#based off of loop crumb

[daily-beau]

Day 9: Isacrumb

[formulawolff]

public display of affection - s.p.

pairing: fem!reader x sergio pérez

word count: 764

warnings: slight angst, cursing, pda (obv), nothing else really! just some sweet n tender shit

a/n: this was a request from an anon! (i believe)this fic is set during the 2023 azerbaijan grand prix, btw! i hope y'all enjoy some fluffy checo content <3

"private, not secret."

that was your mantra.

well, more like his mantra.

you could give two shits if the world knew about your romantic relationship with the esteemed formula one driver.

he was the one who was more concerned about it, always ensuring that your identity was concealed from the world. he avoided pressing questions in interviews or debriefs, stating that he simply did not want to respond out of respect for his privacy. he never posted you on his socials, and if he did, it was merely crumbs.

your fingers wrapped around his bicep. the shadow of your stature. your neatly manicured nails resting on his thigh.

of course, you were content with the fact that he at least posted about you. people knew you existed, just not exactly who you were.

although you were okay with it, you were beginning to grow restless. after all, it had been almost two years now, and he would barely even interact with you during race weekends in order to dodge the media or his fellow drivers.

you were well aware that he was not doing this out of secrecy, like he was intentionally trying to hide you from the world or well, someone else. you had those doubts at first, but he swiftly squashed them.

to put it simply, sergio pérez did not want everyone and anyone in his business.

especially in the world of formula one where a single rumor could accumulate into numerous headlines across various social media platforms. where one piece of gossip could buzz around the paddocks for months.

as frustrating as it was, you could only respect his wishes. after all, your relationship had been nothing but peaceful. if he felt that sharing with the world who you were would disturb that peace, then you couldn't blame him.

even if it was a little annoying. even if it did break your heart just a tiny bit that he refused to post one singular picture of you. to just give you a kiss in public. or hold your hand, even.

yet, here you were, pacing in the garage as he soars on the circuit, his car gliding along the track. there were only two laps left in the fifty-one lap spectacle, sergio maintaining his lead.

if he was able to pull this one off, he would be the only driver in history to become a repeat winner of the azerbaijan grand prix, as he won once before in 2021.

even though he was the one behind the wheel, your heart thumps, teeth gnawing at your lower lip, blocky headphones resting on your ears.

the checkered flag waves, your eyes widening, lips parting.

he did it.

he won.

"come on!" hugh shouts, waving fervently, "let's go meet your man!"

you follow the team as they pour of the garage, making their way to that designated sign. that number one. as sergio gets out of the car, he stands on it momentarily, pumping his fists in the air as the team jeers, praising the driver for a phenomenal performance.

as his head swivels, surveying the crowd, you can sense his entire body freeze the moment his eyes lock with yours.

hopping down from the car, he pushes his way through the red bull crew. ripping his helmet off, he tears off the balaclava, nearly panting as he wraps you up in a tight embrace.

hands cup the base of your neck, bringing you in, "come here. i can't fucking do this anymore."

lips crash into yours, the entire world falling away as your lashes flutter, mouth parting so he can have further access. his fingers squeeze, tightening as you loop an arm around his neck.

pulling away, he catches his breath, "i don't give a fuck anymore. okay? i need the world to know who you are. i need them to know that you're mine. i need everyone to know how much i fucking love you."

a giggle bubbles up in your throat as you brush away a few sweaty strands of hair, "was someone thinking about me?"

he nods, adoration glinting in his gaze, "i couldn't stop thinking about you, actually. you were on my mind the entire race."

"but baby," you counter, "you won! you won another grand prix!"

"no win compares to the prize by my side," sergio's head brushes against yours.

"you're my biggest win in life. and by god, i am going to show you off. i'm done hiding you. the world is going to know who my beautiful, amazing, wonderful, funny, girlfriend is. i promise you that."

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Winner Takes All - Steve Rogers x OC

warnings: frat boy college steve rogers, roommates to lovers, 'it's always been you'

word count: 7.7k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1417543778-winner-takes-all-drew

Vibe: "Steve shook his head, moving to press a kiss to the small freckle at the base of her throat, "Poetry class. First year." he admitted, sitting up and meeting her gaze once more. "I didn't even know what I was doing in that class, and then this blonde firecracker sat next to me, and suddenly it turned into my favorite. She could meet me sarcastic comment for sarcastic comment, and bullied me, and made me question everything, but she also taught me more then that professor did all semester and drove me so insane that I agreed to be her roommate just to be near her."

Masterlist

Drew’s fluffy socks skimmed over the wooden floor of the apartment, hands full with four beer bottles and a bag of chips tucked under her arm. 

The kitchen was quiet except for the odd noise filtering from a bedroom down the hall. A muffled but distinctive groan from her idiot of a roommate and a giggle she didn’t recognise made Drew roll her eyes as she shuffled her way back to the living room. 

As she passed through she palmed one beer off to Sam, laid out on the floor with the PlayStation controller left abandoned by his side and his eyes glued to his phone, and one each to Bucky and Natasha, who had somehow managed to both fit curled up together on the armchair despite the whole couch being empty. 

Friday afternoons often went like this, they’d find themselves lazing in Drew and Steve’s apartment. Sometimes they’d just stay in and sometimes their afternoon beers led to pre-drinking and bar hopping. 

Their bottles were nearly empty by the time Steve and his company finally emerged, hushed voices and laughter echoing all the way to the front door before it swung swiftly closed, and Drew glanced up to see her roommate entering the living room — his dirty-blond hair disheveled, lips pink and t-shirt all askew. 

“Aw, didn’t want to introduce us to your hook up, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirk on his lips as he shoved a handful of chip crumbs into his mouth. 

“And put her through the pain of meeting you losers?” 

Steve grinned as he hopped over the back of the couch, making himself comfy in the spot right beside Drew and plucking the beer from her hand, draining the last of it. 

“Hey!” 

“Don’t you have a date you should be getting ready for?” Steve countered, wiggling his eyebrows. “Patrick or Pedro or something?” 

“Peter, but you knew that Steven.” 

“Yep. Anyway, you don’t mind if I shower first, do you?”

He was up again before Drew could argue, rounding the couch and smacking a wet kiss to her cheek from behind.

Drew begrudgingly watched him saunter off to their shared bathroom, her attention only pulled away from Steve’s toned back when Natasha cleared her throat and Bucky stifled a laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing D,” he shook his head but she knew that look. 

“It’s never going to happen,” Natasha finally piped up, “Rogers is a coward, say goodbye to your money Buck.” 

He ruffled a hand through her thick red hair, flinching back when she threatened him under her breath. 

“What money?” Drew raised an eyebrow. “I feel out of the loop.”

“You are the loop, it’s torture watching you and Steve going around in a circle. So we made a bet…” Sam’s playful nature died on his lips with a kick from Natasha. 

“A bet?” Drew wasn’t completely in the dark. Not when it came to her feelings about Steve. But they were friends, barely and in he was constantly preoccupied by someone prettier and funnier.

"What kind of bet?" Drew asked hesitantly. Her mind already summing up the reason behind their friends' mischevious ways.

Sam gave her a side glance from his position on the floor that said "are you really asking that question?" while Bucky answered with a grin, "Who would give in first. My money says you– Ow! What the fuck Nat?!"

Natasha had a glare on her face as she cut him off and smacked him up the head.

"Just cause he's been your friend since kindergarten doesn't automatically make him a winner, you ass!" Nat defended.

Drew huffed an indignant breath and tried to glare at her so called friends.

"Oh, boy. Can someone with a little more common sense tell me what kind of bet this is. I would like to know how that bet involves me." She asked, faking a stern tone trying to get one of them to talk.

Natasha stared at her, exasperation clear on her face. The red head’s rigid look was just enough to break Drew’s resolve rather than wait for one of them to answer her clearly. 

“You're my best friend Drew, so I can say this. Stop acting so dense. You know what it’s about and it’s a lot deeper than what these two doofus’ faces or tones are showing.” 

Bucky and Sam mumbled in offense, pressing their lips together as soon as Nat narrowed her eyes at them. 

“I just want you to let yourself be happy, D” 

Drew felt her heart clench inside her chest at her friend’s words. She should’ve known Nat would catch her no matter how hard she tried to just be friends with Steve, she knows her too well. 

Before she could answer, the bathroom door unlocking filled her silence. And like a saving grace Steve’s voice boomed through the hallway. 

“Showers all yours Drewski!” 

Heat rose up her chest and neck as her eyes flicked between the boys and Nat before pushing herself up. 

“I have a date to get ready for.” She muttered.

With that, the blonde rounded the couch and headed down the hallway, pausing to grab her towel off the back of her bedroom door. She let out a huff and shook her head once,  trying her best to push her friend's betrayal out of her mind. They were crazy if they thought something was going to happen between her and Steve. That boy wouldn't recognize her as more than a roommate if she up and slapped him across the face with her feelings. Which Drew had to admit did sound like a pleasing idea. 

She let out a small laugh to herself before a clear of his throat pulled her from her head. 

"Whatcha thinking about, princess?" Steve smirked, roughly rubbing his towel over his dirty blonde hair. 

A drop of water from his hair ran down his neck and Drew couldn't help but follow the trail with her eyes. quickly biting the inside of her cheek before she returned her gaze to him with an eye roll, "First of all, I told you to stop calling me that. And if you must know, I was thinking about how satisfying it would be to slap you across the face," the blonde quipped as she stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door before he could answer.

Stomping grumpily into the shower to the echo of Steve’s laughter, Drew lathered her hair and gave her scalp an overly vicious scrub. Natasha’s words raced around her brain.  She loved her friend with every fiber of her being but she was wrong. There was no-way that hulking blond jackass had any feelings other than irritation  and plain devilment towards her.

