?”

You give him a look. “That’s not your first language!”

“Neither is English!”

You squint. “You want to switch to Italian now? Like suddenly?”

Charles grins, eyes darkening in that way that makes your stomach flip. "I’m basically an honorary citizen. Ferrari made sure of that.”

You roll your eyes. And then he steps a little closer, voice dropping just for you. “Say something again.”

You raise a brow. “Why?”

“Because hearing you speak Italian just did something to me.”

You gasp. “Ew, Charles.”

He laughs. “Don’t ‘ew’ me. You have no idea how hot you sounded. I think I blacked out.”

“You’re disgusting.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Say something else,” he whispers. “Anything. Later. In bed.”

Your cheeks flush. “Jesus, Charles. Should I worry? Half of Italy already wants you.”

He hums. “Yeah, but none of them sound like you when they speak.”

You shove him playfully. He catches your hand. Kisses your knuckles. “Sono così fottutamente innamorato di te.”

You sigh. And melt. And maybe, just maybe, that night, you moan in Italian too.

[eveningcherryblossoms]

It's A Beta Life, Not A Better Life | Part 7

A platonic yandere Batfam x neglected beta reader story

When Jason died, Tim initially assumed you would be the new Robin.

It made perfect sense to him–you were the child of Bruce, of Batman, and the younger sibling of both the first and second Robins. You came to the Waynes at age seven, perfect to commence training. Sure Jason's death happened way too soon, but Dick started as Robin at age eight so why couldn't nine-year-old you succeed Jason?

But months passed, Batman became more and more violent, and there kept being no Robin. For some time Tim was confused, in denial–surely tonight was the night of the third Robin's debut? But it wasn't, and denial turned to anger.

What, did you not want to be Robin? Were you scared to die? Or did you fail to pass the test to be Robin? Were you unable to convince Bruce, Batman to keep having Robin fight by his side? Didn't you know Batman needed Robin?

When Tim became Robin, he'd vaguely recall his resentment of you and squirmed guiltily. He was being really unreasonable there, he just realized it after taking on the task he'd originally allocate to you. Thank goodness you couldn't read minds or sense emotions!

Tim even tried to make it up to you afterwards. Well, he couldn't really do much–he was so busy training and patrolling and going on missions as Robin–but he did make sure to assure you how he had no intention of intruding on your family or birthright or anything like that. And he meant it too!

Sure Batman, Nightwing and Agent A all treated him kindly... Almost like family... But Tim did believe that was just how they were! And as to them not including you in basically anything that Tim half-suspected they forgot your existence, well–

You were Bruce's biological child. Tim was Jack and Janet Drake's biological child. For all Tim knew, it was just how the rich raised their kids.

No. Tim did know that wasn't it, did he? That Batman, Nightwing, and Agent A–for all that they were kind to him, accepted him–neglect you. But by the time he should've realized it, Batman had become Bruce, Nightwing Dick, Agent A Alfred, and the Bats Tim's pack.

Tim didn't want to acknowledge his chosen pack could be neglectful to one of their own.

So Tim didn't say a word about it. Didn't mention you. Didn't interact with you lest the guilt sprang up. Didn't even think about you for years. When he accidentally encountered you on the bus that day, his heart almost leapt out of his throat.

And man, the conversation he had with you was so awkward. It was awkward to the point he was basically transfixed to the awkwardness, that he couldn't even tell your secondary gender when it was so obvious.

Though to be fair to himself, turtlenecks weren't exclusive to omegas... And Bruce was a prime alpha so you very well could've presented as an alpha too...

Tim shook his head. It didn't matter. It was kind of embarrassing that he could tell Bruce's secret identity but not your secondary gender, but he just had a lot in mind and the situation then was too awkward for words! He should put it out of his mind.

And he should especially forget that dream he had when he fell asleep in the bus after you got off. It was the loveliest of pipe dreams–having you present as a beta, finally joining the pack...

Too bad you weren't one.

In a different property of your late mother, your fingers typed on the keyboard at lightning speed as your eyes remained trained on the screen. As you successfully bypassed the cyber security's next defense, your lips quirked in triumph. Not bad for only three months' training.

From the start you had known that you couldn't just train your body; your mind was just as if not more important. Thankfully you'd never been the worst in anything, whatever Damian liked to say. Sure you might never have been the best either, but then again what point was there in trying so hard about things you didn't care about? When it was obvious that a goddamn Nobel or Oscar or Olympic medal from you would mean less than macaroni drawings from your siblings-on-paper?

Now that you got all the motivations you could ever need, you weren't going to hold back. This was your life or death.

As you kept typing, you mentally thought of your problems. Not the greatest one–you presenting as a beta in this betaphobic world–but your two more recent problems.

First, Dick False Promises Grayson unexpectedly trying to fulfill his promise by you. You managed to avoid him for the past month by staying out till past the Waynes' dinnertime, but he'd begun to 'teasingly' call you out so that you had to out-guilt him.

You keep not being here whenever I visit, puppy, one might think you're intentionally avoiding me! I know that's what you're doing, stop it and be grateful I deign to hang out will you.

No way, Dick! How often do you visit the manor anyway? I would've changed my schedule to fit you otherwise! Bitch, please, you always make those empty promises. Why should I bother be here just 'cause you said you would this time?

Aww, I'm hurt, puppy~ You're seriously bringing up old stuff like that? Don't be so petty!

So on and so on. Every time it happened, you ended up nursing a headache while wondering whether all omegas interacted like that with each other or Dick was just special that way.

It would have been so easy to hire somebody to cause him problems in Bludhaven. It had been so tempting to hire Deathstroke the Terminator to abduct Dick forever. Alas, easy and tempting very seldom equalled sensible.

Granted, what you eventually did could hardly be considered sensible either. But when you saw on the news that a beta trafficking ring operating in Bludhaven was apprehended, your mind jumped to the cynical question: What would Bludhaven's infamously corrupt law enforcement do for if not to the victims? Answer: take the unclaimed ones for themselves, use them as bribery, or sell them in place of the original traffickers. Just one quick look with your then-even-worse hacking skill and you managed to find out everything.

So you leaked the truth to all news channels and humanitarian organizations you could reach out to.

Dick, officially the gym coach at an omega-only high school in Bludhaven but unofficially also a 'consultant' at the BPD, proceeded to all but get drowned in the flood of scandals. With that, he was taken care of, if only temporarily.

But the second and more pressing problem–at least for the past month, certain people in Crime Alley were keeping an eye on you. And in spite of their lack of identifying clothes or anything, you were quite sure they were subordinates of Red Hood the crime lord.

You finally got through the whole cyber security, but you could no longer feel satisfaction. You kept wondering, why was Red Hood of all people paying attention to you? Did he know? If so, did he want you?

And if so, how were you supposed to take him down?

A/N: *squints at own writing* Is Tim sufficiently hateful here... Is reader sufficiently stressed here... Oh well lmao yolo *posts it*

Pls no harsh criticism guys 🙏 But I welcome replies, asks and messages alike so don't be shy 💕

Taglist: @randomlyappearingartist @bellethesleepypotato @nirvanaxx1942 @tenswife @galaxypurplerose @shycreatorreview @cupid73 @time-shardz @mikusamsan @simpingpandas @kore-of-the-underworld @elmichi0 @mirabilis-polaris @farsketch @altumsomnum @hai-there-how-are-you @vanessa-boo @ashjade19 @yandere-enthusiast @a-lurking-fae @hyperfixatedcatlover @leeiasure @luckynemi @lowkeyjarrr @lunoorbonoor @deathbynarcisstick @tacendxx @staarflowerr @anonlikesfics @magical-panda2 @whognuthis @arwenyukiamoto @hon3ydewcaram3l @lilyalone @jazzyspaceghost @teabutnerdy @bunbunbread @darktrashpoetry @conqcakes @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @unrelatedlily @ciatin @ratchetprime211 @mybones537 @anonasatoruu @vikkus-main @shqyou @sitepathos @ee-1ovelifedownthedrain

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Eight) (18+) / SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 4.0k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

A/N: short chapter! but a necessary one, now they're docked and exploring!! next one will likely be longer, and the one after that will be really long ;) we're almost halfway through the series can you believe it!!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Waking up is warm. You almost think you’re home, at first, buried beneath the three blankets that you sleep beneath during the colder nights of the year. It certainly feels that way, warmth eclipsing your entire body, seeping through your skin and soaking into your very soul.

Your eyes don’t want to open, and you sluggishly recall having stayed up entirely too late reading. You’re not sure if you’d even set the book down, or if you’d just read until your chin had hit your chest and your eyes had refused to read another word.

But that’s not right- you had to have laid down, otherwise you’d be sitting up now with a terrible crick in your neck. No, you’d laid down, but the warmth you’re feeling is impossible considering the paper thin cruise ship linens and the light, airy comforter.

The second that you realize the warmth surrounding you is body heat, body heat from one Jake Seresin whose chest is currently flush to your back as his arm winds around your waist while he sleeps, your entire body tenses into fight-or-flight mode.

While you’re grateful you haven’t woken up grinding against his thigh for a second day in a row, this hardly seems better.

“Jake,” You hiss, cursing his strong grip even in sleep as his hand proves impossible to pry off of your waist, “Get off of me.”

His very conscious, very dignified response is, “Hm?” Mumbled against your bare shoulder. The feeling of his lips brushing your skin makes you panic even more, and you wrestle yourself around in his grip so that you can stare him in the face.

“Jake, let go of me.” You urge, wondering if all men have the magical ability to stay sleeping through everything but a tornado. 'Light sleeper' your ass.

“What? Mm, five more minutes.” He grumbles, attempting to nestle his face back into the warm, flushed skin of your shoulder and only succeeding in nearly landing his lips on yours for the second time in 12 hours.

Before his face can run into yours you jerk violently away from him, and you finally manage to free yourself from his iron grip by- well, throwing yourself onto the floor of your cabin.

You land with a deafening thump, all flailing limbs and shaky muscles. You’re barely breathing, half from the fall and half from nearly kissing Jake again, and when his sleep-ridden, beheaded face peers over the side of the bed, his eyes narrow at your erratic breathing.

“So dramatic.” He rubs a thumb in the inner corner of one of his eyes, scrubbing away sleep that’s crusted there, “I don’t think you’re literally supposed to fall for me - did you get a concussion?”

“Smartass.” You gripe, sitting upright and glaring at him where he’s still blissfully lounged on the mattress, “Why were you spooning me?”

“Was I?” He yawns, his face scrunching to accommodate the expression as he stretches his arms over his head. It’s almost pornographic, the way his muscles tense and ripple and stand out against his skin as he grunts in pleasure. You look away for good measure.

“Yes. I knew I should have slept on the couch.”

“Relax, Y/N,” He snorts, “I subconsciously chased your body heat while I was dead asleep, I didn’t have a wet dream and start humping you.”

Fear lances icy and cold through your spine, impaling you right in the gut. Having a wet dream and… humping you? You’re getting less and less sure by the hour that Jake hadn’t been awake yesterday morning. 

“I’m getting in the shower.” You decide, fight receding and flight kicking in, “I’m- don’t wait up for me. Go to breakfast.”

“I need to shower too,” Jake mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I’ll wait.”

You wish the shower was soundproof so that you could scream into it.

You scrub yourself down because you feel filthy. Your skin seems to crawl, and you take pleasure in grating it raw with the washcloth they’ve provided. All of your jitters from last night come rushing back to you, and perhaps it’s because you didn’t sleep many hours, or because you’ve got a headache from your drinks, or because you’d felt Jake’s breath on your face twice in one day, but everything feels uncertain again, and your legs nearly give out from beneath you.

Danica’s encouragement promised a happy ending. It focused on the destination, but the journey is something that requires vulnerability- courage, and it’s courage you’re not sure you possess. Not like this, not enough courage to close your eyes and let Jake kiss you. Not enough to really, truly want him back.

Pure, primal, raw sex might be even easier, now that you’re thinking about it. Sex is why you’d come on the cruise in the first place, and your ire has been sanded down enough now that you might be able to convince yourself through several drinks that one hookup with Jake wouldn’t be the end of your world. You still don’t want to, it's still 'giving in', but it seems miles better now than what Danica is trying to tell you, which is that there’s love involved. You could have discounted her delusions as a hopeless romantic seeing soulmates where there are none, but Jake had held you so tenderly last night, had swayed so delicately in the sterile hallway of a cruise ship to muffled music that it had felt like love. It feels like Jake Seresin loves you, and your stomach hurts.

A kiss- a real one, fluttering lashes, stuttered breath, tender touches and shared body heat is so different than a quick and dirty fuck, and the idea of kissing Jake, of loving him makes you want to throw up- it would even if you’d had zero drinks last night. 

Kissing is love, love is vulnerable, and vulnerability leaves you open to hurt. 

He’s a new man, you remind yourself, new and improved, he left the old one in the dust, but none of it manages to completely squash the nerves you’re feeling as you start to believe what Danica had been trying to tell you.

Maybe Jake Seresin does love you, and that’s far scarier than the idea of him wanting to fuck you.

You close your eyes and let the scalding hot shower water seep through your scalp and into your brain. It burns away your thoughts, and by the time you’ve washed your conditioner out of your hair you’ve managed to convince yourself yet again that Hangman is more or less exactly who you’ve known him to be for the last decade, and two days on a boat together hasn’t changed everything about him. Perhaps he’s more genuine now, but believing that his entire character has done a 180 over 48 hours is just too difficult. You’ll give him credit where credit is due, but you’re not going to lay in his arms and let him kiss you. Too far, too vulnerable, too fast.

Your perception of Jake is constantly shifting, rocking back and forth beneath your feet like the ship you’re on, and your legs are correspondingly shaky as you exit the shower.

You’d had the foresight this time to grab your clothes before showering, and something had told you to pick out the purple lacy lingerie you’d brought for the sex you thought you’d be having. You have to admire yourself in the mirror, and you bemoan the fact that no one’s going to see you in it. Even the thought of getting together with Daniel now… you’re not sure you even want to fuck him, anymore. After all of the dramatics, you’re learning new things about everyone, and you can’t believe the two of them have undermined the very point of the cruise: sex without emotional complications.

Slipping a beachy, striped romper on over the lingerie feels like covering up a masterpiece, but Jake’s definitely still outside, and he hasn’t earned the privilege of seeing you that scantily-clad.

You tie your hair up in a quick ponytail that’ll be easy to manage throughout your day of excursions. Last night Jake had mentioned snorkeling, and you don’t want to have to wrestle your unruly, sea-tossed hair into any sort of style. You take a deep breath before reopening the bathroom door, and step out into the cabin that’s significantly colder than the steamy bathroom was.

“That’s a cute outfit,” Jake hums, his phone clutched in his hand, “Y’know we’ll get service on land? We’re still too far from the city, but once we get into town we’ll be able to tell everyone we ran into each other.”

“I don’t know if I want anyone knowing we ran into each other,” You groan, “At least not until it’s over. You really think it’ll be a good idea to let the squadron know we’re stuck on a sex cruise together and then go off the grid for three days?”

“That sounds perfect,” Jake snickers, flipping the covers off of himself and standing in all of his half-naked glory, “It’ll keep ‘em guessing.”

“I don’t want anyone guessing,” You narrow your eyes at him, sitting on the bench to pull your shoes on, “I’m gonna go to breakfast, we’ll meet up later in town.”

“What? No!” Jake frowns, “I thought we had this conversation last night. I like spending time with you even if we’re not about to get naked.”

Love, Danica’s voice chants in your mind, love, love, love!

“Hurry up and shower.” You gesture towards the bathroom, “I’m leaving in fifteen minutes, whether you’re with me or not.”

Jake doesn’t run to the bathroom, he’s dignified, but he does take the fastest shower anyone ever has. You wonder if he was even able to wash himself properly, but admittedly, he’s never smelled unpleasant. The military is rife with men who smell like the inside of a tire, but Jake’s always groomed himself nicely. He steps out looking adequately clean now, but it’s all undermined by the way he’s absolutely, incredibly butt-naked.

Something natural and instinctual drops your gaze between his legs for the smallest fraction of a second, and as soon as you catch sight of him your eyes slam shut.

“Jake!” You yelp, your head jerking back so violently that it bangs against the wall. You’re smushed into the corner of the cabin, rapidly blinking eyes now finding sanctuary in the white ceiling rather than what’s below it. “Oh my god, why are you naked?!”

“I just showered.” He shrugs- you can see the motion in your peripheral vision. You cringe, face scrunching as your eyes bunch shut, “Oh, come on, Y/N. You’ve seen a penis before. Be a big girl!”

“Of course I’ve seen a penis before. That doesn’t mean I want to see yours! Put some clothes on, you degenerate!”

“Okay, alright, it’s covered.” He insists, and you carefully rake your eyes downwards to stare only at Jake’s face. He’s looking at you almost exasperatedly, and your eyes tentatively travel down his still-naked abdomen to find him in a black pair of swim trunks.

“You’re still looking at it,” He notes, and you tear your eyes away with fiery cheeks, “It’s just clothed now. Are you sure you don’t want an unobstructed view?”

“If I want to see your penis, I will ask to see your penis.” You promise Jake, “For now, let’s all keep our clothes on.”

“Whatever you want,” Jake recites dutifully, slipping a shirt over his head, “Now let’s head off the boat for breakfast- I’m already gettin’ sick of buffet food.”

Stepping off of the boat reveals a coastal town that is definitely wise to tourism. There’s market stalls set up all along the beach and each vendor tries luring you in with promises of authentic, handmade items. Some of them are gorgeous, and you believe that the woman sitting behind the table hand-knitted each garment. Some of them, however, are poorly screen-printed shirts that say ‘I ♥️ Cruising’, and you’re fairly certain those weren’t manufactured with love.

Milling along the beach with several other passengers on your ship creates a bustling community atmosphere, one that lifts your spirits despite all of the ruminating you’ve been forced into. You even catch yourself nearly humming along to a song one of the vendors has blaring from a speaker beneath his table, and you glance too hard and too long at one of the pretty green bracelets splayed out over his table.

“You like this one? You can try it on,” He offers, his smile kind but his actions admittedly pushy, “Here, try!”

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” You hum, but Jake’s nudging you forwards by the small of your back.

“Go try it,” He scoffs, “Window shopping ain’t fun.”

You steady yourself in the sand, carefully taking the bracelet that the man offers you. It’s one with a clasp, and you try draping it over your wrist to hook it against your stomach but it proves impossible as the beads drag it downwards.

“I got it,” Jake takes your wrist in a gentle hand, pinching each side of the bracelet between his thick fingers, “Turn your wrist for me, darlin’.”

You let him rotate your arm so that the underside of your wrist is facing up, and he hooks the bracelet’s clasp into the jump ring to secure it. Once it’s clasped he takes your hand and flips your arm over again, showcasing the beads against your skin in all their emerald-colored glory.

“There, now that’s pretty.”

“It is,” You nod politely, “But I’ll be okay without it. Can you take it off, Jake?”

“No.” He drops your hand, turning to the man at the stall, “How much for the bracelet?”

“Ten dollars.” The man smiles, “I could scalp you for twenty, but I like you.”

“We got a special discount,” Jake smirks at you, digging his wallet out of his pocket, “And is that what you tell all the tourists that pour off’a that boat?”

“No, you two are just a cute couple.”

“Oh, we’re not-!” You rush to explain, but Jake shoulders his way in front of you through the sand to hand the man a ten dollar bill.

“Not now, honey,” Jake drawls, “Ten is a lot better than twenty.”

“And zero is a lot better than ten.” You pry at the clasp on the bracelet in a futile effort to free yourself, “Really, Jake, that’s kind of you but there’s no need to-”

“Have a nice day,” The man waves at you, tucking Jake’s money into his wallet, “There’s a matching necklace if you want to stop by on your way back!”

“He knows how to do business,” You sigh, the bracelet weighing heavy on your wrist as yet another instance of Jake splurging on gifts for you, “You’re gonna be broke by the end of this trip, you know that, right?”

“It’ll be worth it.” He shrugs, “It really does look nice on you.”

“Thank you,” You chew through the words, “I- appreciate it.”

When Jake’s pinky brushes against yours while you’re walking down the beach, you step away to your left.

It puts you in the light of the sun, but two steps forward would have done the same seeing as the palm trees planted along the coast end at the beach’s edge. The village relies on umbrellas and overhangs to shade its residents, and neither are going to be enough to keep you shielded from the harsh light making your eyes sting.

“Jesus,” You hiss, grateful you’d remembered sunscreen before you’d left, “Could the sun be any brighter?”

Perhaps it’s a stupid question, but it feels good to grumble about something. It’s something you do frequently around Jake, and old habits die hard.

“We could get you a hat.” Jake suggests, but you scoff.

“No! No more presents.” You huff, “I’m a big girl with my own money. If I need a hat I’ll buy myself a hat.”

“I’m starting to think all this falling you’ve been doing really has given you a concussion,” Jake glances at you out of the corner of his eye as you make your way onto the paved street. There’s still vendors lining the path into town, but they dwindle in numbers down where the restaurants and tourist traps start.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Aren’t women supposed to like getting spoiled?” Jake asks, “You acted like that bracelet was cursed, or something.”

“I’m not ungrateful.” You tilt your head sideways to meet his gaze with your tired one, “Really, Jake, I’m not. It’s just- it sets a precedent. It makes me feel like I owe you something in return.”

“They’re gifts. Not an exchange,” Jake frowns, “I didn’t buy you a bracelet so you’d suck me off, or something.”

“I know, I know.” You wave a hand dismissively at him, “But then not giving you anything in return makes me feel bad. Just- cool it, yeah?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll cool it.” Jake promises, “But buy a hat, yeah? You’re squinting so hard it looks painful.”

You drift over to a stall on your left hand side and peer cautiously at the sunhats they have on display. Jake’s glancing at the booth across the street, and you keep him in the back of your mind as you glance at what this one is selling. You’re fairly certain this is a more mass-market, cheap, tourist-y crap vendor than the rest are, but you can’t blame anyone for wanting to make a quick buck. The woman behind the stall smiles at you, like she knows she might scare you off, but the man she’s with isn’t as wise.

“Hats are twelve dollars. And the matching dresses are forty.” He glances down at your romper, eyes raking over you for a split second longer than you’re comfortable with, “Y’know you’d look pretty in that one,” He points at a sundress with a billowing skirt, vaguely similar colors to one of the hats on the side of the booth, “Would you consider buying the set for forty-five?”

“No, thank you.” You step back, put-off by the man’s eager attitude, as well as his comment about the sundress, but backing up means you step right onto Jake’s toes, his feet suddenly planted directly behind yours.

“I’d say she already looks mighty pretty in what she’s got on,” Jake’s drawl rumbles against your back as you accidentally ram into his chest, “And I think twelve dollars for that flimsy hat is a crime.”

“Jake!” You stumble off of his feet, grabbing his hand to tug him along the pathway, “I’m- I’m so sorry. Have a nice day!”

You manage to drag him down the road and towards a bustling restaurant with a shaded patio, “That was so rude!”

“So? So was he.” Jake gripes, “I don’t like the comment he made about the dress. Or the way he was lookin’ at you.”

“Yeah, neither did I. But so what? He tries selling stuff to women by complimenting them. Oldest trick in the book. That doesn’t mean you have to insult him, just smile and nod.”

“No.” Jake decides, squirming his wrist out of your grip to properly take hold of your hand, “New rule. Stay close to me, and if one of the vendors starts looking at you funny, high-tail it outta there.”

“Yes, sir.” You drawl, hoping the sarcasm your voice is dripping with manages to penetrate his thick skull, “Can we eat something already? I’m starving.”

“This place looks nice.” Jake nods, tugging you by your conjoined hands into the restaurant, “Am I allowed to pay?”

“I’ll pay,” You insist, “To make up for the bracelet, and the candy, and the drinks, and whatever else you’ve managed to put on your tab.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Jake reminds you, his tone exasperated, but you bury yourself in the menu so that you don’t have to listen to him. 

Being seated takes no time at all, but you can tell the kitchen is busy, because it takes almost thirty minutes for your food to arrive. You’re both irritable with hunger and you busy yourselves with your now-working cellphones instead of having heartfelt conversations about feelings, switching off airplane mode to receive a barrage of text messages from the past three days.

“Phoenix wants to know how the sex has been,” You snort, “What do I tell her?”

“Tell her it’s the best you’ve ever had.” Jake sips at his water, the glass nearly empty, “It would be, if you ever let it happen.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” You nod dryly, “I’m gonna tell her that technically I have seen a penis, but it was strictly business.”

Jake snorts into his water glass so hard that he spills it down his front right as the waiter walks up with your food.

“Thank you!” You call cheerily, choking back laughter as Jake frantically dabs his napkin against his shirt. Your caprese is set in front of you on a golden-brown piece of sourdough toast, and the balsamic glaze overtop makes your mouth water. Jake’s ordered his typical Texan steak and potatoes despite it being before noon, and you stuff your phone back into the pocket of your romper to dig into your meal.