With a frustrated sigh she began her pre-date shower routine, even breaking out the hardcore expensive body wash that her mom had bought her last Christmas. By the time she stepped out of the shower, Drew was determined not to let that ape or her meddling friends derail her plans for a good night.

Back in her bedroom, Drew perched on the edge of her bed. Hair wrapped in a towel, she slathered moisturizer on her legs as she hummed along softly to her date night playlist. 

She could hear the boys laughing in the living room, Steve’s obnoxious shouting and the music of whichever video game they’d gone back to playing, when she heard the quiet knock on her door. 

“You can come in, Nat,” Drew called, unraveling her hair from the towel and squeezing out the damp ends.

Natasha wandered into the room and sunk against the dresser, picking at the chipping paint that coated the old wood. "You know that it's all in your best interest?"

"What?" Drew said as she hung the towel. "Dating Steve? It's clear it's a game to you guys."

"It's not," Natasha said in a more serious tone and tapped the dresser to get my attention. "At least it wasn't, we've been watching you both around each other and it only got worse when you started living together. Steve is blind to anyone else in the room when you're around and you're the only person who doesn't see it."

"I have a date," Drew noted, shoving down the butterflies that fluttered in her chest at the thought and checking her reflection in the mirror before adding some mascara to her lashes. 

"With some dweeb that won't even remember you like orange juice with the pulp, or that you like vanilla creamer in your coffee after if he gives you thirty second mind blowing sex," Nat rolled her eyes and mocked Drew in what was supposed to be a frat boys confident swagger.

Steve always remembered the orange juice.

"I'm sorry you're out twenty bucks Natasha," Drew stared at her before collecting her bag and going to leave. 

"My phones on," Nat said from her position in Drew's room, "text me if you need an exit strategy."

"Always,"  Drew offered a smile and snuck from the apartment before the guys could hassle her further about the situation.

Thirty minutes into the date, Drew was already itching to reach for her phone and beg Natasha for a fake emergency. Peter was a completely different person outside of their Psych class. Loud, obnoxious and flirted with every waitress that passed their table. Steve's obnoxious too. She thought as she stared at the man in front of her as he shoved onion ring after onion ring into his mouth. He rambled on about anything and everything under the sun since they sat down. Yeah, but Steve doesn't eat like a Neanderthal. 

Drew shook her head of thoughts of Steve and focused on the football game on the TV behind him. It was ironic, that the only thing getting her through this was a game she cared nothing about and yet felt less than because Steve wasn't around to scream at the television. 

Once they finished eating, they split the bill and Peter walked her outside. A shit-eating grin on his face. 

"What?" she asked, looking up at him with an awkward laugh. 

"Nothing," Peter shrugged, "it's just that I'm surprised Rogers let you out of the house." He took a step towards her, dragging his fingers down her bare arms. Drew had to fight off an actual shiver as she stepped out of his touch. "I'm glad he did though." 

I'm not.

"What do you mean by let me out?" She fought to keep her face neutral as she forced the words out of her mouth, taking half a step more out of his reach. 

"Ya' know," he shrugged with a smirk. 

"No, I don't." She bit out.

"He's always around you somehow, like a goddamn guard dog. Do you know how many times I tried to ask you out but he was always there?"

what?!

Peter's annoying rambling continued, unaware of just how much Drew was losing interest in him, what was left of it anyway.

"I finally got Rocket to corner him to ask about the team try-outs as a distraction so I could talk to you." He finished. Smugness radiated off of him and the sight made Drew furious.

"Goodnight, Peter. Don't bother calling." Drew turned on her heels, fuming and left him, confused and annoyed on the sidewalk.

I should have stayed home with my friends, she thought as she walked to her car that she was glad she took instead of having Peter pick her up. Him touching bare arm had been enough to make her skin crawl. But what concerned her even more was the way Peter called Steve a guard dog. There was a bite to his tone as if he was staking his claim on her like she was a toy on the playground toddlers fought over.

She sniffled as she unlocked her car and sat in the seat. Wiping her eyes, she pulled out her phone and texted Nat. 

Drew: Things didn't go well. I told him not to call me.

Tossing her phone into the passenger seat, Drew made her way home, tightly gripping her steering wheel as Exes by Tate McRae sounded loudly through the car. She silently reminded herself that she'd have to thank Steve for preventing that from happening sooner. Her body shivered in disgust as she threw the car in park, looking up at her building. 

Her phone let out a soft ding as Nat reacted to her message with a heart, telling her she'd be over in the morning to hear all about it. With a sigh of defeat, Drew climbed from her small car, grabbed her bag and headed up to the apartment, preparing herself for the inevitable jeering that she'd receive from Steve when she walked in. 

As expected, the light from the TV caught her eye when she walked in. 

Here we go, she thought to herself. 

"Wow, home at 9 PM? You must have found your soulmate," His raspy voice sounded from the living room. She could almost hear the smirk that was plastered on his lips when she moved herself to sit on the opposite side of the couch from him. 

"Don't start," Drew muttered, pulling her legs underneath herself as she tied her blonde waves into a messy bun on the top of her head.

She could actually feel his eyes as they analyzed her demeanor before he let out a little huff, rising from the couch and rustling around in the kitchen for a few moments before returning. 

As he passed the armchair that Drew usually occupied he grabbed her favorite blanket. Tossing the woolen kaleidoscope over her knees, he handed her a beer and then sat again, taking a swig out of his own bottle.

They stayed sitting in silence for a moment longer before Steve hummed, picking at the label on his beer. 

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“Not yet,” Drew murmured, “just kinda wanna stew in my frustration for a little while.” 

Steve huffed out a small chuckle, still just as rich and deep and causing a familiar warmth to curl in her belly. 

She hated it. 

“He that much of a dick?” Steve asked, tucking his leg up on the couch as he turned to face her. 

“Off the scale.”

She could smell the pine and spice from his cologne as he shifted closer. 

"Am I on the scale?" He asked, brows raising. 

Drew couldn't tell if it was concern or pure cockiness that fueled his question but it dragged a small chuckle from her lips and she could feel herself relaxing. "Yeah it goes, one to Steve Rogers." 

"So I beat Porter?" He flashed the most handsome of smiles at her and lifted his beer for a sip. 

"Peter," Drew corrected him again. "And we aren't measuring the size of your dick, were measuring how much of a dick you are."

"Wins a win, Drewski." He winked at her and the warmth returned. 

"I hate that you do that," she said, picking at her own bottles label now. 

"What?" Steve's voice dropped. 

"Make me feel better. Steve..." She stopped, unsure she even wanted to ask. "Did you," she cleared her throat, "do you prevent guys in class from asking me out?"

“What? Nah, I mean, I might’ve talked to a guy or two, made sure they really knew what they wanted- but it’s all chill,” Steve shrugged, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. 

“Steve! It is not ‘chill’!” Drew exclaimed, turning to face him. “I’m a big girl I can tell guys yes or no on my own.”

“C’mon princess, don’t get all twisted, I was looking out for you.” Steve said, leaning towards her and Drew narrowed her eyes. 

“Not a princess.” she said pushing Steve away, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the couch.

She could feel his gaze on her again. Burning a hole into the side of her head as she sunk further into the cushions. Her favorite blanket acting as a barrier between them. 

"No," he said finally, "definitely not a princess." 

Drew looked over at him, those big blue eyes staring back at her only seemed to glow in the light of the TV. "Why?" She asked softly, "And don't give the whole just protecting me bit." 

Steve let out a groan as his head fell back against the couch. "Look okay, I may have told a few of the guys not to mess around with you. That's all." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. But it was. She didn't need Steve to protect her or her feelings for that matter. She was an adult who could handle them all the same. 

"Why Steve?" She pushed again for an answer but was only met with those same blue eyes as they darkened. 

"Because they were saying some real fucked up shit and I didn't appreciate it and you definitely didn't deserve to be talked about that way."

She was taken aback by the way his face suddenly lost all the playfulness that was there a minute ago. His lips were drawn into a tight line and his brows furrowed. Somehow, she still didn’t understand why he wanted to protect her so badly. 

"You don't need to do that, Steve." her tone soft, speaking more to herself.

"I'm sorry, honey bee. I didn’t mean to upset you."

"You... you didn't upset me," she told him quietly. "It's just... Why do you want to protect me so much?"

"Because I like you, Drew," he told her, his face serious. "I don't want anyone to hurt you."

"I'm a big girl, Rogers, I can take care of myself, you know?" 

Steve huffed and shook his head, "Believe me, I know you can D, I just - if you had heard what those guys were saying, I couldn't - I couldn't let them near you" 

Silence fell between them for a moment as Steve moved himself forward just enough so his leg was brushing hers and his arm draped lazily around the back of the couch. His fingers played with the edge of her blanket, his eyes cast downward as Drew watched him. 

"Guard dog," Drew whispered, smiling softly and breathing out a small laugh as she shook her head, "That's what Peter called you. I didn't even notice that you'd been protecting me like that until he said it" 

"Quill's an asshole," Steve muttered, watching the fluff of the blanket run through his finger tips.

"Steve," Drew placed her hand on his knee, his blue eyes flickering back up to hers, "Thank you,"

“Shut up,” he murmured, his face closing down, but there was something in his expression that Drew couldn’t let go.

“No, really,” she pressed. “I don’t have that many people to lol out for me so…I appreciate it, Steve.”

“Bucky would do the same, or Nat,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Would they?” Drew questioned, narrowing her eyes and leaning forward slightly, invading his space more than she usually would.

“I—“ Steve paused, his gaze flitting across her face, blue eyes lingering just a moment on her mouth as she worried at her bottom lip. Steve sucked in a breath, settling back a little.

Drew furrowed her brow, trying to ignore the twist in her stomach as her roommate distanced himself again. 