“That looks good,” Jake squints suspiciously at the meal in front of you, “What’re the greens?”

“Spinach.” You hum, slicing the toast and spilling the cheese from its carefully-molded shape, “You want to try some?”

He pauses where he’s slicing up his steak to nod, “Feed me.”

“I’ll put it on your plate.” You offer, but he drags the dish away.

“No, feed me!” He insists, a shit-eating grin on his face as he leans across the table expectantly.

“You’re ridiculous.” You observe, but you can’t stop your own smile from spreading across your cheeks, accompanied by a breathy laugh, “This is why that vendor thought we were a couple.”

Jake crunches down on the toast, taking it right off of the fork you’ve extended to him. You try not to think too hard about using the same fork he’d just eaten off of, slicing another piece off of your toast and enjoying this one for yourself.

“So what?” He mumbles through a mouthful of cheese and tomato, “‘Doesn’t matter what anyone thinks.”

“Give me some of your steak.” You point with your knife, “Medium rare?”

“You know me so well.” Jake grins, balsamic glaze at the corner of his lips, “Here, darlin’, you want potatoes too?”

At your nod Jake stabs a chunk of potato with the end of his fork, holding out the utensil for you to eat off of. You can hardly contain a giggle as you lean in to take the bite, and the savory seasonings on the steak and potatoes contrast nicely with the sour-sweet balsamic vinegar.

“That’s good.” You hum, your mouth full, “What are you gonna do when a restaurant doesn’t have the Texas special on the menu?”

“Eat your food, I guess.” Jake shrugs, cutting another chunk off of the meat, “That cheese was good.”

With food in your stomachs you’re much more sociable, and you don’t even yank your foot away when Jake’s rests against it beneath the table. You sit in comfortable, bloated silence afterwards, and your attention drifts back to your phone when it buzzes in your pocket.

Phoenix: Business? You mean you haven’t had sex yet?

Y/N: I’m working on it, okay? Things got a little complicated.

Phoenix: That’s exactly what this cruise was meant to avoid: complications.

Y/N: I know that! Just let me figure things out, I’ll tell you EVERYTHING when we’re back.

Phoenix: ‘We’? Are you bringing your roommate around to meet us all?

Y/N: I don’t have much of a choice.

In order to remain in the last shred of your comfort zone that exists, you ignore all further vibrations from your phone. Nat’s mind can run wild all she wants- she still won’t guess what really happened. You glance up to see Jake on his own phone, and you watch his fingers fly against the keyboard with narrowed eyes.

“Did you tell the guys about us?”

“Mm-mm.” Jake shakes his head, keeping his eyes on his phone, “Trying to dance around the awkward parts for now.”

“Me too.” You nod, and he settles back into the rhythm of texting.

Coyote: So it’s going well with this mystery girl, then?

Jake: Better than I could have hoped. 

Coyote: Enjoy getting laid man.

Jake: Laid? Mark my words, Coyote, I’m gonna get hitched.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[starlostjisung]

you could call me babe for the weekend

last chapter: epilogue

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“you have everything ready?”

“yeah”

“charger?”

“yeah”

“food for the car?”

“yep”

“condoms?”

“chris!”, you hit his chest playfully

“sorry sorry, i was joking”

you turned around laughing

“unless…”

you turned around again to hit him one more time but he caught your wrist, kissing it softly.

“okay let’s go, we have some people we need to impress again”

chan and you packed your things in his car and left your apartment.

it was crazy to think that you and chan had already been together for a year. you couldn’t believe how different things were now compared to how they were just twelve months ago.

it was safe to say that it had been the best years of both of your lives.

however, a new year comes with new birthdays.

and yes, that included your aunt’s birthday party.

again.

that’s how you found chan and yourself, on your way to your aunt’s cabin one more time. to the place where everything started twelve months ago. but this time, no lies between each other. there was no need to pretend.

you were together. and you couldn’t be happier.

instead of going the first day of the trip - you and chan couldn’t make it because he had some promo to do that day - you were going on saturday, the day of the actual party. that meant you would only have to survive a day and a half this time. that was something.

but the best thing was that you had chan with you one more time. and you knew you would have him forever, for everything you needed. you were the same with him. he would always have you.

“okay, second trip, second year. what can we expect this time?”, he asked you at some point during your karaoke session in the car

“mmmm, i’m not sure. last year i snapped at my aunt a bit but we haven’t seen each other since then, so i’m sure she must have forgotten about that. maybe something along the lines of “how i’ve kept you for so long” or “how great of a human you are because you’re still with me after a year”, you know, the usual stuff”

he grinned at that, “well as your real boyfriend now, you have to know i will protect you and no insults or snarky remarks will be allowed under my watch”

“oh, so you’re my knight in shining armor now?”, you smiled at him

“of course”, he grabbed your hand and kissed it, “don’t worry, everything will be alright”

you nodded your head while squeezing his hand delicately, “don’t try to get out of this you idiot, i’m still bitter that you didn’t go blonde after i told you last year”

he snorted at your answer, “you still remember?”, the exact conversation you both had had in this same car, exactly one year ago

“of course i remember, you should know by now that i don’t play with blonde chan”

he laughed again and kissed your hand another time, “okay, i promise i will think about it for the next comeback”

“pinky promise?”

“yeah, pinky promise”, you two laughed together

these were your favourite moments. when the noise outside didn’t matter. what was ahead of you didn’t matter either. because you had each other.

and that was enough. it had always been enough.

the day had been going… fine. bearable. you could manage.

was going to your aunt’s cabin to celebrate her birthday and spend time with her and your cousin on your top 10 of favourite things to do? no, but this year it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be.

yes, there had been some snarky comments, some jealousy looks from your cousin aimed at you - it was the first time she was single during her mom’s birthday party - and some out of place comments aimed at chan. but, you two survived.

chan and you decided to spend most of the day with your parents and grandparents, who were more than happy to have you and chan with them that day. during the year, chan and you had seen them sometimes when you had dinner together or it was one of your birthdays, but still, it was nice to be with people who really appreciated you and your boyfriend and would treat him like a normal human being. you were thankful for that.

before dinner time, the children at the party had decided to steal chan from you again and went to play some games with him. and chan, being the perfect boyfriend, human and everything, went with the kids - not without giving you a short and loving peck before he left you with your parents.

“you two seem really happy together”, your mom told you while she saw you looking at him from afar

you sighed, feeling completely relaxed and happy for the first time that day, something you never thought you would feel in this kind of party.

“yeah, we’re really happy. everything’s going great. of course we hate whenever we have to be apart from each other for too long but we knew what we were signing for when we got together, so we just try to make it as easy as we can. but yeah, we’re happy”, you let out what your mom thought was the biggest smile she had ever seen in your face. or at least in a long time.

“i’m happy for the both of you, you deserve it. and i’m so grateful that you have someone that will be there for you whenever you need it. i will always be thankful for that. chan is a good person and i’m happy you have him”, your mom told you

you could feel your eyes watering, so in order to stop the tears, you hugged her. happy that she was happy with chan. with your decision.

happy that after a year, chan and you still chose each other.

you hadn’t seen chan in a while and the last thing you had heard was that the kids and him were playing hide and seek. again. so you went out to find him but this time, you were almost completely sure where to find him.

you went straight to the wine cellar. you opened the door quietly and descended the stairs.

“chris? hello?”, nothing, “come on babe, i know you’re here, you can’t fool me”, still nothing

you walked around the stairs, towards the nook.

“okay, should i act surprised when i get closer to the nook and you grab my hand and then you-“, as you had predicted, you felt something grabbing your hand and pulling you down towards the nook.

just like you had found yourself exactly one year ago, you were in chan’s lap, with his hand covering your mouth once again. you saw him smiling at you and you couldn’t help but laugh against his hand.

“hi, baby”, he smiled at you while moving his hand to your neck

“found you”, you smiled

he laughed and put his forehead against yours, “i knew you would”

“why did you hide here again? they’re going to find you”

“maybe i wanted you to find me first”, he wiggled his eyebrows at you while looking at you seductively

you snorted at his answer, letting your head fall against his shoulder, “you’re an idiot, you know that?”

he raised your head to look at you, “yeah, but i’m your idiot” he moved his head closer to yours and then, he kissed you.

a kiss that was both for your present you and for the past you. for the chan and y/n that had been in the exact place one year ago, trying to cross the tightrope. the chan and y/n that had been too scared to move forward. the chan and y/n that had almost lost each other.

the present chan and y/n were proud of them for all the things they had gone through. and they would go through them again if that meant you would be together at the end. like it was meant to be.

you broke the kiss but put your foreheads together again, not wanting to break the moment completely.

“are you okay? is everything alright?”, he looked at you more serious this time, making sure that you were fine, that nothing had happened while he wasn’t with you and that you weren’t lying to him

always checking on you.

“yeah, everything’s perfect, really”, you smiled at him

he smiled back. he placed both of his hands on your face, and traced your skin softly. you lent into his touch and looked at him. enjoying this peaceful moment. the quietness. the calmness. you could live in this moment forever.

he must have been feeling the same, because he got closer to you to whisper against your lips, softly only for you to hear, “i love you”

“i love you too”

he went to close the gap between you, your breathes entangled in each other, lips almost touching when-

“i found bang chan, he’s here! guys i found him”, a kid left the cellar, screaming at the others, happy that he had found chan. again.

chan let our a frustrated sigh and let his head fall against the crook of your neck.

you laughed at him and placed your hands on his hair, “i told you they were going to find you, love”

most of the people had already left the party, only your parents, uncle, aunt and some friends were still in the garden celebrating, so you and chan took this opportunity to go upstairs to your room.

once you both washed yourselves and changed into comfortable clothes, you went to sit in the outdoor lounge chairs that were in the balcony of your room. chan sat in one of them and you went to sit in the other one when he grabbed your waist.

“what are you doing? no no, you sit here with me”, he placed you between his legs, with your back against his chest

he placed his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and kissing the top of your head. you intertwined your hands together, entangling your bodies impossibly closer.

“you okay?”, you asked him

“mmm, and you?”

“yeah, i’m good”

you let out a content sigh, when you felt him kissing the top of your head again.

“today wasn’t as bad as we thought it was going to be, right?”, he asked you after a while

“no, it was… tolerable, we survived”, you laughed softly

“that’s because we make a great team, love”, you high-fived each other while laughing softly

you turned around to look at him, “the best team”

he traced your hair with his fingertips, and put a lock of your hair behind your ear. he closed the gap between you two, and kissed you softly, to remind you that he was really there.

that he would always be on your team.

you two broke apart and he looked at you, “your lips still look lonely, would they like to meet mine again?”

“oh christ, for fuck’s sake, not again”, you hit his chest playfully, and pulled away from him while you two laughed.

the truth was that you would never change this part of chan. you would never change anything about him. you still couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have him in your life.

“do you remember last year when we talked about the shooting stars? when i asked you what would you wish for?”, he asked you while you looked at the starry sky that covered you both

“yeah, i remember”

you felt a soft smile growing in your face, thinking about everything that had changed within a year. everything you had ever wished for. and now you had it, wit his arms around you

“i know you lied to me when you said you didn’t know what you would wish for, so come on, tell me please”, he nudged you with his nose. bumping it to your temple softly

“i wished that we didn’t have to pretend. that us together was real, and none of that was a lie”, you told him honestly. there was no point in keeping it a secret anymore.

“really?”, he asked curiously

you nodded against his chest.

“you wanna know something?”, you felt his lips on your ear, brushing with every word, “i wished for the same thing”

you turned around to look at him, ”did you?”

he nodded his head and placed his hands on your face, tracing your skin with his fingertips, “yeah, i did”

you smiled at him, “what would you wish for now?”

he put his forehead against yours, his lips close to yours but not quite touching. not yet.

“to stay like this forever with you”

you smiled against his lips, “me too”

you closed the gap. filling this promise with a kiss. wishing to be together like this forever.

knowing there was no better wish you could ever ask for.

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the ending of the story is here my loves 🩷

once again, thank you for all the love for this story, i hoped you liked it as much as i loved writing it

see you in my next stories 🩷

my other fics

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[lasertitties]

No Child Left Behind made me hate school, and it made all of my peers hate reading. I knew how to read before school and that’s the only reason I still like it. I was 12 when Bush’s law was passed and after years of looking forward to junior high and high school, I proceeded to despise every second of both. I begged to be allowed to start college early and was finally allowed when my parents saw how stupid my assignments were my sophomore year; and how limited my AP options were.