“You what, Steve?” 

“I think they would,” he replied, “but they don’t live with you, D. They don’t watch you leave for a date with a douchebag and sit hoping you walk through that door unharmed, or just hoping you walk through that door at all.”

Drew stared at him for a long moment, watching his deep blue eyes flicker from her to the door. 

“You wait for me?” She asked finally. She had never really noticed but thinking back on the last few months, no matter how late she arrived Steve had always been in the same spot on the couch. 

Sometimes he said nothing, sometimes he’d ask if she slammed the door a little harder than normal. But he always found a reason to be home while she was on a date. 

“I’m hurt you never noticed,” he clutched his chest playfully.

Drew looked into Steve’s eyes and saw actual hurt there, surprising her. 

“Steve…that’s really sweet,” She said, leaning her head onto the back of the couch, forgetting Steve’s arm was there until she was resting on it. 

Drew didn’t move right away, and Steve didn’t pull away, so she stayed where she was. 

“Yeah, that’s me; the sweet one,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

Drew’s throat suddenly felt dry. He really did wait for her. And he really did seem hurt. Were their friends right? 

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid” she quipped. 

Immediate regret when Steve guffawed. And while she mentally kicked herself for that dumb adage, he readjusted and wrapped his arm around her.

He nuzzled against the top of her head, a smile still pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks for the advice, princess.”

"Not a princess," She mumbled with a frown, causing him to laugh. 

"There's no way you like Drewski better." He grinned, pulling back enough to look down at her. 

Drew laughed. "Honestly? I do." 

Steve tossed his head back with a laugh, her favorite kind. His eyes crinkled, mouth hung open and the room filled with the sound that made butterflies in her chest explode.

"Alright, Drewski. You want another beer ?" Steve asked, getting up from the couch and taking the two empty bottles from the coffee table. 

"Actually, I need to get out of these clothes. Be right back." She threw the blanket back and got up as well.

"You need help with those ?"

She heard Steve say, a low chuckle left his throat, his voice laced with mischief. 

"Behave, Rogers." she answered, sauntering off into her room, passing by Steve, who stood in front of the kitchen island watching her walk away, swaying her hips a little more with each step.

As she shut her bedroom door behind her, Drew rested against it with a sigh. Why am I flirting with him? He's not pushing me away... maybe I should up my game a bit? 

Quickly, Drew changed out of her clothes, donning a tank top and a pair of sleep pants before returning to the living area of the apartment. There was a beer already waiting for her beside her favorite spot, which made her smile as she sat down. "Thank you, Steve."

“Gotta keep my favorite girl hydrated,” Steve chuckled, a soft blush warming his cheeks. Drew’s eyes followed where his pinking skin trailed beneath his shirt. 

“Your favorite girl, huh?” 

“I think Bucky would kill me if I said Natasha was my favorite so… y’know, had to go with my second choice.” 

Drew gasped, swatting Steve across his very broad, very firm chest and making him choke out a laugh. 

“Rude. You can be honest, Stevie. I won’t let it ruin your star football player, ladies man reputation if you wanna be soft for once. Promise.” 

Steve sighed and settled in close again, Drew’s heart rate picking up at the sheer warmth of him against her side. 

“You’ve always been my favorite, honey bee.”

She looked up at him to find him staring down at her and the breath caught in her throat under his gaze. 

play it cool Drew, don’t flip out.

“Honey bee is cute, how many girls have heard that nickname?” She attempted to recover as the blush tickled at her cheeks. 

“Only you,” he said, not looking away. 

“You’re very smooth, Rogers,” she huffed when she realized how close they were.

“All part of the charm,” Steve grinned, and Drew laughed, staring as his grin slipped into a pout. 

“Cute,” Drew scoffed, but Steve’s eyes lit up. 

“You think I’m cute?” He asked quietly, his eyes focused on her lips as she quickly licked them, biting down on her lower lip. 

Drew noticed Steve’s breathing getting deeper, heavier, and she looked up to find his gaze had darkened.

"I..." 

She hesitated. The words wouldn't come out. Yes, I think you're cute!

"C'mon, don't get shy on me now, Drewski."

Steve's voice had dropped about an octave. Goosebumps tickled to the surface of her skin. She couldn't help but giggle at what was unfolding here.

The smile that spread across his face at the sound sent warmth spreading through her body. He reached up, gently dragging his knuckles along her cheek. Tiny sparks lit up her skin as he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. "That's my favorite sound in the world." He rasped searching her eyes before they flickered down to her lips again. 

"Steve," she whispered. 

"Tell me not to kiss you right now Drew," he said, his lips so close to hers she could feel the warmth of his breath fanning against her skin. "Tell me to back off and I will, but if you don't..." The words trailed off and she shook her head pushing away every single doubt she had about the man sitting in front of her. 

"I won't." She whispered and that's all it took for him to crash his mouth against her own.

Drew gasped into his mouth, her hand instantly moving to rest on the back of his neck as their lips moved in sync with each other. It wasn't long before she could feel him brush his tongue against her lips, asking for entrance, which she happily gave. She could taste the beer he'd been drinking along with mint from the gum he always carried on him, making her moan quietly.

She felt Steve's lips curl up at the soft sound that escaped her throat, pulling another giggle from her. Quickly pressing another kiss to her lips with a smile, he moved to trace her jaw with wet open-mouthed kisses. 

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he whispered against her skin. 

Drew let her head fall back and slightly to the side as her eyes fluttered closed, "Tell me," she breathed. 

Steve shook his head, moving to press a kiss to the small freckle at the base of her throat, "Poetry class. First year." he admitted, sitting up and meeting her gaze once more. "I didn't even know what I was doing in that class, and this blonde firecracker sat next to me, and suddenly it turned into my favorite class. She could meet me sarcastic comment for sarcastic comment, and bullied me, and made me question everything, but she also taught me more than that professor did all semester and drove me so insane that I agreed to be her roommate just to be near her."

“Are you close enough now?” Drew breathed out and tangled her fingers into the hair that grew at his nape. 

“Not nearly,” he responded against her skin instantly like he had waited his whole life to be asked exactly that. 

“And now?” She asked. He leaned back never breaking away but wrapping his arm around her waist and allowing her closer as he kissed his way across her collar bone and she settled into his lap. “Steve,” she urged him for an answer. 

“It’ll never be enough,” he hummed. The fresh stubble on his jaw tickled her skin as his fingers worked beneath the fabric of her shirt and up her spine.

Drew shivered and Steve pulled her in closer, hands spreading warm and wide on her back. His lips were trailing up her neck and behind her ear, sucking gently. 

Steve pulled back and his eyes darkened as they zeroed in on the mark he left behind, his hands turning possessive on her skin, clutching her too him. 

“Steve,” Drew gasped, feeling his bulge grow between her legs. She hesitantly ground down, and Steve grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her in for a rough kiss. 

“Honeybee,” Steve groaned into Drew’s mouth, holding her hips tight as she wound her arms around his neck.

Drew moaned as their teeth clicked against each other. She felt lightheaded with passion. Steve's hands continued to explore her back as his hips bucked up against hers. 

She gasped - her panties were already wet, and she was getting impatient as she felt the growing bulge in Steve's pants. 

He pulled away abruptly and she whined at the loss of contact.

"Tell me what you want, Drew," he whispered in a sultry voice. "I've been talking an awful lot."

Drew stared at him for a moment. Her heart felt like it wanted to escape her chest as his fingers traced a line up and down her spine, tickling her skin. "I-" she stopped, the words on her tongue but stuck. 

"You can tell me no," He said cupping her cheek with his free hand, curling it into her hair. "We do this at your pace." 

She shook her head, "it's not that." Drew laughed softly pressing her forehead against his. "I want to, I want you" 

Steve sighed softly, "But?" 

"but I'm scared." She admitted softly.

Steve kissed the tip of her nose as he cradled her head in his hands. “What are you scared of?” He asked softly. “I hope, not me. I never want you to be scared of me.”

"No, no it's not you I'm scared of," Drew twisted her head and placed a soft kiss to Steve's wrist as his fingers played with the hair at the back of her neck, "I'm scared of what this means, of admitting what we want here, I just - you had another girl in your room today and I just got home from a date... why did it take these things to get us here? Why couldn't we be normal people and just - "

"Be honest?" Steve finished her question, with a soft smirk.

Letting out a breath she was unaware she was holding, Drew nodded and fiddled with the silver chain that sat around Steve's neck, "I just want to make sure we know what we're doing, and not just getting caught up in the moment,"

"Drewski," Steve started catching her brown eyes with his blue ones, his expression soft and caring as his fingertips traced circles into the skin of her back, "There's a reason I'm home every night, watching Love Island with you. Why none of the girls I've brought over ever stayed, and I think there's a reason why you came to sit on the couch with me after your bad dates instead of hiding in your room like you usually do when someone pisses you off." 

Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip and she nodded slowly with a small smirk, "It's you and me. It always has been. It just took too long for either of us to realize" she said softly.

Steve smiled at her, nodding, and pressed his lips to hers gently. “You and me Drew, always.” He pulled her closer on his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her chest. She could feel her heart beating under his ear, a little fast but steady. 

Drew kissed the top of Steve’s head, nuzzling her face into his hair. She realized after a moment that Steve wasn’t moving. 

“Are we…cuddling? Are you a cuddler, Rogers?” 

“Only for you, honeybee,” Steve murmured against her skin, sinking into the couch with her, pressing Drew further into his arms as he relaxed.

A warm feeling unfurled in her chest, her heart expanding with unknown but pleasant sensations coursing through her as Steve's larger body covered her own. His thick arms wrapping around her waist completely and his scent the only thing she could smell. It was the most comfort she'd felt in a long time.