Every teacher I loved was teaching the best shit under the radar and in a secret pact with advanced students that we wouldn’t rat them out. My engineering teacher funded our robot kits and rocketry gear himself because that had already been cut. My ag class happened in a fucking trailer because they pushed the guy out of classrooms. My programming teacher also snuck in his own supplies and I’m like 90% sure he pirated paid IDEs for us to learn on and installed them on his classroom’s computers. My history teacher used her planning and lunch periods to teach anyone who showed up voluntarily what she actually wanted to teach in secret. She had a secret fucking club where I learned vital facts like yes the fucking Civil War was about slavery and here’s how the economics went down. My cousin was in the other district and did NOT learn it that way, and it took a shouting match to pass the knowledge to her.

My AP calculus class took place in a fucking computer room and the teacher barely even tried to teach it because he was a resentful old burnout- by the time I was doing half college I had to switch over to learning math at the community college to finish my math education.

Even after doing half of my classes at community, which was my family’s way of getting me something like private school (tuition was lowered for high school students missing out on shit due to cut programs), I was STILL underprepared compared to rich kids who went to private schools by the time I went to engineering school at the state university.

And when I wasn’t at the community college, or with older teachers in physics and engineering who just didn’t give a fuck if they got fired and wanted to go out swinging? I was bored and resentful.

I watched admin cracking down, and younger teachers who still had 30 years of this ahead of them cracking up. We got our backpacks searched constantly and half my school was still on drugs, every student was treated like a criminal but if you asked one of the weed kids, the only way to make class bearable was to be high. I couldn’t even blame them much. I made school bearable by constantly flouting rules just like my favorite teachers had to. Real school was literally happening illegally in spite of the administration.

It was wild to go to the community college and see people allowed to roam and talk between periods, bathrooms having unrestricted access with no bag search, and teachers actually happy - then go back to my public high school for my AP shit and get treated like a prisoner and watch teachers lose their fucking minds or rebel.

Guns still wound up on my campus three times despite all the “security”- once from a kid who forgot he had one in the back of his truck, once from a gang kid who had no intention of using it at school but apparently needed it after, and one from a prisoner being chased by the cops who ran through my school to hide. We got put in lockdown and not a single cop came to get him, we were lucky the one actual dangerous guy didn’t give a shit about high schoolers.

My high school made me hate the United States. It made me hate authority in general. It made me hate the law. It killed my respect for any rule I didn’t see the purpose of and for the entire education system. It left me with limited study skills for university because I was unchallenged for six years before I left my backwater border town. It left me with no illusions about where racism was at in my country because the hispanic kids were treated five times worse than my little “gifted”ass was, and what’s worse is I knew three who were just as smart but ESL, which made narrow minded clowns treat them like they were stupid. I made an effort to learn some Spanish, which made me fully aware based on my dogshit fluency that the ESL kids were fundamentally more impressive with their language skills than me. My school treated being ESL like a mental disability, and only my very best teachers were cool to the ESL students who made honors and AP.

The whole experience left me with a horrible yawning pit in my soul. A feeling that everyone in a position of power was either overworked, incompetent, or a sadistic piece of shit. Which left me depressed.

Oh and since I was in a military town I got the military sold to me hardcore every second of every day and watched half of my peers get shoved into the Iraq War because they didn’t stand a chance anywhere else. It did not go well for them. I half suspect that screwing up education was done intentionally to create people desperate enough to become enlisted soldiers but I can’t prove anything.

Public school in the United States is a crime against humanity I’m dead serious.

I was today years old. That is disgusting.

No Child Left Behind is one of the worst things to ever be incentivized in schools. It was signed into law when I was 14. Reading Rainbow was my show as a kid. LeVar Burton played a big part in why I became an avid reader to date. The joy of it. It's an adventure around the globe and through different time periods without stepping on a plane or time machine.

Children parrot behavior. In grade school, I always wanted to read the same amount of books as my teachers (50 books) and managed to double that each year. Before No Child Left Behind, book fairs and Scholastic catalogs were a serious matter like your grandma's Fingerhut catalogs. Libraries were (and still are) a wonderland.

Reading comprehension and proficiency in schools has been declining for decades. A crisis. The joy of books isn't pushed anymore and I'm always saddened by it. It's one of the reasons why I post my book reviews and recommendations on here, as well as posts from others to encourage reading and (novel) writing. Kids will parrot your behavior while the education system sadly fails to return as that example.

[notyancionline]

Loving Luigi would include…?

Oh baby this is gonna be long 🧍🏻‍♀️

– dragging him out of the house when he’s been coding too long

– wearing his Bali shirt just to see the way he looks at you

– late-night talks on his bedroom floor, where he opens up in whispers only meant for you

– arguing over who loves who more and him always ending it with “not possible, bella”

– sneaking kisses in the kitchen when his mom isn’t looking

– him rubbing your back until you fall asleep, even if he’s tired too

– being his calm when the world overstimulates him

– forehead kisses (lots of them)

– the softest “I missed you” like you were gone for years, even if it’s just been a day

– knowing that he loves you with every fiber of who he is gently, fiercely, obsessively

– him playing with your fingers while he listens to you talk, like he needs to be touching you to concentrate

– him whispering “you’re mine” into your hair when you fall asleep on his chest, like a prayer

– knowing every night ends with his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in like he’s scared you’ll slip away

– catching him just staring at you mid-sentence, and when you ask what, he shrugs like “nothing just love you so much it hurts sometimes”

– arguing about something stupid and then him breaking the silence just to say, “still not letting go of you, you know that right?”

– him watching you put on your makeup in the mirror, quiet at first then smirking and going, “you’re really tryna kill me today, huh?”

– soft, sleepy good morning kisses that turn into making out under the sheets because he needs you before the day starts

– every goodbye turning into a 10-minute ritual because he can’t ever just walk away from you

– the way he says “baby” when he’s serious low, breathy, like it’s the only word that feels real in his mouth

– being his peace,his weakness,the one he’d cross every line for

– him always holding your jaw when he kisses you, like he’s trying to memorize your face with his hands

– forehead kisses that linger a second too long, like he’s pouring his whole heart into them

– accidentally waking up at 2AM just to find him already awake, watching you sleep like you’re the only thing in the world that calms his mind

– him muttering “mine” under his breath when someone flirts with you even if it’s just a glance

– him cooking dinner shirtless, sauce on his fingers, tasting it off a spoon and feeding you first

– sharing headphones on long car rides and him skipping the songs he doesn’t want you associating with anyone else but him

– him whispering Italian in your ear when he’s too overwhelmed to explain how he feels in English

– stolen glances from across crowded rooms his eyes locked on you like you’re the only person who matters

– falling asleep tangled up with him on the couch, his hand still resting on your thigh like even in sleep, he can’t let go

– him getting jealous in quiet, subtle ways pulling you closer, kissing your shoulder, making sure everyone sees who you belong to

– long hugs where he buries his face in your neck and doesn’t let go until he feels okay again

– late night conversations where he tells you everything he’s never told anyone else his fears, his dreams, the things he doesn’t even understand about himself

– his fingers tracing circles on your skin absentmindedly when he’s reading, coding, or listening to music

– “don’t look at me like that, baby, I’ll never let you leave” when you tease him

– him gripping your waist while you brush your teeth, not even saying anything, just needing to be close

– protective silence when someone disrespects you he’ll handle it without raising his voice

– sleepy morning sex when his voice is raspy and his eyes are still half-closed but he’s already pulling you under him

– letting you wear his clothes and pretending not to care, even though he secretly thinks you look sexier in his shirts than he ever did

– him remembering every little thing you say even the throwaway comments you forgot you made

– “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t even try to push me away.”

– staying up just to walk you to the bathroom in the dark because he doesn’t want you to go alone

– him whispering “You don’t even know what you do to me” when you’re laughing at something dumb and completely unaware of how beautiful you look

– always touching you in some way hand on your lower back, pinky linked with yours, fingers tangled in your hair

– him lighting up when you enter a room like he’s been waiting for you his whole life

– laying on top of you fully clothed after a long day just to breathe you in

– “I don’t want a break I only want you it’ll always be you.”

NSFW EDITION 🫣

– him fucking you like he’s making a point, like he’s trying to remind your body who it belongs to

– being pinned against the wall the second you walk through the door, keys still in your hand, his voice low in your ear “You wore that out, really? You want me to lose my fucking mind, huh?”

– him eating you out with slow, lazy strokes like he’s got all night, like this is his favorite way to unwind

– grabbing your hips and dragging you back onto him when you try to pull away, voice rough as he mutters, “Nah—don’t run from it, baby, take it.”

– fucking you in front of the mirror just to watch the way your body trembles and your eyes roll back when he hits that spot

– that deep, hoarse groan he lets out when you cum around him tight, wet, throbbing and he’s struggling to hold on

– messy, breathless mornings where you’re half-asleep but he’s already hard, already kissing down your stomach, already parting your thighs like it’s instinct

– him dragging it out on purpose, teasing you until your voice cracks, until you’re clawing at his arms and begging him to finish what he started

– “look at me when I fuck you—c’mon, open your eyes,that’s it that’s my good girl.”

– getting fucked with your legs pushed all the way up, back arching, body shaking while he mutters things like “You don’t understand how much I love you.”

– his voice breaking when you sit on him and start grinding slow his hands gripping your waist like he’s holding on for dear life

– him pulling out just to rub the head against your clit, watching you fall apart as he smirks and goes, “So sensitive, baby. You really missed me that much?”

– soft sex that still ruins you when he kisses you the whole time, tells you how beautiful you are, how warm and tight you feel, how no one else has ever felt this good

– riding him slow and him letting you take control until he snaps grabs your hips, fucks up into you so hard the headboard slams

– “I need you to feel how much I love you every fucking inch.”

– him fucking you so deep and slow it makes you cry, and he doesn’t stop just kisses your tears and whispers, “I got you. Let it out, baby. You’re safe.”

– the filthiest mouth when you least expect it whispering in public how wet you got for him last night, how you were begging for his cum

– cleaning you up after, gentle hands and soft kisses while you’re still trembling

– laying with you after, legs tangled, his fingers still stroking between your thighs because he doesn’t know how to stop touching you

– “I’m never getting tired of this pussy. Ever.”

[sydwritess]

Love All The Way Through

Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

Summary: You have always been a big fan of f1, especially Ferrari. Your friend Charles always invites you to races, until one day you meet someone particularly special.

Second Person POV

Warning: swearing, age gap (around 10-15 years)

Notes: requests are open!

01 02 03 04 05

You are a well-known influencer around the world. Sure you don't have that big of a fan base, but when you are recognized by people it gives you a certain type of joy you can't quite understand.

You still manage to keep a low profile when out, which you are also very grateful for.

Right now, you're walking through the Silverstone paddock. It was quite a quiet day because it was just days before the race. Your friend Charles had invited you, like any other race.

You walk around viewing all of the little shops and stands being set up as well as taking some pictures. Luckily, it was inside, so it wasn't as hot.

You were looking through your gallery when you heard loud footsteps behind you.

"Y/n hey, there you are." Charles said, jogging up to you.

"Hey Charles." You smile. You and him have been friends for a while, practically since the day you were born. Given that he's a couple of years older.

"Me and my teammate were going to go play some pool in our sports section. Do you want to join?" He asked.

"Yeah, sure. As long I'm not like intruding or anything." You say, calmly.

"No, no, you won't be. Trust me, Lewis is a chill guy." He says, smiling. You nod and start to follow him out to the sports area.

It is quite the walk, but when you get there, you feel relieved at the cool air as you walk in. Inside, it had a nice bar, pool table, and a couple of indoor games and activities. Outside, I had this nice pickleball court, basketball hoop, and some more sports like games.

You and Charles walk over to the pool table, noticing its already set up, but Lewis wasn't there.

"You should team with me." Charles smirks.

"Should I? Last time I recall you said I was bad." You say, matching his level.

"Woah, woah... okay, now I think you're pretty good." He says, putting his hands up in defense.

"Now?"

"And maybe before to." He smiles. He walks over to a little stand that holds the pool cues and tossed you one.

You chalk the pool cue as Charles does the same.

"Alright. I finally got George." A voice says besides you. You look up to see Lewis and who you assume to be George standing there.

"Y/n, this is Lewis and George." Charles says, pointing to the two of them.

"Hi." You say softly. The two smile and wave as they go over to the stand where Charles is.

"Wow, you actually know how to set the table up." George says, smirking at Charles.