Their chests rose and fell in sync as they breathed each other in. Drew didn't want to break this beautiful silence even though her mind was begging for more reassurance from him.

Steve raised his hand to brush the strand of hair out of her face at a slow pace, his calloused fingers traveling over her skin heating it in its wake. Like he was savoring every second with her, his blue eyes glittering like snow crystals on a cold winter morning. 

"Princess, we take this at whatever pace you feel comfortable with." He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, his lips warm and soft against her skin.

When he pulled back to meet her gaze she smiled tenderly, the soft thump of his heartbeat calming her nerves. 

“What’d I say about the princess, Rogers?” She breathed, a soft laugh escaping her lips at his apologetic grimace. 

“I’m ok, Steve. Really.” She paused, bringing her thumb to his lips, tracing them gently as she felt his heartbeat quicken. “I feel safe with you. I trust you.”

Steve kissed her thumb, staring into her eyes. His own heartbeat hammered in his chest as he drew her hand away so he could lean in and kiss her again. He couldn’t get enough of the sweet taste of her mouth.

His hands slid slowly down her sides, as if he were committing her curves to memory, and halted at her waist. When his fingers slipped under the hem of her tank top and tightened against her skin Drew moaned.

Crushing her chest against his, she deepened their kiss, tilting her head as their tongues entwined. Steve whimpered into her mouth when her thighs clamped around his hips and she raked her fingers through his messy blond hair.

Drew's hips started moving on their own, slowly grinding onto him as heat pooled low in her belly at the feel of his hardness underneath her most sensitive parts. 

The deliciously sinful groan that left him at the next grind of their hips together made her bite his lower lip and suck into her mouth. His hands roaming the skin of her back digging in slightly and pulling her flush against him.

"Faster, Drew." He panted into her mouth as her back bowed when his cock hit her clothed clit just right.

A desperate whimper left her lips as she increased the pace which elicited a string of deep moans and a few curses out of Steve.

"Fuck." 

Steve's hands traveled up her hips over the sheer lace of her bra, her nipples already peaked through the fabric, almost unbearably sensitive to his touch, like her body unknowingly yearned for him all this time.

Drew dropped her head to his shoulder, panting as she circled her hips. “I need to feel you…”

Steve dipped his thumbs beneath the neck of her top and into her bra, searching out her pebbled nipples and circling them in time to the movement of her hips against him.

“Honey bee,” he whispered lustily, kissing a hot trail across her jaw and down the column of her throat.

“Touch me, Steve…please…” Her voice was a breathy whisper and her hands clutched desperately to him.

Steve tilted his head back, the warmth of his hands leaving her skin as he instead tucked his thumb under her chin until he met her gaze. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Never been more sure of anything in my life, Steve. Now please fucking touch me.” 

Drew’s breath hitched on the last word as Steve moved his thumb to her bottom lip, tugging it down until her mouth naturally parted and he skimmed along the sensitive skin just inside. Eyes not leaving Steve’s, Drew flicked her tongue out over the tip of his thumb, sucking it into her mouth.

His eyes darkened and his lids were low on his cornflower eyes as she watched him trace the movement, breathing laboured and heavy. 

"Take off your pants, D." 

The low command sent a rush of heat down her spine and she scrambled to take her pajama pants off, lacking any grace as she stumbled out of them halfway across his lap while he bit his lip in amusement.

Drew settled back down straddling him, her damp pale blue panties doing little to cover her, but the way Steve's eyes narrowed in on them and his hands dug into the flesh of her ass told her she didn't need to cover herself from him.

Steve laid a trail of kisses along her neck, lowering himself slowly along her still clothed chest. Nose nudging each of her pebbled nipples, as her breath hitched in her throat. 

She lifted herself up on her elbows slightly, eyes finding Steve’s with quick breaths as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her belly where her top scrunched up. 

“Sweet talker,” Drew teased. 

“Only for you,” he winked, looking up at her. “And for the record, you're beautiful all the time. But this view is… perfect.” He mused as his hold tightened on her thigh.

Drew ran one hand down his arm, watching as goosebumps rose on his skin. “My view is pretty perfect too.”

Steve grinned before bending to kiss her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, making her gasp.

With a low chuckle, he trailed down over her abdomen, kissing, nipping, and sucking a tingling path across her skin.  When he bypassed the apex of her thighs Drew let out a needy whine. Steve raised his eyes to hers and gave a sly smile.

“You…” she growled in frustration, lifting her hips impatiently.

His large hand splayed across her stomach, pressing her down into the couch and preventing her from moving.

“Don’t tease me,” she pleaded desperately.

“But it’s such fun, honey bee,” he hummed, nipping at the sensitive skin of her thigh.

Drew huffed and Steve chuckled at her indignation, the gruffness of his laugh against her skin sending tingles straight to the depths of her belly. 

“Steeeeve,” she whined again, fingers tangling in his hair in an attempt to coax him closer to where she needed him most. 

“Okay, okay,” Steve conceded, lips curling into a devilish smirk as he sucked a bruise to her thigh and peppered the skin with soft, small kisses until his mouth landed warm and wet over the lace of her panties. 

The grip Drew had on Steve’s hair tightened and he groaned into her heat, tongue lapping lazily over the dampening fabric.

“Holy shit,” Drew moaned, her hips arching upward only to be pushed back down again by Steve. 

She lifted her head, wanting to watch him as he swirled his tongue over her clothed clit, making her mouth part in pleasure.

She needed him closer and she knew he was teasing her on purpose as he flattened his tongue and increased the pressure on her clit.

“Asshole,” she gasped in desperation, crossing her ankles across the muscular planes of his back as she tried to draw him closer.

“I know, I know,” he mocked huskily, “I’m such a jerk.” 

“Ste-“ she began but her words caught in her throat as he pulled the lace of her panties to one side and swept his tongue in a languid stripe through her bare folds.

“Oh— oh God,” Drew whimpered as Steve’s lips wrapped around her clit, sucking lightly between long swirls of his tongue. 

Heat pooled in her belly, and there were big, fluttering swoops of desire in her chest. Amongst the surprising sweetness and soft side of Steve, this is what she’d been fucking missing out on too?! 

“How’re you holdin’ up, baby?” Steve’s voice, a little rough and dripping from pink, swollen lips sounded from between her legs. 

“Don’t you dare stop, Steve.” 

Steve grinned, delighted and devilish before he winked and dipped his head again with a murmured, “yes, ma’am.”

Drew gripped Steve’s hair with both hands as she began to rock back and forth. She could feel him play with her, tease and delight her with every stroke of his tongue. 

“Fuck- oh!”

Steve growled, leaving one hand on her ass while the other slowly sank two fingers into her soaking heat.

She clenched around them, the new sensation sending thrills of pleasure up her spine as he dragged them in and out of her at an agonisingly slow pace.

Her heaving breaths were almost sobs when he replaced his lips with his thumb, working her clit in time with his fingers as he began to kiss his way back up her body.

He must have paid attention to every inch of her, nudging her tank top up with his nose and pressing his soft, wet lips against her sweat-damp skin until he reached her neck.

Raising himself up and yet never slowing his pace, Steve trailed his nose along her jaw before capturing her mouth in a salacious kiss.

Each drag of his tongue against hers, each catch of his teeth across the wet skin of her lips,  felt deliberate as if Steve had worked out the perfect formula to bring Drew right to the brink. 

Her whole body was alight with it, muscles tensing and heart racing as her climax coiled tighter and tighter in her belly. She was so close, sighing and whimpering into Steve’s mouth. 

“Let go, honey bee. Wanna hear all the pretty sounds you make,” he whispered, lips trailing along the length of her jaw and catching her earlobe gently between his teeth. “Come on, gorgeous girl, I got you.”

That was all Drew needed, the release washed over her like a tidal wave as Steve worked deep inside of her. His lips found hers in a needy, deep kiss while his hand braced her arching back and supported her as she rolled through the intense pleasure. 

He groaned as her grip on his hair tightened and everything rushed to her head, forcing her eyes to flutter as the euphoria of the orgasm overtook her. Steve pulled away from her gently, teeth grazing her bottom lip as she worked to catch her breath.

“Fuck, look at you,” Steve smiled, his blue eyes alight with pleasure and desire. “Coming so good for me…”

“I…I can’t…I…Jesus…” Drew gasped, a blissful grin blooming lazily across her face.

“Take it easy,” Steve rumbled, nuzzling his nose against her cheek as his hand came up to cup the other.

His thumb swiped away the beads of sweat from the bridge of her nose and he ghosted his lips across her skin as she tried to slow her breathing and calm her heaving chest.

Drew giggled softly and she used her grip on his hair to angle his lips over her own, their deep kisses becoming soft and sweet.

“You okay?” Steve whispered between kisses. His own skin glistened with a soft pink blush of exertion and Drew wanted to spend the rest of the night covering every inch of it with kisses, tracing each freckle and football scar. 

She hummed, nodding her answer into the crook of Steve’s neck before drawing back to meet his gaze, soft and adoring.

“What now?” 

“Now,” Steve replied softly, kissing her again as if he just couldn’t help himself, “now I’m hoping you’ll agree to be my favourite and only girl.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’d be a real idiot to miss out on loving you, D.” Drew beamed, surging forward to kiss Steve again until he drew back suddenly. “Hey, you wanna come to my game next week. Wear my jersey?”

"That sounds like trouble, Steve Rogers." Drew smiled, her cheeks sore from doing it for so long. "

"It's a promise." He disagreed. 

A week later she stood in the stands, donning the jersey nervously, heart beating faster than it ever had before as Steve was crushed into the grass by a large defensemen. 

"Nice jersey," Bucky tugged on the hem as he slid into the stands behind her and kissed Nat on the cheek. 

"Just supporting a friend, Buck." Drew said without taking her eyes off the field. 

"You're late," she scolded under her breath. 

"I can't watch him play these big games, makes me sick to my stomach,"  he scowled and his strong hand squeezed Drew's shoulder in support.

“He’ll be fine,” Drew assured. Whether that was for Buck or herself, she didn’t know. She looked over at Bucky and smiled. “I’m sure of it.”

In truth, at the end of the third quarter they weren’t entirely safe and even Drew was chewing nervously at her bottom lip as she watched Steve pelt his way across the field.

She bounced on the balls of her feet and worried at the hem of her jersey.

“C’mon Steve!” She yelled every time his fingers touched the ball.

“What’s gotten into you?” Natasha hissed as the players lined up for the start of the final quarter.

“Nothing!” Drew insisted, craning her neck to catch the start of play and tuning out everything else.

God, it was close. As the minutes ticked down Drew, Bucky, and Natasha found themselves pressed against the rail at the edge of the field. They were screaming to high heaven, their arms flailing, as Steve scooped up the ball and launched it with a powerful throw towards Nick Fury, who took off with it down the field.

“Go, go, go!” Drew shrieked, which turned into squeals of victory as Fury landed the ball just before time was called. 

She found herself pulled from the mass of celebration and almost dragged over the rail as Steve wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a victorious embrace.

His hungry lips claimed hers, unbothered by their audience, and their breathing grew heavier for an entirely different reason. They were so focused on each other that neither of them noticed the smug glances shared between their friends, or the money that slipped begrudgingly into palms.

“C’mon honey bee,” Steve grinned, hoisting her over the rail. “I want the team to meet my girl.”

[pseudophan]

I´m not really active in the phandom spaces anymore, i mostly just watch the vids and look at your blog for whats going on outside of youtube, so im really out of the loop. Whats wedding hill?? is it specifically they are getting married soon and are planning a wedding?? Is it just they are getting married at some point in their life?? Why are people jumping off wedding hill? Can i come to wedding hill? Is it wheelchair accessible? Do you need me to bring something? Can anyone carpool with me to wedding hill? Please i dont know where it is i need directions.

it's they're getting married... at some point in the near future. like, at some point in 2024. however if that doesn't happen marriage/wedding hill will simply be they're getting married in 2025 so we can't actually lose. but yes for the time being it's Soon, based on .... honestly crumbs but trust me it's just a vibe it's the energy it's happening

[seriowan]

I just read your dad!Rex blurb and omg I can't stop thinking about Rex with twins 😭

rex with twins 😩 i love this so much, i feel my rex-inspired baby fever hitting me like a truck right now — twins are named blue and river for easy writing and reading! ♡

more dad!rex below the cut !

rex had an issue with people who stared at him.

on one hand, he kind of understood their looks. clones with their own kids were a rare but growing sight and while coruscant's natborns felt comfortable staring at him, he felt just as comfortable staring back.

coruscant's clone base was usually the least stressful place to bring the twins. not only because of his familiarity with the area but because he could find every nook and cranny with his eyes closed.

and while his sons knew better than to be rowdy in public, he didn't quite trust them to go off on their own just yet. especially not when they were two freshly-turned five-year-olds with a penchant for exploration.

so, as a preemptive measure for his peace of mind, rex placed blue and river in little backpacks with long leashes that looped around his wrist. it kept them near and it also let them roam within their allotted space.

blue had a curious expression as he waddled around, smiling and waving at all of the friendly faces passing him. he greeted certain commanders and employees with little salutes, often approaching them, as far as his leash would allow, to ask for stickers. by the time he walked back to rex, he had republic stickers on his shirt and one on his forehead.

river was quiet in comparison to his brother. he walked hand-in-hand with his father, staring at friendly and unfamiliar faces with a sort of pouty look that only encouraged smiles rather than deterring them. he never really asked for stickers — it was more of a palm-held-out situation until someone finally got the gist of what he meant.

and as different as the two were, they both had their own reasons for slipping away like ghosts. blue went off to make friends and socialize while river liked to explore and find new things. they were just barely growing into their personalities but rex could see the trouble in their eyes that just grew and grew as they got older.

for now, he kept them on a leash.

"captain on deck!"

the moment rex walked through the bay doors of the aircraft hangar, the call went out and echoed off of the metal walls. among the wandering mechanics and pilots, a group of soldiers clad in blue were lying and seated on the ground. some leaned on their backs with their buckets hanging half off of their heads, snores echoing from underneath their helmets, while those who stood talked amongst themselves.

within the small handful of troopers were fives, echo, jesse, hardcase, tup, and kix. they were talking when the order was shouted, causing them all to bolt up to their feet and line up. by the time rex approached them, they were aligned and prepared for duty.

it was no surprise when rex's two sons caught their attention first. it was a given considering his boys were sporting 501st blue tracksuits and matching booties — courtesy of rex's cyare.

rex, blue, and river marched forward before stopping in front of the poised and proud uncles — a grinning hardcase; a winking fives; echo's gentle smile; kix reaching for his prepped-and-ready pouch of stickers; and tup's silly nose scrunch that made blue giggle and river crack the smallest smile.

"attention!" rex bellowed, causing his loose-legged soldiers to stiffen and stare straight ahead. river and blue both giggled, clinging to their father's legs as they watched him command the small legion of soldiers.

when they looked up at him, they had a certain sense of awe that made rex feel like a hero to his little boys. he put a hand on their heads, turning towards his troop with the crumbs of a smile on his lips.

"today's training exercise is simple," he told the handful of men.

they spared odd glances at one another.

"training? i thought we were doing armory checks?" hardcase grumbled, scratching his head.

"i thought we were doing drills with waxer's group," tup said with confusion, turning to glance at kix.

kix frowned. "i thought we were going for drinks."

fives scratched at his goatee, glancing towards rex as if the captain wasn't giving them an unamused stare. turning back around, he shook his head and gave a pathetic shrug. "i'm gonna be honest. i have no idea why i'm here right now."

echo sighed, palming the side of his face. "rex called us here for..."

his slow gaze turned towards rex, paling at the site of his captain's knowing smile.

rex nudged his twins forward to unclip the leashes from their backpacks. the second they were loose, the two boys looked at one another and gave the sneakiest grins. rex crouched down to his boys' height and gave them both a wink.

"don't make it easy on them," he whispered, pinching their sides to make them giggle. "especially not on the two terror twins."

"okay, daddy," blue whispered, giggling into his palm.

river nodded, brows pinched in competitive determination.

"ready?" rex coaxed, nudging them forward.

they both nodded.

"unattentive, impatient, and swift," he explained as he shifted his attention to his troopers. he gestured down to his twins. "this should be easy for you considering you lot share the same habits during our missions. jesse will be watching you all from the eagle's nest and he'll be docking every time you lose one of 'em. the price is an extra hour on cleaning duties. understand?"

all of them nodded with woe.

with a pat on his boys' head, rex gave each of the boys in blue a smile.

"give 'em hell," he said, winking.

the second they took off in a sprint, the formation of soldiers dissolved and they scrambled like roaches, arms extended with the hope of capturing an energetic toddler.

rex's smile became smug as he walked towards the hangar doors. cody leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, brow arched in interest.

"you have to do all that to keep them entertained?" he muttered, shaking his head as they left the scene of the crime. "obi's mates just take them whenever we need an eye on tobias."

rex shrugged and threw his arm around cody's neck, drawing him close. "cyare deserves a day at the library and i deserve a drink with my vod."

cody just smiled and shook his head.

"then let's go get a drink, vod."

[chaifootsteps]

the music masterclass is so insane to me... aren't musical songs meant to be tied in to the plot? Wouldn't showing a season 3 song while half way through season 2 (and season 2 is going to go a whole extra year if sinmas is on Christmas) be a MASSIVE spoiler? He'd have been better off recording himself making a song and waiting til it was released and saying "this is how I made it!" or tracing his steps with the making of a released song but no one is joining that 7 hour, $99 class to learn how to write music, they just want the exclusive hb sneak peek and he knows it.

the main thing I'm getting from this is Viv gives him a small prompt like 'this ep is an ep about striker and I want a village mariachi band singing about how great he is like his personal bards' and thats ALL HE GETS and that's part of the musical failings of hb. The songs can never support or foreshadow plot because the song writer is not treated like a fellow writer who is brought into the loop on where the story is going and thats how you get songs like 'you will be OK' that get all the base details wrong about stolas.

In other series like Rebecca sugar series, she writes thr songs so they seamlessly integrate into her story and are continuations of the plot but in musical form. The sound design in TADC is unreal in backing the flow of the episode because goose was involved in both.

Even centaurword which I think will be Hazbin's closest contemporary (several songs an episode, only 18 episodes to work with), works because the songs are made to grow through the series along with the plot (each character has a song that transforms with several refrains that were obviously all planned from the start to demonstrate their personal journey/character arc) the utilization of seemingly nonsense songs that you realize foreshadowed EVERYTHING down the road when you have all the info is genius.

One more example is worthikids and big top burger (even though its not a musical) The first song literally tells you one character's entire backstory that gets revealed at the end of season 2 in the most unexpected of ways and you're left sitting their slack jawed thinking 'It was all connected!!!'

The fact that Sam can share his complete prompt from Vivzie and music making process for an episode an entire season away is a RED FLAG because it means he's not writing with the plot in mind (and if he is it's a terrible class because he has to keep so many of the details informing his decisions secret)

It also once again confirms to us he's full of sh*t when he goes on his soapbox and preaches to us about how off base our hh production speculations are because he knows almost as little as us and is a glorified fansong writer who can only work off the little crumbs Viv leaves for him and his general impression of the 'vibes of characters' (which is not his fault or a dismissal of his talents but rather, a further critique on how Viv sets her whole cast up to fail with disorganization and making up the story on the fly)

Well said. It's a colossal joke and a huge red flag, but we're talking about Viv stans, who would probably claim that "red flags are bad" is a statement that's been debunked.