"I'm not that new mate." Charles says.

"Are you playing teams?" Lewis asked.

"Yeah, me and Y/n, against you two." Charles says.

George comes around to the pool table which you are leaning on and stands next to you.

"Don't worry. I may be good but today you might have a fair shot." He says bluntly. You look past him at Charles who was staring at you.

"Is he always like this?" You ask.

"Sadly... yes." He says, you nod in agreement. You look further past Charles to see Lewis laughing to himself.

"Alright, since you're the best, Charles, why don't you break first." George smirks.

"Oh no, that won't be my doing. How about y/n."

The three then look at you silently.

"Uh- yeah, sure. I can." You say quietly. Everyone nods and gets in their spot around the table.

You walk to the end, lining the white ball up across from the rest and get your cue ready.

"Don't miss." George whispers, walking by you quickly.

"Is it illegal to hit a driver?" You ask, keeping your eyes on the target.

"Sadly, I think so." Charles said.

You hit the ball, making the triangle break in half, getting three stripped balls in the corner holes.

"Jesus." Lewis says, surprised.

"Told you she was good." Charles said. You went again, getting another one in, and then again, but you missed one.

Next was George's turn. With all of his talk you thought he'd be good, but he ended up missing two rounds.

"Mate your making is loose." Lewis teased.

"I'm off my game. I just got done playing tennis." George said. Charles was up next. He lined up the ball to hit the stripped one in but missed, making it bounce off the corner.

"Wow, you are bad." You say, remarking his statement from earlier.

"Don't blame me when we loose." He said.

"Your one-hundred percent to blame." You say, sitting at a bar stool near the table.

Lewis goes up next, taking his shot. He gets two in on the first time. One in on the next, you go up when he's done.

"Fancy seeing you here." A voice said from ahead. You look up from your spot to see Lando in the room, shaking hands with Lewis, George, and Charles.

Charles had introduced you to him a while back, but you never talked to him.

"Y/n." He said, smiling and waving. You slightly smile at him and then take your shot, making one more go in.

"Wow, you're good." Lando said, walking up next to you. "You should give me some private lessons." He smirks. You stand up straight from your position and look at him

"Your fresh out of luck. Not really into party people." You say.

"Oh darling, I don't do that anymore." He says.

"Yeah, right." George snickers. You shrug your shoulders.

"Then I guess I'm not into people who have girlfriends but hit on other women like it's some sort of joke." You say, looking through his deep eyes.

He opened his mouth but quickly shut it, his jaw tightening quickly. He walks over and sits next to Lewis.

You roll your eyes slightly as you get back into position, hitting another ball in.

"Wow, she shut your right up, mate." George laughs out.

"You can go straight to hell." Lando said, not making eye contact with him.

"For what? The truth?" Charles pipes in, smirking at his friend. You take your shot, the ball bouncing off the table walls. Unfortunately you miss, and go sit in George's spot.

"Guess you aren't as good as I thought." Lando remarks.

"And look who's still trying to flirt with me as they have a whole ass girlfriend at home." You say, keeping your eyes on the game.

"She's alright." Lando said.

"That's really fucked up. You should tell her that. See how far that gets you in bed tonight." You retort.

The rest of the group chuckles slightly as Lando sits still, frozen still.

"Girls got fire." George says, smirking, taking his shot.

"I just don't like people who act like teenagers, I guess."

"I don't want to mature, I like where I am." Lando says, quoting himself.

"Yeah." You point to him, holding his gaze. "That's your problem right there. That's the most frat-boy statement you could ever possibly make."

"Your just jealous because you can't have a man like me." Lando says.

"I want a man, not a boy."

"Oh shit." Charles smirked.

"You got your head too far up your ass for that one." Lewis said, laughing. Charles got in position to play again, he get's one in. The only ball left for your team was the eight ball.

"I'm betting on the corner hole." Charles says, pointing to it. He takes his shot and get's it in, making you win the game.

"That's how you do it." You smile, high-fiving Charles.

"And uhm... why would Charles be flirting with you when he himself has a girlfriend to?" Lando asked, making the groups eyes fall on you.

"Well you see Lando, when two people meet, practically have been their for each other since they were born, they become best friends. But you wouldn't know what a friend is would you?" You say.

"I have plenty of friends." He backs.

"Just like you have plenty of girlfriends?"

"Wow." George says shocked, getting the pool table up again.

"Well, I'm out. I've got a busy day ahead of me." Lando says.

"We'll miss you dearly." You say, throwing a fake smile at him before he leaves.

"You always pick fights with people?" Charles says quietly, smiling.

"Just people who can't use half their brain." You say, taking a sip of your drink that came around to you four.

"Just don't listen to him, he talks out of his ass a lot." He whispers.

"I think I got the hint." You smile.

"Are you doing teams again?" George asks. Charles looks at you for an answer.

"I'll sit this one out, and watch." You say.

He nods and then looks over. "Lewis?"

"I'm good man, you go ahead." Lewis says politely. Charles nods and walks over to the table.

George is the first to break, getting two of the solids into the holes.

The game went on between Charles and George. George winning by a lot. By now George had the eight ball left. And Charles had four of his.

"I call the right side." George said, pointing to the right hole.

He lines up, and takes his shot. The ball almost makes it in but bounces off the wall at the last second.

"Ah! I win! Take that George." Charles says happily.

"I can not believe I missed that." George said, smirking at Charles excitement.

"I'm buying drinks to celebrate." Charles says.

"We've got drinks." Lewis says, but Charles was already at the bar.

"Let him have his moment." George says, sitting next to you.

"So... you and Lando, huh?" George smirks.

"God no."

"How did that happen?" He asked.

"He tried to ask me out a few years ago. But I said no, went home, looked at his socials, and he already had girlfriend."

"He need's to get his head out of his ass." Lewis says, smiling.

"Tell me about it." You say.

"So... let's get to know each other, shall we?" George asked, crossing his legs.

"If you make it sound less creepy, than sure." You smirk.

"You have fans. Are an influencer." George says. You give him a look of 'how do you know?'

"I follow you. On Instagram."

"Right." You say. Just then, Charles comes back with a round of drinks for everyone.

"What are we talking about?" He asks, passing out the drinks.

"Y/n's big break." George smirks.

"It's... It's not really a break. It's more like people just know me." You say.

"How did you become famous?" Lewis asks.

"I did a couple of photoshoots for some companies. But that's really it."

"She says as she modeled for BMW." George snickers.

"Woah, you modeled for BMW?" Lewis asks.

"Well, yeah. But it was only a couple of times. And for a couple of clothing brands. But that's it."

"Did you get to keep the car?" George asks. You nod.

"Well, half paid." You say.

"Yeah, yeah, look at this." George says, showing Lewis a picture.

"Wow, that's amazing." Lewis smiles. "What brand?"

"M5, 2023." You say.

"Not as a cool as a Ferrari." Charles says.

"Way cooler than a Ferrari." You back.

"Well, I have a meeting to get to. It was a fun game guys." George said, standing up. You all said goodbye to him and he left the area, going back to the garages.

You, Charles, and Lewis all finish your drinks before heading down to the garages.

"I'll be right back." You tell Charles. He nods his head and you walk into the paddock bathroom.

You wash your hands quickly, from playing pool earlier and walked back out. It wasn't to busy inside, so stand off to the side, going on your phone for a minutes.

"Hey there." A voice says next to you. You turn and see a man standing there.

"Hi."

"You work here?" He asks, pointing at your shirt.

"No. I don't."

"You want a tour 'round the garage?"

"Nope, not really."

"Could be fun." He says, stepping closer to you.

"Not if you want a trip to the hospital." You say, looking up at him.

"I-"

"Is everything okay here?" A voice says, you look past the guy to see Lewi standing there.

"All good Hamilton, just talking to my friend here." The guy smirks.

"Friend? I don't even know you." You say, rolling your eyes. The guy gives you a look before walking away.

"You all good?" Lewis asks, stepping closer to you.

"Yeah, might've gotten kicked out if you hadn't shown up." You laugh.

"That's understandable." He laughs out. You both slowly start walking to the garages, explaining what happened to him.

Hey loves! First Lewis H fic! Comment to be added to this fic's tag list! Requests are open!

[feeshu09]

I made a little ficlet about their dynamic in SY's POV under the cut ~ ✨ (nobody dies, everyone is well adjusted. Sort of. Binghe is a good kid)

People in Cang Qiong Mountain Sect brace themselves at the sound of our footsteps. It’s honestly rude. We haven’t even done anything—yet.

I say “we” because it’s always we.

Me and my brother, my ge, Shen Qingqiu.

Yes. That Shen Qingqiu. Peak Lord of Qing Jing, Lord of the pretty robes and prettier sneering, Professional bitch face with a tongue sharp enough to slice egos in half.

And me? Shen Yuan. Wandering cultivator, sometimes Hall Master ? (on Tuesdays), beast enthusiast (on Thursdays), and the reason why the gege remembers to hydrate.

We’re what you call…a package deal. And for some inexplicable reason, despite years of training, cultivation, etiquette lectures, and embroidered sleeves—we are still street rats in spirit.

Graceful ones.

Deadly ones.

But street rats, nonetheless.

---

“Shizun, Shen Yuan-xiansheng is here again…”

“I know,” Qing Jing Peak’s head disciple says, his voice trembling slightly, “I felt a disturbance in the air.”

That’s me, by the way. The disturbance. But in Jiu-ge’s speak it means: ‘my favorite person in the world’. I arrived this morning with a bag full of his favorite sweets as an offering.

Anyway, the moment I step foot on Qing Jing Peak, a flock of junior disciples gather like hungry pigeons. Asking if I got anything for them. I did, and distributed the goods evenly. The little ones thanked me with a smile.

“Why do you do this,” comes a smooth, dry voice from above me, and there he is. My twin. My brother. My trauma-bonded enabler.

Shen Qingqiu, in all his immaculate, smugly-suffering glory, descending like an immortal crane who secretly wants to murder every single member of his own sect.

Aaand...the disciples scattered.

“You’re distracting them,” he informed me with graceful a flick of his fan, covering the lower half of his face. “Surely you aren't that incompetent to send word of your arrival ahead of time.”

“I missed you,” I say, and it’s not even a lie.

He gives me a long-suffering look, as if he isn’t ten seconds away from inviting me into the bamboo house for tea.

He huffed and turned, walking up the path to the bamboo house. He didn't need to tell me to follow.

We are both, you see, dramatic little bastards.

---

Here’s the thing about surviving childhood as orphans on the streets: you learn fast. How to lie. How to cheat. How to get back in ways that don’t always draw blood but do leave very long-lasting emotional scars.

Shen Jiu—sorry, Shen Qingqiu—leaned into elegance and severity like it could hold his soul together. I leaned into chaos and charm. But under the silk and the sect titles and our frankly excessive skincare routines, we are still those same boys who used to steal buns and bite anyone who looked at us funny.

It just hurts less when you're dressed in a small fortune’s worth of layered brocade.

Let me be clear: We may not always start fights.

But we finish them.

---

The Luo Binghe Incident™ happens on a Wednesday.

Of course.

Because that’s the day I’m technically not employed.

“Your disciple is a little…” I make a vague wiggly motion with my fingers. “Murder-curious.”

“He’s fine,” Qingqiu says, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.

“Qingqiu.”

“He’s a Qing Jing disciple,” he replies, with the tone of a parent whose child just broke a priceless vase and insists it was an experiment in gravity. “Curiosity is encouraged.”

“He asked me if there are any repercussions in pushing Ming Fan off the side of the mountain.”

“Boys will be boys.”

My brother pauses.

“He’s surveying the highest drop in the peak as we speak.”

“…I will have a talk with him.”

“This is your fault,” I point out, sipping my osmanthus wine. “You told him emotional repression is what good cultivators do.”

“It is,” he insists.

Our gazes meet. A pause.

We both burst out laughing.

It’s loud, obnoxious, and utterly improper for cultivators of our stature. A group of sect elders walk by and quickly divert their gaze, pretending they do not see the Shen twins losing their minds over emotionally-repressed murder disciples.

---

They say Cang Qiong is a place of discipline and refinement, a sanctuary of spiritual pursuit.

It is also a place where Shen Qingqiu once roasted another Peak Lord’s fashion sense so ruthlessly in open court that the man left cultivation altogether and became a monk because he insulted my intelligence.

And where I, Shen Yuan, once accidentally seduced the entire visiting delegation from Huan Hua Palace for fun and then accidentally stole some of their stuff because they questioned my brother's honor.

Not because I’m petty.