[crashromance]

hi it's a me 🤠 give me brocede + cheating (it's monaco it's traditional)

anything for u lover

lewis/nico | 1k | karting days

The way Nico slobbers over his vanilla cone is anything but pretty. You'd think rich white boys bred in tax havens would have better manners—but that's Nico for you. Nothing about him is sweet or stomachable.

"Want some?" he asks, licking creamy drip off his fingers. He holds out the last bite to Lewis, wafer crumbs speckling his lopsided grin. Lewis wrinkles his nose.

"You're disgusting, man. Anyway, I already won."

That was two in a row for Lewis. He could almost hear room service's raised brows when they rang for the third time, dead set on breaking the tie.

The trick was to never make eye contact. Just buckle down and get the job done. Five minutes, no cheating, loser pays. Most of the time Nico paid even when he won, but Lewis doesn't let that happen often enough to feel any type of way about it.

Nico shrugs, kicking his feet up onto Lewis's lap just to be a shit. "I'll get you back next time on track."

Lewis cackles. He's welcome to try.

Nico's eyes narrow. "Maybe I'll even celebrate afterwards with what's-her-name," he continues loudly. "Brenda— Belinda. She seemed nice." 

His mouth goes sour. After last week's race, Nico had slunk off with some brunette with Rosberg emblazoned across her baseball cap. It was an hour later and eight of Lewis's fingernails chewed down to stumps before he swaggered out of an RV, his hair a mess and his belt through only half the loops. He'd looked as smug as if he'd actually won, instead of barely making the podium like he did. 

Lewis had won that day, and it still grates on something in his core that Nico managed to beat him to this. He'd always thought—he doesn't know why, but he'd always thought that between the two of them, he'd be the first to fuck a girl.

"How was she?" He rolls his eyes at last, shoving Nico off. 

Nico taps the side of his nose, palpably delighted at finally getting him to bite. "Come now Lewis, where are your manners? A gentleman never tells."

"That's why I'm asking you." 

Nico grins, wolfish. "Wet." 

So much for being a gentleman. Lewis is torn between revulsion and morbid excitement. Had she sucked Nico off? Stuck her hand down his stupid distressed designer jeans and gripped the weight of him, stroking slow and then fast as his breath hitched? Did she dig her nails into the meat of his stomach, his back, his chest? Would he still be able to see the impression of them if he rucked up Nico's shirt to check?

Lewis and his high school on-and-off had never gotten beyond second base, and then he just got too busy and realized he liked racing more than he liked girls. He decides he's done with this conversation. 

Sensing something in his demeanor, Nico leans over and kicks him lightly on the shin. "Don't sulk. We should go for another round."

Lewis huffs. "Dino's gonna put us on a diet for weeks, man.

"Didn't mean like that." 

He lets the words hang in the air for a second before pouncing.

Lewis is ready for him. He grabs Nico's shoulders, digging his knees into the mattress so they don't fall off the bed. Cheating prick.

"Play fair," he pants, tightening his grip. He goes for a headlock, but Nico squirms away, managing an elbow to his chest. Lately, Nico has grown bigger than him, his limbs longer, his shoulders squared—but Lewis is fast. Faster. At the end of the day, isn't that what counts? 

He gets a knee between Nico's legs and presses down—and that does it. Nico makes a high, breathy noise, his features contorting.

It's not. Unprecedented.

After all, he knows what Nico's doing when he rests his hand on Lewis's thigh in the sun-baked backseat of Keke's car; fingers creeping higher the longer the shadows grow. Lewis knows what it means when Nico locks eyes with him as he wraps his lips around an ice-pop. What the implication is when he says want some?

Nico glares at him, challenge apparent. There's a pale flush blooming across his bare chest as he grows hard under Lewis's clothed leg. His golden hair is splayed across the mattress like a halo—or a crown.

Most days, Lewis rolls his eyes at what the papers write about his teammate, their purple-prose descriptions of the Monaco prince. None of these journalistic types get it. Maybe it's because they've only ever glimpsed Nico from far away, in the sun or in the shadow of his father. You have to steal close to see him for real. Close enough to get under his skin. 

Lewis knows it all—Nico's small, mean mouth, the sweaty weight of his body on a hot day. How he drools like a dog in his sleep. There's a doughy, unformed quality to his features, like he hasn't grown into them yet, and his hips are soft, like a girl's. 

Even so, looking down at Nico pinned against their pushed-together twin beds, that characteristic closed-mouth smirk rattled into something more unguarded, Lewis thinks he gets it. Yes. Nico is kind of pretty. 

He rolls his hips down, insistent on making Nico admit something. What, he doesn't even know. 

"Did Brenda do this to you?"

Nico moans, but the sound turns into a laugh halfway, ugly and snorting. It pisses Lewis off to no end, Nico's way of making him feel like he lost even when he's won.

"Don't talk about other girls when I'm right here," Nico says, and reaches up to push two of his fingers past Lewis's lips.

His fingers that are still sticky with fucking ice-cream. Cheating prick.

[missiletoe]

barely looking this over before posting, but another drabble for kittyuri !!!!

Prompt: yuri between apprentice witches Word Count: 845

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They’re tackling illusions today in class except Kitty’s creatures look more like deflated balloon animals than wildlife. A lopsided dog whimpers at her before its leg collapses entirely with the smell of burnt rubber. Lovely.

She flicks her wrist and the whole thing dissipates in a cloud of blue smoke.

“You doing party tricks in here or homework?”

Great. As if today’s day wasn’t already bad. Now, Kitty has to run into Little Miss Perfect, darling of KISS Arcane Academy with perfect grades, picture-perfect spells, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect face–

“Seriously though, Kitty, what was that?” 

She gets enough ridicule from her teachers, there’s no room for seconds. Kitty groans and lets the remains floating through the air do the talking.

At least her teachers’ disappointment has dulled to expectation by this point. She gets more sighs than shrieks these days. As much as is expected of a half-witch.

Yuri makes no move to leave so Kitty sighs and starts drawing another sigil, willfully ignorant of her audience. The base for the wolf illusion is a circle and the base is the most important part–has to be sturdy and straight and all that for the rest of the spell to build on it–but she can’t do much about the way her hand shakes. She closes the loop with a twist of her pointer finger and gets a wobbly egg-shape for her troubles.

“Kitty,” Yuri chides from right over her shoulder and Kitty swallows her heart right before it pops out of her throat. When did she even cross the room? And why? To get a front-row seat to the Daily Kitty Shitshow? “You couldn’t even make a believable puppy from that. Here, let me show you.”

Kitty nods and scrambles six feet backwards. The floral scent follows her like a bread crumb trail leading home. God, is that a spell or just her?

She expects Yuri to pull out her own wand–a silver, elegant and polished thing like every other part of her–from her pocket and demonstrate the spell. She expects her to draw the symbol in the air, maybe even make Kitty mirror the pattern in the air by tracing out her linework.

What she does not expect is for Yuri to grab her wrist–still clutching her wooden hand-me-down that’s more branch than wand–and start drawing a circle in the air. Her heart pops out of her ribcage like one of those cheap squeeze-toys.

Of course Yuri’s skin is soft and her touch is gentle. She probably farts rainbows and pukes sunbeams too. Kitty has a bone to pick with fate for the clear favoritism.

“Kitty, you have to look at the sigil to remember it,” Yuri chides, but the fact that she’s on the cusp of a laugh negates any real bite.

“Right, I’m looking!” And she is, she’s looking pointedly at that damned sigil that haunts her daydreams and decorates her nightmares and not at anyone else. Anything else. Fuck. Same difference.

Her circle really is picture-perfect though–it might as well have been done with a compass. As expected of the principal’s daughter.

“Seriously, how’d you get so good at this?” Kitty asks as Yuri moves onto the edges. She adds a series of triangles that run along the circumference.

“Practice. Lots and lots of practice.”

“What, Principal Lim made you draw before you could even walk?” She says the words with no real force but they catch on Yuri’s face and tug her mouth downwards.

“Something like that,” she replies off-handedly and something about the way she bites the inside of her cheek makes Kitty want to pry further. Like a sealed box with the tape peeling off, begging to be opened. Her words are swallowed by Yuri’s shriek though as she wraps both hands around Kitty’s arm and shakes violently.

“Look, it’s coming out!” she says and sure enough, a paw emerges from the circle’s center.

The wolf that steps out is beautiful. Of course it is–it’s made by Yuri after all. Summoned by her via Kitty’s wand and arm. It comes up a little past her waist with two giant ears pressed to its head and a black velvet nose.

The wolf nuzzles up against her leg and she stares at the way her skin cuts straight through. It’s almost enough to make her miss Yuri’s quiet exit from the room, half her body obscured by the doorframe by the time Kitty catches on.

“Wait!” she yelps, bowling straight over a desk. Damn these stuffy, old-fashioned shoes. “Let me at least buy you–” She digs through her pockets and surfaces with a couple 100-won coins. Oops. “Uh, a soda, maybe? I think I might have enough if you’re down to share.”

Yuri watches her struggle with a bemused smile on her face.

“For something this small, don’t even worry about it,” she laughs.

Kitty stops and stares at her, leg still halfway hooked around a chair.

Yuri smiles and blows her an illusion across the room. When it pricks Kitty’s nose, hearts shatter across her skin.

[reddogf13]

so yeah ... i felt outlast 2 lacked some of the heart that made me really like outlast 1. such as the characters, especially the mental patients, shown as people not just NPCs being a nuisance to you. outlast 2 had crumbs of this like val and her kids or the "relationship" between marta and knoth. but overall those bits get easily lost or forgotten when trying to deal with annoying chases or level set up to navigate. the one character who could have really helped flesh out all of templegate out of notes - Ethan. only got like 2 min of screen time before being killed off. he could have used to reveal that templegate really went off its rocker only this past year. (if you accept that all the notes happened within this year. then vals heretic break off, for ex, only happened 4 months prior to blake/ lynns arrival. a month before her breakoff was the childrens cull. before then the whole anti chist posessing kids wasint a idea in knoths mind, *cough murkoff suggestion cough* however he knew "the end" in general was coming for the past many years. templegate itself is only 42 years old based on its est sign.)

the bits that also would have been really nice were left on the cutting floor. such as blake overhearing marta crying and knoth needing to comfort her.

some sort of shake or earthquake causing knoths pills to fall and his mask slipping over a radio broadcast. cursing "if one fucking pill fell." before realizing hes live on the radio and slipping his false godly mask on.

since all these bits are missing. these characters are just chasing NPCs or strictly just an NPC voice talking in the background. some really good characters that were overall wasted.

it also feels like redbarrels didint make their past exactly, aside from knoth. they got the blocks for it, but its missing the foundation? like martas shown as hateing her killing. so she had some positive teachings of "thou shalt not kill" at some point. and that she may not have been an enforcer her whole life. in game the angry mob stops following blake at "martas peak" (or a similar title i cant remember) which was the slaughter house/ cattle barn. the place is littered by notes from knoth to marta, cloth peices that resemble her dark outfit are on the floor, and overall this seems to be her place. and not just a in general area shes taken over. overall, seems/ feels marta may have worked with cattle. making sense because someone strong needs to handle them/ the meat. all the easily slaughtered cows around also point to her doing. a cow aint just gonna be killed easily by a mob, its gonna fight. but it cant fight a whole pickaxe smashed into it.

___________________________________________

val has a pretty big vocabulary/ elligant writing for someone from templegate and their fancy smancy EdUmAcAtIoNs. having adults writing like 3rd graders. feeling like she got a little more education then everyone, maybe even more then knoth. and she had to get that from somewhere, possibly books, but it feels like those kinds wouldn't be around/ allowed. which leaves the possibly of someone close to do it, like a actual good teacher or her parents.

which is entirely possible. real life cults actually do go after those with high education, LOTS of money, but who have no religious background. people often see hollywoods version of cults. the overly obvious kind that people would never buy into. but real cults know not to act like that and subtlety gain members who dont know better. aka arnt warned about false prophets in church, because they never went to one and had the warning signs broken down to them.

making it kinda funny to think all of knoths members being unknowingly rich people through inheritance. which also loops back to the ranch he ran before the raid. the owner beingmost likely another highly educated- lots of money, but no religious background who fell under knoth. not knowing any better because of inexperience in religion and just seeing that he was a priest out to do good.

__________________________________________

then theres Blake and his background after Jessica's murder. there is a very high chance he stayed in that school with father Loutermilch. predators are opportunistic, doesint matter if girl or boy. they go after those who are most venerable and after Jessica was gone, he would have aimed for another child. most likely Blake becoming unintentionally easy prey. using his involvement as a way to guilt him quiet. and a lot of the things Blake experiences in his flash nightmares could be how Loutermilch tortured him psychologically after the event. such as the singing in the bathroom. the insults such as the phone scene. on top of all that MAYBE Blakes parents died around the same time. as he briefly mentions at one point. "My dad died within a month of my mom. He was perfectly healthy until she was gone, and then..." (the wiki lists the year of jessicas death being the same for them, unknown month for them while jess was in DEC. I'm not sure how they confirmed the date, but oh well.)

it would add onto all his trauma with Blake being only 10 at the time and Loutermilch could have known this was going on and seen this as an easy cover to abuse Blake. in a "hes depressed/ failing because of the multiple deaths this year." and not for the worse reasons hes committed.

[ankhlesbian]

FE Engage Summer Exchange - Celine/Chloe

Fandom: Fire Emblem Engage

Pairing: Chloe/Celine

Rating/Length: G, ~1.5k words

AO3 Link: here

Chloe and Celine find time for a moment together long after the war has ended.

Céline tugged with all her might, gloved hands wrapped firmly around the base of a particularly stubborn weed. She did not take kindly to encroachments on her carefully cultivated array of plants. Her little terraced garden was her pride and joy these days, almost as much as the kingdom itself. The garden was tended to by her and her alone, unlike Firene. A bead of sweat dripped down her face, sliding off her chin to dampen a small splotch of dirt beneath her.

With a grunt, she exerted all the strength she could muster. It was not an inconsiderable amount. The weed was ripped from the ground, roots and all, and Céline went stumbling backwards. She steadied herself before she could completely lose balance and crush the plants that were supposed to be growing here.

She wiped her brow and glanced up at the sky, trying to judge how much time was left before she needed to make her appearance in the castle. There was going to be an assembly between her and the court of nobles, who had questions about Alfred’s latest proposal regarding their tentative agreement with Brodia. The matter had been stewing for weeks, and the noise had finally grown to the point where a meeting was needed to quell the protests of the more conservative of the nobility. 

Unhelpfully, the sun was briefly eclipsed, making telling the time a bit difficult. Helpfully, though, it heralded something that made Céline’s spirit lift, at odds with the weariness her body felt.

There was a rush of air and the sound of hooves in dirt as Chloé descended, landing her pegasus carefully to avoid trampling the small row of bushes occupying the garden. Of course it was Chloé. She was one of the few privy to this location, privy to where Céline disappeared to at odd hours whenever she needed a break.

“My greetings to you, Princess Céline,” Chloé announced as she dismounted with a flourish, striding over to kneel in front of Céline. Céline couldn’t help but smile, and held out a gloved hand to her. Chloé didn’t hesitate for a second despite the dirt, leaning in to gently kiss the top of her hand before standing up.

“Welcome back,” Céline said softly, eyes drifting over Chloé’s form. It had been far too long since she had seen her… 

“Were you finishing up one of your food deliveries?” Céline raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the crumbs that were scattered across her front.

Chloé brushed them off with a giggle. “Yes! A local delicacy from one of the islands. I couldn’t resist picking some up while I was in the area. Fruit, pickled and then deep-fried in sheep fat. I meant to save you some, but…”

“I shall look forward to it some other time.” Céline replied drily. A surprisingly large number of knights had begun to look forward to the excitement of trying whatever new food Chloé procured for them, but Céline’s taste buds were rather more set in their ways.

“But I do have something better for you!” Chloé said brightly, gesturing for Céline to follow her. The knight went back to her pegasus, who appeared to have already dozed off in the few seconds she was left standing there. She rummaged around in one of the pouches slung on either side of the saddle and came up with a handful of small sachets. A distinct aroma immediately wafted into the air. Céline breathed it in.

“Is that what I think it is?!?”

“If you think it’s the latest batch of the island folk’s experimental tea leaves…” Chloé wiggled two sachets. “I figured we can sample it, and if it’s up to your standards, I also brought seeds so you can plant your own.” She displayed the other sachet happily, dangling it from a string that was looped around her fingers.

“What a delight! I’ll get some water started.” Céline could barely contain her excitement.

Her garden, of course, had in it a small, white tea table and a delicate tea set, painted with small flowers, both enchanted to be self-cleaning. Boiling the water was still necessary, but all that required was a small bit of fire magic, trivial compared to what Céline had learned during their time fighting alongside the Divine Dragon.

She peeled off her gardening gloves and set them aside as she laid out the saucers, cups, and kettle. 

“Did they make any changes to the suggested steeping method since we last visited?”

Chloé shook her head. “The goal for this strain is for the tea to have a purer flavor with the same effort. The leaves are too delicate to last in the water for much longer.”

That was what made them special… And so hard to transport. Chloé had perfected a strategy for getting them here, one that must’ve involved an overnight flight, hence her evidently eating in the air on the way back.

“If they’ve succeeded, perhaps I could cross it with one of my hardier strains…” Céline mused as she flicked her fingers to get a flame going.

“A candidate for your perfect blend?” Chloé’s eyes sparkled. 

Céline had never imagined herself going down this route, preferring to think of herself as merely a consumer of tea. But it proved more difficult to fly out with Chloé to tea farms as often as they wished than they had imagined during the war. Céline had remembered the tips and tricks Lapis had shared, and figured it was worth trying.

It was one of the better choices she had made in her life. To grow something, nourish it with her own hands, was satisfying in a way she could not accurately describe. It was easy to forget any blood that was on her hands when they were so occupied with other matters. She had not just tea plants, but all sorts of other herbs and florals that could be added into a tea blend. Lavender, rose, mint, even berries.

“Indeed. Especially if the flavor has improved as much as they say. As it was, they were already one of the best at translating the scent of the leaves into the taste.”

They both sat down, and Chloé passed the sachets to Céline. After preparing the leaves and adding water, there was nothing left to do but wait. Chloé slid off her gloves and overcoat and stretched, lithe arms flexing into the air.

When she brought them back down to rest on the table, Céline reached across it to grasp her hands.

Despite the gloves she wore while flying, Chloé’s hands were still calloused. Chloé still trained often, despite the alleged peace that was settling over Elyos. Etie was the same way, though she always claimed it was simply for the sake of building muscle. Céline didn’t have the time to upkeep her former training with swords, though she always made sure to keep her tomes from becoming dusty or eaten by pests.

Céline rubbed her thumb over those calluses on Chloé’s palm and tugged her close.

“Tell me of your journey.”

Chloé did so with great relish, telling an exciting tale worthy of going in any storybook, of high winds and locals who preferred payment in favors over money, of Chloé’s perilous flight back to deliver a present to her beloved before it was too late.