But because trauma.

(Okay and a little bit because I’m petty.)

We don’t talk about feelings much, my brother and I. But we show up. We support each other’s schemes. We hold each other’s grudges like gold. He once broke into a noble household’s vault as a kid just because some lordling kicked me down. I once challenged an arrogant cultivator to a duel for laughing at his birth name.

(“Shen Jiu” is off-limits. Only I can call him that, and only when I’m feeling extremely clingy. Which is often.)

We are...unwell. But we are immaculate.

My brother walks with the poise of a man who has survived too much and now only tolerates beauty, discipline, and me. He drinks tea like it’s an art form. He punishes enemies by bankrupting their families and then sending them condolence letters on fancy paper.

Me? I flirt. I dance. I scheme. I gossip. But when gege lifts his fan and I draw my sword—we are terrifying.

But I promise, we are also kind. Qi-ge can vouch for us!

We just have…a very intense way of showing it.

what if shen twins but they're more gremlin coded (they're each other's enabler)

SJ : let's see if they cry in public. I want their shame to pass down at least three generations.

SY : done. god, i love it when we collaborate.

[velarisdusk]

House Rules

Cassian x Reader

summary: One empty table, two full glasses, and years of not saying the wrong thing finally catching up to you. word count: 2,722 content: [ jealousy, alcohol, explicit language ] author's note: i... did not realize this did not post my b yall lmao ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ warrior's draught infused with a hint of stormcloud enhanced with lover's knot shaken thank you for the request calc anon love u very much mwah mwah i hope you like this its a lil different, more like a,, idk like we're peering in through the window on the drama of this unfolding. if you want something a lil different lmk <3

The House of Wind was too quiet for a game night. 

No footsteps in the hall, no laughter or clatter of chairs. Just the soft pop of faelight overhead and the faint whistle of wind slipping through the balcony doors. You were already seated at the table when Cassian walked in—two bottles of wine tucked under one arm, the corker in hand.

“You’re early,” he said, setting everything down with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Trying to rig the deck before I get here?”

You shrugged. “Just wanted the good seat.”

He pulled out the chair across from you. “Rhys and Feyre running late?”

You shook your head. “Nyx has a fever. Feyre sent word earlier—he’s fussy, they’re staying in tonight.”

Cassian winced. “Shit. Poor kid.”

A pause, then a  frown. “Az won’t make it either,” he said. “Something came up. Didn’t say what, but he was half out the door already when I saw him earlier.”

You nodded slowly. “Mor left for Adriata this morning.”

He looked up at that. “Did she? Thought that was next week.”

“Apparently not.”

Cassian let out a quiet huff and sank into his chair. “And Amren told us not to wait up, so… we already know what that means.”

Your eyes drifted to the five empty chairs, the untouched glasses. The way the silence stretched its arms and made itself comfortable.

“So,” you said lightly, “just us, then.”

“Guess so.”

There was a pause. A breath. He uncorked one of the bottles.

You nudged a glass toward him. “Might as well, right?”

He poured for both of you. “You planning to let me win tonight?”

You raised a brow. “You planning to cheat again?”

Cassian gave you a slow, lazy smile. “No one’s ever proved it.”

You smiled back, but your chest felt tight. Like everything unsaid had already pulled up a chair and poured itself a drink.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The first round of cards was a disaster.

You were halfway through a hand of Five Crowns—rules long-forgotten and redrawn over time—when you realized neither of you was really trying.

Cassian squinted at his cards like they’d personally offended him. “Okay, but remind me again—are red threes wild, or just completely useless?”

“You made that rule up last time,” you said, taking a slow sip of wine. “To get out of losing.”

“Sounds like something I’d do.” His grin barely flickered before fading again.

You dropped your hand onto the table. “This is pathetic.”

“I’m just warming up.”

“You’re not even trying.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, tilting onto the back two legs—something he only did when he was restless. “Maybe it’s more fun when everyone else is here.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again. “Yeah.”

That silence returned. Not uncomfortable—not yet—but heavy. Like the night was trying to figure out what it wanted to be.

He flicked a card across the table. It spun out, missed by a mile. “Okay. If you had to fight one of us—no powers, no wings, just hand-to-hand—who are you picking?”

You gave him a look. “That’s not a real question.”

“Sure it is.”

“I’m not fighting any of you.”

“Lame.”

You sighed. “Fine. Mor.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “Mor would wipe the floor with you.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t even have time to regret it.”

That got a real smile out of him, warm and sudden and too brief. You held onto it a second too long before it flickered out.

You picked your cards back up. 

He refilled your glasses without asking. 

You watched the pour, the way his hands moved—steady, practiced. Familiar. You used to know them better than your own. 

Maybe you still did.

There’d been a time—just a handful of months, scattered between the chaos—when familiarity meant skin, not just proximity. It had been careful at first, clumsy sometimes. Heated always. But the line you never crossed remained untouched. No kisses. No morning afters. No pretending.

You cleared your throat. “So, how’s… what’s-her-name? The one you’ve been training with.”

Cassian stilled. Not fully. Just a hitch in motion. Barely there.

“Lira?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“She’s… fine.”

You swirled your glass slowly, watching the wine catch the light. “You’ve been seeing her a lot.”

There was no edge in your voice. Not that you could hear.

Cassian looked up, his eyes darker now. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

It hit sharper than you expected. You blinked. Let out a breath that wanted to be a laugh. “I’m not. Just making conversation.”

He didn’t respond.

The quiet this time wasn’t gentle. It curled into the corners of the room and pushed inward, until the distance between you felt wider than it had all night.

You reached for another card—though you weren’t sure if the game was even still going—pretending to focus on them. The edges were soft from years of use, the corners bent like old habits. 

Cassian didn’t say anything as he reached toward the deck for his own card. You could feel him looking at you, though—could feel the weight of his attention even when you weren’t meeting his eyes.

“So,” you said, tone too light, “any big missions coming up? Or are you finally getting a week off from being Rhys’ personal blunt instrument?”

He snorted under his breath. “I think I’m due for one. But you know how it goes. Someone’s always starting something.”

You nodded, reaching for a card you didn’t need. “You ever think about not doing it? The whole flying around, yelling at people, getting stabbed thing?”

Cassian tilted his head. “You offering me a retirement plan?”

“I’d make a terrible HR rep,” you muttered. “But sure. You could come work with me. Reorganize the archive, maybe.”

He made a face. “That your idea of a soft life? Drowning in paper cuts and moldy books?”

You shrugged. “Better than bleeding out in a war camp.”

Something crossed his face then—fast, unreadable. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. You’d seen it before, but never aimed at you.

“I didn’t know it bothered you,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“When I go out.”

You blinked. “It doesn’t.”

Cassian didn’t move. “You sure?”

Your pulse ticked higher. You weren’t sure what you were answering anymore.

You set your cards down again. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?”

You met his gaze this time. Steady, sharp. “You think I care who you spend time with? That I’m sitting around counting days between messages or missions or—”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No. But you implied it.”

The silence thickened. This wasn’t about Lira. Not really. You weren’t even sure what it was about anymore, only that something between you had shifted, and neither of you knew how to fix it without tearing it wider.

Cassian looked at you like he wanted to say something. Like he was about to.

And then he did.

“You’re jealous.”

The words landed without drama. No accusation in his tone, just certainty. Like he was stating the weather.

You stared at him, lips parting. “I’m not.”

He laughed, once—soft, almost sad. “You are.”

“I’m not, Cass.”

“You brought her up. You never ask about who I spend time with. Not unless it’s already eating at you.” 

That flicked something deep and ugly in you. “I brought her up because you’ve been weird. Distant.”

“Right. So you’re not jealous. You’re just keeping score.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. The tension stretched taut between you. Then you dropped your gaze, exhaled slow. “Forget it.”

He didn’t push again. Just reached for his glass. 

You picked up your cards.

Neither of you said anything for a while. The only sounds that kept you company were the shuffle of cards, the slow pour of wine, and nervous, too-loud sips. Time slipped by. The room grew darker, the faelights glowing low and warm. You weren’t even playing anymore—just touching the cards to feel something. 

The silence wasn’t empty. It was crowded—every glance you’d avoided, every thought you’d buried, everything unsaid pressing against the edges of the room like it wanted to break through the walls. 

You hadn’t asked about Lira because you cared about Lira. You asked because you didn’t know how to ask about him anymore—about where he went when he left like that, distant and unreadable. About why it felt like you’d been shut out of something you used to live inside. 

You didn’t know what you were to him now. What he was to you. 

The rules had been clear once. Friends. That was all. A quiet agreement, never spoken aloud, but respected. Even when it hurt. Even when it almost didn’t hold. Especially when it almost didn’t hold. 

But then came the nights you spent longer in his bed than in your own. The mornings in the training ring when he brushed your shoulder like it meant something. And you’d told yourself, over and over, that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t matter. 

“You know,” Cassian said eventually, voice quieter than before, “I almost kissed you last Solstice.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

You hadn’t expected him to speak—much less say that.

The words sank in slow. Like they’d been waiting, buried under everything else, and had finally clawed their way out.

“…Why?” you asked, voice rough.

Cassian didn’t look at you at first. He leaned back in his chair, thumb running along the rim of his glass. “You looked at me like you wanted me to.”

A pause. “And I did. Gods, I did.”

Another pause, heavier this time. “But you were pulling away. I thought if I kissed you, I’d lose you for good.”

Your pulse stuttered. The worst part was—you understood. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“I meant,” you shifted in your seat, “why would you tell me that?”

Cassian looked at you then. Really looked. His eyes, usually grounded and sharp, softened—the usual confident edge was gone, replaced by a kind of quiet desperation that made your breath catch. “Because I’m tired of pretending none of it mattered.”

You stared at him, breath catching. Then, sharper: “Well maybe you should’ve kept pretending.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not like it would’ve meant anything.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

He gestured toward you—vague, frustrated. “Pretend none of it mattered.”

You let out a breathy, bitter laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

“I told you—”

“Doesn’t matter.” You grabbed another card. “Anyway, it’s not like you’re the only one with… options.”

That made him pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the deck. “Just that I’ve been… seeing someone. Kind of. Talking, more like.”

Silence.

You didn’t dare look up.

Cassian’s voice was quieter now. “Who?”

You shuffled the cards, aimless. “Nobody serious.”

He waited. Then, slower: “What’s his name?”

You blinked hard. Your throat felt tight. “Does it matter?”

He didn’t respond.

You weren’t sure what made you say it. Maybe the wine. Maybe the ache. Maybe the fact that if you admitted how badly you still wanted him, something in you would split open.

So instead, you lied.

“Azriel.”

Cassian’s head lifted. His entire body went still.

Then—calm. Too calm. “Azriel.”

You nodded, eyes locked on your cards. “It’s recent.”

“Since when?”

You hesitated. “A couple weeks.”

“Does he know we—” He stopped himself. “Forget it.”

“No,” you said. “Say it.”

Cassian’s voice dropped, darker. “Does he know what we were?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. “Why him?”

You met his gaze. You could see the flicker behind his eyes—hurt, maybe. Anger. Worse: understanding.

“Why not him?” you said, sharper than intended.

He let out a breath. That kind of sound people make when they’re trying not to yell.

Then: “You’re lying.”

Your heart skipped. “I’m not.”

“You are. You’ve never looked at Azriel like that.”

You lifted your chin. “Maybe you just never noticed.”

“I notice everything when it comes to you.”

You stared at each other across the table. Cards forgotten. Wine going warm. The years between you finally catching flame.

And he said it again, softer this time. “You’re lying.”

Your lip trembled. You tried to smile. “Does it make a difference?”

Cassian’s voice was low. “Yes.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

“I told you,” he said quietly. “I almost kissed you last Solstice.”

Then, his voice more rough around the edges: “You have no idea how many times I didn’t. How many nights I held back because of that conversation the last time we—”

“Don’t do that. Don’t turn this on me like I’m the one making things complicated.”

“You are making things complicated.” His jaw clenched, eyes hardening. “You act like I’m the one who changed, but you’re the one who started drawing the line.”

“I had to,” you snapped. “Because you wouldn’t say anything. You never say anything.”

“How could I? Every time I got too close, you pulled back!”

“Because you were the first to act like it didn’t mean anything! Like it was just fun! Like all of it was just—” You stopped yourself short, breath catching.

Cassian’s jaw tightened. “You told me it didn’t mean anything.”

“And you believed me?”

His mouth opened. Closed. “You made it clear.”

“You didn’t even try. You let me do all the deciding. You just sat there and let it happen.”

“What the fuck was I supposed to say?” That muscle in his jaw twitched again. Then the words tore out of him—louder than he meant, like he hadn’t planned to say them at all. “That I wanted you? That I’ve always wanted you?”

You froze.

Cassian stepped closer, his voice rough now. “You set the rules. Friends. Just friends. You smiled like it didn’t completely fucking gut you, and I went along with it because I thought—gods, I thought that was better than losing you.”

Your breath caught. “You never said that.”

“I didn’t think I was allowed to.”

You met his eyes, fury and heartbreak colliding somewhere in your chest. The silence wasn’t sharp anymore. Just hollow.

Cassian looked at you like he was still trying to understand what just happened. Or maybe trying not to.

You stepped back before he could try again.

It wasn’t a dramatic exit. No slammed doors, no flying footsteps. Just space—a slow, aching retreat toward the hallway. Toward air. Distance. Anything else.

“Don’t,” he said softly.

You paused, one hand brushing the doorframe.

“Don’t walk away. Not this time.”

Your pulse was a war drum. 

“Please.”

You turned back toward him. “And why shouldn’t I?”

Cassian crossed the room like it cost him something. No armor. No grin to soften it. Just him, raw and unguarded, stopping inches from you.

“I didn’t choose her,” he said. “Or anyone else.”

You couldn’t look at him. “You didn’t choose me, either.”

He didn’t argue. Just stepped in closer, waiting for you to flinch. You didn’t.

“I tried to stay where you put me,” he murmured. “Tried to be what you needed.”

“I needed you to say something.”

“I’m saying it now.”

That was the moment. Not loud. Not grand. Just close. 

His hand lifted, hovered by your cheek—hesitating.

You leaned in before he could finish the thought.

The kiss wasn’t careful. It was never going to be. 

It was too much, and not enough, and far, far too late. It tasted like frustration and wine, like relief and grief and every almost you’d left hanging between you.

His hands found your waist, your jaw. Yours tangled in the front of his shirt. The heat of him was overwhelming—every breath, every touch, every stifled sound pressed between you. You kissed him like you’d been starving for it—because you were. And he kissed you like he’d never forgive himself for waiting this long—because he wouldn’t. 

Neither of you pulled back. Not right away. Not until the shaking in your hands started to ease, until the desperation gave way to something softer, steadier. 

When you finally did part, you were both breathing like you’d just run out of a storm.

Cassian rested his forehead to yours. “So… do we ruin everything now, or later?”

You huffed something like a laugh. “That depends. Are you staying?”

“Only if you ask.”

You didn’t say anything. Just took his hand and turned toward your room.

[havennz]

⁀જ⁀➴ 01 - love and the rest

< | masterlist | >

synopsis: you've been getting letters, from the same mystery admirer. and honestly, you can't tell who it is. all your guesses have been wrong, wrong, and wrong. pairing: bsf!felix x bsf!reader a/n: gosh, i'm excited! also, i hope y'all enjoy!

The first one went something like this:

hey, so i like you. haha. i can’t even tell anything about me, really. it would kind of out me so quick. anyway, yeah! happy valentines’ day! maybe next year i’ll work up the courage to actually ask you out… ~ your secret admirer

This one was slotted in between your locker door. And when you opened your locker, you had also found a bouquet of tulips. Subtle, and discreet. you loved it. Mostly, people would think of roses for Valentines’ Day. but your admirer had gotten you tulips instead. Doesn’t look so romantic, sure. but anyone who had spent at least an hour with you would immediately pick up on your passion for flowers. And they probably would know that you knew what each of them meant.

You weren’t a romantic. No. Not really. More so, you liked the idea of love, but you were never sure if it was safe. You were worried someone would stab your pure heart if you gave it to them so plainly, on a white pearl plate.

⁀જ⁀➴

The second was unexpected though, on a rainy Tuesday morning:

“hey. i think you’re really pretty. i don’t know why. i just felt like i had to say it. and your smile gives me cuteness aggression lol. also i saw how you reacted to the tulips last time, so here are more!!”

This one cracked a smile, you couldn’t lie. opening the locker, you were ecstatic to find that — yes — he had gotten you your favourite flowers again. Tulips. Funny how they became your favourite, isn’t it? 

Tulips were a funny type of flower. They come in one size, in different colours… but unlike other common flowers, they usually have no scent except for the harsh but loved smell of grass. Did your secret admirer know all this before making his final choice to gift you them? Or maybe they just saw tulips one day, and decided to be consistent with their flowers, you chided yourself. No matter how much you tried to make it seem like the letters were no big deal, you still couldn’t stop the smile creeping up on your face as you slammed close the locker door, flinching because of the loud clanging sound, taking a deep breath.

No, Y/N. It wasn’t that serious. This mysterious person behind a pen, you’re slowly to starting to fall in love with probably just has a small crush on you. Nothing that serious. But why did his letters always make your heart jump when you saw the slightly yellowed piece of paper?

⁀જ⁀➴

You kept the second letter tucked in your notebook, folded carefully like it meant something more than just lovestruck ink on paper.

That Tuesday morning had been dreary in every way except one. There they were again. Tulips. Fresh, vivid, damp from the rain but still bright enough to make you pause.

You tried to play it off all day, but by lunchtime, it was eating at you.

“I think… it might be Seungmin.”

Felix, mid-sip of strawberry milk, coughed. “Seungmin? Kim Seungmin?”

You glanced around, lowering your voice. “Keep it down.”

He leaned in, still half-laughing. “What makes you think that?”

You hesitated. “He’s been weird lately. In a nice way. Like, he gave me part of his muffin this morning.”

Felix raised his brows. “Generous.”

“And he offered to carry my books last Friday. I didn’t even drop anything! He just… asked.”

“So,” Felix said, nodding slowly. “Wow, he’s in love”

You shot him a look. “I’m serious. What if it is him?”

Felix was quiet for a beat too long, before he said, “Well… I mean, sure. I guess it could be.”

You frowned. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

“No! I’m just saying, Seungmin’s... subtle. If he liked someone, he wouldn’t be loud about it. This whole secret admirer thing feels like something he’d pull, you know?”

You blinked. “Dramatic?”

Felix shrugged, swirling his milk carton absentmindedly. “Meh, he’s got the vibe.”

You chewed on that for a second. “But… tulips? Does Seungmin seem like the kind of guy who’d know I like tulips?”

Felix hummed. “He’s observant. He might’ve picked it up. Or maybe he overheard you rambling about flower language during free period once.”

You raised a brow. “Rambling?”

“I mean that in the most flattering way possible,” Felix grinned.

“Maybe I’m just overthinking it,” you muttered. “Like, this could all be coincidence. He might just be... being polite.”

Felix nodded thoughtfully. “Or maybe he’s just scared to tell you directly.”

You gave him a sideways glance. “That would make two of us.”

He smiled, soft. “Well. Mystery guy seems to be doing okay so far.”

You leaned back against the bench, eyes trailing up to the cloudy sky. “I just want to know who it is. I don’t even care if he likes me that much or not. I just want to know.”

“Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “We’ll figure it out.”

⁀જ⁀➴

The next few days passed by real quick, as if the world realised that you had been skipping at your own pace, and just to inconvenience you, started increasing its speed like a treadmill. But finally, after 3 days of what felt like nothing and everything, you had gotten some time for yourself.

So yeah, naturally, you sat in the campus’ cafe, staring at the strawberry latte you had gotten “on the house” from Felix, who was working busily behind a counter.

You hadn’t thought about the letter in days. You couldn’t, there just wasn’t enough time.

Your mind wandered to all sorts of places. Of course, you were almost sure it was Seungmin. The sharp tongued, narrow eyed lecture mate. It had to be him. Who else could it be? His sudden change in demeanour had tied in perfectly with the arrival of the letters. Could this be a slow burn enemies to lovers trope stitched perfectly into your life? Honestly, you wished it was Seungmin. Of course, this entire thing had started out as a fancy, but what if it was real? The shared glances when the professor cracked a lame joke. What could it all mean?

So, of course, while you were sitting there with that cute pout on your face, pondering about love and the rest, he decided it was time for an iced americano.

taglist: @raspb3ary

havennz™ © 2025  -  all rights reserved to @havennz, please do not steal, plagiarise, or adapt without prior permission from me!

[formulafanfics13]

you’re keeping us FED with these 😝😝

Can you please write a smut about James. Reader is wayyyy out of his league, she walks into the paddock alone and catches the eyes of drivers, they wonder who she is and then their questions are answered as she stands in Williams garage and the graphic pops up saying she’s James’ wife. Also they’re married with 4 kids and this is the first time in a very long time they’ve gone to a race without them. Halfway through the sex, some drivers Charles, Lando, Oscar and one of the rookies (you can choose whoever) overhears them from outside the hotel room and Lando being the freaky little shit he is starts listening to them then Alex walks by and confronts them and tells them that James and Reader do it whenever they get a chance. Also James LOVES reader, like everything about them. Ok that’s it, you can add anything that feels right. Thank you 💕☺️

Are you listening? - James Vowels 🔥

masterlist

Summary: It’s a regular race day… until you walk into the paddock and turn the entire grid to stone. Glamorous, calm, glowing, and absolutely unforgettable — no one knows who you are until you step into the Williams garage and James Vowles kisses your cheek. Suddenly, the whole world knows: you’re his wife. The graphic hits. The drivers spiral. And later, in a hotel room, so does the headboard — because James Vowles is making absolutely sure his wife knows exactly how much he loves her. Unfortunately for the rest of the grid, the walls are thin. And James? Is loud.

Warnings: Public attention, paddock chaos, strong female lead, marital smut, graphic sex, headboard noises, overheard moaning, half the grid listening in horror and fascination, jokes about fatherhood-induced stamina, thick dad dick energy, one of the most unbothered wives in Formula 1, embarrassment, Alex Albon with tea, emotional aftercare, and James Vowles fucking like a man with four kids and a weekend off.

The paddock goes silent the second you walk in.

It’s one of those rare, thick summer Saturdays. Hot air clinging to every inch of asphalt. Drivers shedding layers of Nomex. Engineers melting into their headsets. Sunglasses everywhere. 

And then you. Striding into the paddock like you fucking own it, alone, slow, and glowing. Floaty midi dress clinging to your waist. Sunglasses perched. Heels clicking like a countdown.

People actually stop walking. Logan Sargeant nearly drops his water bottle. Carlos and George double-take so hard they almost collide. Someone near the Red Bull garage says “who the fuck is that?” loud enough for Lance Stroll to mutter “someone’s wife, hopefully mine.”

Your makeup’s flawless. Your hair’s freshly blown out. And the real kicker? You’re smiling. Calm, patient, happy to be here, like you’re not the hottest thing that’s been in this paddock since 2005.

But it’s not until you walk straight into the Williams garage that the universe starts crumbling. Because you don’t just step in. You’re greeted. By James fucking Vowles.

“Hello, darling,” he says, already pulling your headset off your shoulder and replacing it with a kiss to your cheek. His arm curls around your waist like it’s second nature — which, of course, it is, and he barely glances at the crowd gathering outside the garage with full “who the fuck is that” confusion in their eyes.

And then the graphic hits. Big screen. World feed.

[LIVE] JAMES VOWLES’ WIFE ATTENDS SILVERSTONE with guest paddock access | four-time mum of the year | married since 2013

Charles chokes on his Gatorade. Lando actually says “no way,” out loud. Oscar blinks twice like he’s watching a glitch in the Matrix.

“HE’S MARRIED?” Ollie Bearman shrieks, practically vibrating.

“To her?” adds Lando.

The thing is, no one ever really knew much about you. You weren’t on Instagram. You didn’t follow the grid wives around. You didn’t do brand launches or sponsor events or make appearances in hospitality. You were never in the background of team TikToks. You were private.

But James? James never shut up about you. Not in a cringe way. Not even in a “wife guy” way. Just in a my entire being revolves around her way.

He mentioned you casually in interviews, “my wife and I took the kids to Spain,” “my wife handles most of the planning at home,” “I owe a lot to my partner for holding our family down while I’m away.”

No photos. No drama. Just subtle reverence. Like the sun in his life had a name, and it was always you.

That night, it all makes sense. The drivers stay in the hotel next to the circuit. Most of them. A few floors of quiet chaos, late room service, early wake-up calls, towel shortages. Charles is brushing his teeth when it starts.

A thump. Then another. Then the unmistakable creak of a headboard. He freezes. Bends slightly. Ears tuned. “Oh no,” he mumbles through a mouthful of foam.

Outside his room, Lando’s already there. Barefoot. Shirtless. Listening with the intensity of a man investigating a murder. “Tell me it’s not what I think it is,” Charles says.

Lando turns. Grins. “It’s definitely what you think it is.”

“Who?”

“I dunno. But she’s loud.”

Another moan echoes through the hallway. A long, breathless one. Oscar appears behind them, hoodie pulled over his head, hair a mess. “Why are you both standing in the hallway like perverts-”

And then he hears it. He blinks. Slowly. “Oh my god.”

 There’s another thud. Then “Fuck, James-”

Ollie Bearman appears, still in hid pyjamas. He’s halfway through asking if someone ordered food when he hears it too. All four of them freeze.

“Did she just say James?” Ollie whispers.

Lando is glowing. “Oh my fucking god.”

Charles presses his palm to the wall. “It is them.”

Oscar recoils, “James Vowles is dicking down his wife in this hotel?!”

Ollie’s face is pure horror. “I can never unhear this.”

Lando, gleefully: “He’s dicking her down like it’s his job, mate.”

Oscar leans in. “Do you think he’s-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Charles groans.

And then Alex Albon walks around the corner. Stops. Sees them. “Are you-” he gestures to the wall, eyebrows raised. “Are you listening to James?”

Lando smirks. “He’s loud.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Yeah. They do that whenever they get the chance. Four kids. No privacy. You think this is bad? I walked in on them once. They didn’t even stop.”

Ollie makes a strangled sound. Alex claps him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the paddock, kid.”

Meanwhile, inside the room… James has you pinned to the mattress like he’s been waiting to get his hands on you all year. His shirt’s open. Yours is on the floor. The lingerie he helped pick out is bunched around your waist, soaked through and useless. You’re spread beneath him, thighs trembling, one hand tangled in his hair as he thrusts slow and deep.

His voice is rough. Low. Desperate. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

You moan against his throat. “You saw me this morning.”

He kisses you like he’s punishing you for teasing. “You know what I mean.”

You do.

The hotel is dark. You’ve both had just enough wine. The kids are at home with James’ sister. For the first time in months, it’s just the two of you. No school runs. No kitchen timers. No baby bottles or Lego mines or family iPad arguments. Just him. Your husband. On top of you, inside you, giving you everything he has and then more. 

“God, look at you,” he groans, sitting back slightly to watch the way you take him. “You’re so fucking perfect. Always have been.” Your hands slide down to your thighs, spreading yourself wider for him.

“Harder.”

He grins. “You sure?”

“James.”

And that’s all it takes. He pounds into you with a growl, one hand wrapped around your hip, the other sliding between your legs to rub slow circles over your clit. You’re moaning so loud you vaguely register someone might hear. Might already be hearing.

But you don’t care. He’s fucking you like a man unhinged. Like a dad on the verge of a breakdown. Like your body is his to worship and ruin and rebuild from scratch. You come first. Loud. Shaking. Clutching his arms like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this dimension. He follows seconds later, spilling deep inside you with a cry of your name, collapsing against your chest with a gasp and a kiss and the softest, “fuck, I love you so much.”

You’re both breathing hard. Sweaty. Sprawled. He pulls the blanket up and holds you close, nose buried in your neck. “Remind me to lock the door next time.”

You laugh. “What’s the point? I think half the paddock knows now.”

He smiles against your skin. “Let them.”

[steelthroat]

Okay i feel the need to add non idw Shockwave shenanigans:

Transformers animated:

Spent centuries cosplaying a young autobot while being a double agent (him. Who was older than most autobots in all of autobot society)

When almost found out the first time he manipulated everyone into incarcerating and torturing the wrong guy and made him go completely crazy.

When almost found out the second time he made a cube out of his underling and made another underling throw him in the trash

When shit went crazy he attacked one of the most powerful autobots and left him comatose/almost dead/very dead (this guy was Megatron’s rival before op)

Brainwashing is his hobby

Semi-reverse brainwashing was also a thing

Petty beef with a collegue

Looks like a weird eldrich-horror-deer thing and has a british accent

G1 cartoon Shockwave:

Misogynistic

British

Got ghosted for 4 million years

Left on his home planet handling resources while his and the rival faction play in the sandbox on earth

Most of the soacebridges meant to reach cybertron explode in most episodes

In another timeline, he survived Unicron's attack on Cybertron. He formed a friendship with a guy and the two resolved to conquer the world of business and entertainment via shadowy corporate dealings and pop music to help his boss.

Wfc:+aligned as a whole

Jurassic park is his passion, but the dinosaurs turn into guys who hate him

Traumatized his test subjects so badly they formed an underclass of Cybertronians who didn't even remember their names and were... not in good shape.

Made guys who combine into a bigger guy

Experimented drugs on his collegues

Experimetned on a demigod

Meddling with sharkticons and insecticons is his passion

Transformers Prime:

Jurassic park is his passion

Oh shit my dinosaur got killed

Oh shit my dinosaur is alive

"Oh shit my extinct beast turns into a grown ass men who feels lonely"

Oh shit my boss thinks my dinosaurs are too dangerous and wants me to destroy all of my project. Wow. Milliennia of experiments and research gone and I simply say "oke"

Almost half-blinds his colleague after he tried to leave him alone while autobots attacked (again). Doesn't do it because the excuse received was logical

The only time he ever acts kind is when he speaks with another nerd who was also his prisoner

Almost gets killed by the undead dinosaurs

Makes fun of a disabled guy

Skybound:

Mhhhh whale smoothie yummy

Traumatized a guy so badly he stops mid epic entrance and runs away

[Idk i haven't read more I'm sure he did more]

Netflix war for cybertron trilogy:

I think he has a problem with ultra magnus, because guess what... he tortures him here too. Damn. Save this guy from Shockwave please

Made a virus that fucked up his planet and everyone told him it was a bad idea/last resort. Did it anyway.

Harvested his own decepticons

He could technically still be alive. Which is scarier.

Bayverse:

Has got a giant worm

Blargh blurgh blor blorg

active in a battle during the 1560s, where his exploits were recorded in a painting. He later participated in World War I around 1917, where his silhouette had been used on a war poster(gotten from the wiki i didn't remember this lol)

Cyberverse:

Tried to manipulate an amnesiac guy and fails

Microaggression against seekers where he says "ofc you failed your kind is dumb as fuck"

Experiments on other mechs ofc

Made a guy uncomfortable with his staring

Dance dance revolution

He participated on a twitch stream

Scared another guy when he appeared to him as a vision/ghost

Marvel:

Oh god this is one of my faves, he's done too much unhinged shit I'll make another reblog later but ooooh boy he was crazy crazy

2019 idw:

I don't remember much, but you can add your propaganda here

PROPAGANDA

Shocwave:

He didn't have a doctorate but he WAS a senator from cybertron. In the G1 iteration he was the "logical scientist that built super weapons" archetype, in Transformers: Prime he built a spacebridge AND he used old cybertronian fossils to make a dragon (straight up copied from Jurassic Park) and in the comics he gets up to so much shit that the mere mention of a bench sends his fan into a conniption. He's also purple!

There are so many different versions of this freak, it's crazy! In one universe he's just some guy. In another he's a rebel leader. Maybe he's a petty criminal with a love for cackling. Or maybe he's an artificial god who built his own temple. I mean, what if he had a huge building-eating pet worm? It's not that different from the one time he brought back extinct dragon robots for his clone army. Does a double-crossing secret spy sound interesting? Y'know he was once a robot rights activist. Usually he's a terrorist but what do you do when your lab is filled with things that are massively illegal? A Shockwave for everything you could want

I have the most knowledge of TFP, so that what I'll use. Anyway, he invented the cortical psychic patch, which basically allows one to enter another's mind, and it's used in some dubious ways by several people, but Shockwave uses it the most brutally. He also cloned an extinct species of transformer, using just small amounts of bones. He also has a massive monoboob, and replaced one of his hands with a cannon, meaning he did all of the unethical scientific work with a good third of his vision obscured and with one hand.

Carlos Dave Robles:

Perfect hair. Gay. We love to see it

[syrecjh]

Omg omg omg part 2 of a rose for katsuki is so cuteeeeeee <3 I would totally love an addition of where maybe bakugou gets reader as an intern over their years at UA and he immediately extends a hire offer soon as they graduate??? I love a good mentor x pupil trope!!! Please feel free to ignore if this wont fit with the vibes, still love your works :D

──★🥀་ ̟ !! ִֶָ A Rose for Dynamight (Part 3)

mentor! Bakugo x pupil! Reader

a continuation that honors their quiet thread through time.

Part 1 Part 2

Years pass like petals caught in wind — drifting, soft, but always pulled toward gravity.

You didn’t think you’d see him again. The Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man. Not like that. Not up close. Not outside the frame of spotlights and battlefield rumors. But when the internship lists are posted in glowing digital rows in the common room, your name is there — nestled right beneath the red-lettered agency of DYNAMIGHT.

You blink. Once. Twice. Surely it’s a typo. Maybe your application got rerouted. You hadn’t even applied to him directly.

But it’s not a mistake. Not when the email arrives an hour later.

> “Show up on time. No extras allowed. - D.”

When you arrive at the Dynamight Agency for the first time, you’re already sweating beneath your uniform. It’s sleeker now, redesigned since your second year — more fitting to the kind of hero you’re becoming: strategic, agile, quick. The receptionist points you down the hall and tells you, “He’s expecting you. Don’t knock. He hates that.”

The door is already half-open. Of course it is.

He’s leaning back in his desk chair, arms crossed, boots kicked up, but his eyes snap to yours the moment you step in — sharp, unreadable, but not unkind.

“You’re late.”

“I’m literally three minutes early—”

“And that’s three minutes I could’ve used.” He stands. His figure has grown broader with time, stronger somehow. Less loud, but no less him. “You gonna stand there all stiff, or are you gonna come learn somethin’?”

You blink again, slow.

“Yes, sir.”

He flinches. “Don’t call me that. Makes me feel old.”

You smirk. “Dynamight, then?”

“Bakugo. You’ve earned that.”

And just like that, the floor evens beneath your feet.

It’s strange how silence with him is comfortable now. Between mission reports and sparring drills, he teaches you more than any textbook ever could. Where others shout, he simply grunts. Where others warn, he guides with a nudge. And when you freeze mid-fight — your mind cycling through three too many battle scenarios — it’s his voice that cuts through:

“Stop thinkin’. Move.”

You move. And it works.

“You’ve gotten faster,” he mutters later, tossing a sports drink your way. “Still read people better than most.”

“You make it easy. You still scowl at every third civilian.”

He glares. “They walked into the crossfire.”

You laugh. He doesn't. But the corner of his mouth twitches.

Late one evening, when the mission files are stacked high and your legs ache from field work, he tosses a folder across the table. You catch it before it slides off the edge.

“What’s this?”

“Your future,” he says, voice gruff.

You open it.

A formal job offer. Full-time. Starting after graduation.

The ink is fresh. But the signature is already there. Katsuki Bakugo.

Your breath catches. “You want me... to work for you?”

“I want you to work with me.” His gaze holds yours like it did during that exam years ago — unwavering, intense, but laced with something warmer now. “I’ve seen the way you move. The way you think. You belong on the field. And I want you on my agency so we can beat Deku together.”

You don’t speak for a moment. Then, softly: “I thought you didn’t like extras.”

“I don’t.” He shrugs. “You’re not one.”

Silence. Then you ask, tentative, honest, “Why me?”

He sighs through his nose, pulling a hand through his hair. “Because I remember you. From the exam. From before. You see the world different. Like I do. You don’t try to be flashy or fake it. You just do the work. And...”

He pauses. Looks away.

“I think I’d trust you to have my back.”

The words fall quiet, but they bloom in your chest like spring.

A few weeks later, you hand him a thank-you gift. A new pair of gloves — custom-built with his specs, a little sleeker, lighter, sharper.

He grumbles. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you say. “But I wanted to.”

He tries them on. They fit perfectly. Of course they do.

“You’re not gonna start callin’ me ‘old man’ or some crap, are you?”

You smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man.”

But when you walk out of his office that night, file in hand, future in motion — he watches you go with something like pride tucked into the corners of his eyes.

Not loud.

Not obvious.

But there.

And on the windowsill of his office, just beneath the framed agency emblem, sits a small glass box — still housing the petals of a dried, once-red rose.

He never threw them away.

He never will.

Because long before he saw you as a hero — he remembered you as the child who offered him softness, when he didn’t know how to ask for it.

And now, he’s offering you something in return.

A place.

A purpose.

A beginning.

Right beside Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man.