Céline smiled at her over the tea, which was even tastier than the last time they had shared it, at the farm itself months ago when Céline had a free afternoon.

“We’ll have to go again soon, to thank them for the seeds.” Céline mused. After today’s meeting, she would surely have earned the time off.

Chloé’s hands had been cold, but they were warm now, between Céline’s grasp on them and the warmth emanating from the tea. After the tea was naught but leaves left at the bottom of their cups, they sat there, fingers intertwined, and Céline returned the favor, taking her turn at updating Chloé on what she had been up to.

Chloé cast an eye up at the sky when Céline mentioned her deadline. 

“I had meant to finish weeding before heading back, but…”

Chloé tugged her to her feet. 

“I’ll help you finish, and then fly you back myself. You’ll even have time to clean off!”

Céline rose onto her toes to press a kiss to Chloé’s cheek.

“Thank you, Chloé. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Thank you, Céline. You know I feel the same way.”

They stood there for a moment, and then they went to do the weeding.

Céline worried often, that what they had wasn’t the fairy tale Chloé wanted, that it wasn’t the naive dream they had discussed during the war, of flying wherever and whenever they wanted. But on days like this, side by side amidst rows of green, lush leaves and delicately blooming pink and purple flowers, she couldn’t find it in herself to worry. She was only grateful for what they did manage to have.

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

This totally off topic to mostly everything else that I talk about, but can I just say that I generally don't know how I feel about the 'Sonic.exe/X' character mostly because of obvious boring repetition, lack of actual moral or reason to the plots, and sooort of maybe because of the twisted junk some of its multiple handed-down owners have done; but I am absououtly in love with EXIT CAVE ZONE/Hill.gym so much I literally need to describe how this song and its variations affect the narrative so well

(So you know what I'm talking about pre-ramble, here's the song/s. Feel free to make a choice. The original is somewhat lacking because it's the first and generally before this character got close to being interesting to me; but OTM is my personal favorite. There's also a remix that I like, but it gets a little getting used to compared to the other chorus')

(the original. Not as emotion-evoking as the OMT, but I still like it)

It begins to unnerving; still sounding like a Sonic game but as if some kind of deranged monster was pounding on a piano again and again to the point of breaking bones or skin. It first gives off the feeling of something approaching; slow but guaranteed to eventually catch up no matter what pace you choose. It's not completely antagonizing, however, as a synthesized violin and the chorus come in almost as a display of pity to the victim. There's really nothing that can be done at this point, the voice of the chorus doesn't seem to make that it's goal. It's sympathetic, as if this morally grey onlooker to this tragedy is giving a prayer to the damned. In a way, it's sort of the last relief the player can find (at least compared to the constantly negative 'sonic is god and will eat everybody-ooga-booga' narrative given so far).

But the beat starting off so slow is nothing but wrong. Out of place with everything so far- It's based around a franchise constantly themed with speed. The fastest thing alive has literally turned against you in the worst way imaginable- But your approach to this terrible given fate is a slow and sympathetic pace, as if there was some kind of game to it. As if it was waiting behind; watching as its prey fleas and struggles to its last ability to pick up as much hope as possible- just waiting to see how desperate for hope a person can get. It's just a slow lead and reveal to an inevitable death.

And with each different rendition- is it really enough to call it a death? It's a loop-an unintentional cycle of misery and pain. Death itself doesn't promise the end of the misery-soon enough or later the same slow pace and feeling will come up once more; proving once again to be useless.

Yeah. Sort of silly observation ig. I just think it's kinda weird that it's pretty much the only original song from the first version of this game (That I'm aware of-remember that I'm just babbling but I'm pretty sure). And also gives crumbs of another expectation or feeling towards the story other than 'OOOOOOOOooo Sonic the Hedgehog is gonna getcha OOOOOOOOOOOO!!!'

OMT is doing okay though. It still is making itself a hopeless story, but there's at least a little bit of a plotline and twist to it.

Like I said; I like some of this creepypasta's concepts, I just don't vibe with the whole thing. The idea of making a game character's strongest quality their friend's worst nightmare is generally genius and I think that's what some non-sonic copies miss out on (ex: say if you just did the same thing but with Crash Bandicoot it wouldn't make much sense-because speed isn't something he's known for or can be seen as a scary twist to his character).

I personally like to associate the song with the overall thought of an old game playing the player in general, as it literally kills that theme. And I love seeing accurate and interesting twists to older games.

[deliriiuumm]

tagged by @ennas-aesthetic for the last line game!

i'm meant to post the last lines of my wip so i'm posting crumbs from my one (1) and only wip, which is my dreamling reincarnation time loop au based on the netflix russian doll series. basically, it's a comic post-canon fic where dream is reincarnated as a human and gets trapped in a time loop that he can only escape by confronting his issues.

you can find the longer version on twitter. here it goes:

Morpheus expects his newfound friend to laugh and call him mad, but when he looks up, Hob is wearing a sad smile, and Morpheus feels seen— properly seen— for the first time in his life. “I do, actually.” 

Hob looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead, he offers his cigarette to Morpheus and he takes it. Smoke unfurls from its bright orange tip as he puts it between his lips. 

With shaking fingers, Morpheus reaches for some chips. He’s aware of his trembling form, still a little winded from falling off his (Johanna’s) bike, but he’s feeling a bit better. 

He thinks about how surreal it is to be sitting in an empty pub and eating fish and chips with a stranger— now a friend— who found him lying in the grass at four in the morning. Later, he’ll go home and wash the dried blood off his nose. He’ll tell Johanna how her bike had sustained the scratches and the dents and offer a replacement if she so wishes. 

Then, he’ll also tell her that it’s not true that he permits himself very few friends, and— 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel anything,” Hob breaks the companionable silence.  

Morpheus blinks and blows thick ribbons of smoke into the air. “Me too.”

i'm tagging everyone who wants to play! 🫶 

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Baseball is like a game where one team tries to hit a ball with a stick and then run around in a square while the other team tries to stop them him from touching base. A base is a bag on on of the corners of the square diamond on which the game is conducted and is called the playing field. If they hit the ball really far, it's called a home run and everyone gets excited. But if they don't hit it, they just stand there and wait for another chance.

Meanwhile there's another guy who is trying to throw the ball past the guy with the stick. the guy throwing the ball is basically trying to trick the guy with the stick into missing the pitch. I the guy with the stick does manage to hit it, he has to have to run around like a headless headless chickens in a big public square while the other guys scramble to catch it. Oh, and did I mention they're doing all this while wearing ridiculously tight pants?

But wait, there's more! Sometimes, instead of just throwing the ball straight, the pitcher decides to mix things up by spinning it like a Beyblade on steroids. And if you think that's crazy, just wait until you see the fans. They're like a cult, cheering and booing at the most random moments, all while munching on overpriced hotdogs and popcorn like it's the last meal on earth.

So yeah, baseball: where grown men chase a little white ball around a field while everyone else loses their minds over it.

Sometimes the guy with the stick hits the ball but it doesn't land in the playing area referred to as the diamond. This is called a foul ball. The guy with the stick can hit as many foul balls as he wants which count as strikes until he gets two strikes than when he hits another foul ball, it doesn't count as anything. From that point on he can hit as many fould balls as he wants, noe of which count.

The rules say that the stick-wielder can hit as many foul balls as he pleases, and they'll keep counting as nothing. It's like the baseball equivalent of being stuck in a loop of disappointment. If our hero already has two strikes against him and he hits yet another foul ball, suddenly, the whole charade doesn't count anymore.

meanwhile the foul balls crash into the crowd which is already distracted by its consumption of over priced beer. ChatGPT

Absolutely! While the foul balls are on their wild escapade, crashing into the crowd like uninvited guests at a party, the spectators are busy indulging in their favorite pastime: overpriced beer. Picture this: the crowd is a sea of foam-topped cups and pretzel crumbs, with occasional bursts of cheers or groans interrupting the constant chatter.

As the foul balls come hurtling towards them, the fans are caught off guard, spilling their beverages and ducking for cover like they're in the middle of a surprise dodgeball match. It's chaos, it's pandemonium, it's... just another day at the ballpark.

So, imagine this: the foul ball comes hurtling towards the stands like a meteor descending upon Earth, and suddenly, it's every fan for themselves.

In a frenzy of excitement and desperation, the spectators leap from their seats, their beers forgotten as they dive headfirst into the fray. It's a scene straight out of a gladiator arena, with fans grappling and jostling for possession of the coveted foul ball.

Amidst the chaos, beers are spilled, popcorn buckets are overturned, and hotdogs become casualties in the battle for supremacy. The roar of the crowd reaches a crescendo as one lucky fan emerges victorious, clutching the prized souvenir like a trophy won in the ultimate showdown.

And so, the cycle continues: the foul balls crash into the stands, sparking a primal instinct in the fans to claim their piece of baseball history, even if it means sacrificing their precious beverages in the process. Truly, the spectacle of baseball extends far beyond the diamond, into the hearts and spilled beers of its fervent, fanatic followers known as "fans".

Once upon a time an unfortunate women was struck with a foul ball that caroomed off her beak and rendered her unconscious. The security men paused in taking bribes for better seats and found a stretcher somehere to carry the woman to what was laughingly called the first aid station. On the way to the station, while on the stretcher, she was hit by another foul ball which again bounced off her dome and hit one of the stretcher carriers who dropped the stretcher on the ground which broke the wrist of the twice stricken woman whose name was Helen.

For the sake of clarity let me repeat.

So, there's this unfortunate woman, minding her own business, when out of nowhere, a foul ball comes careening towards her like a missile from the heavens. Thunk! It smacks her right on the noggin, leaving her sprawled out unconscious like a fallen warrior on the battlefield.

As chaos ensues and the security personnel reluctantly pause their seat-upgrade racket to attend to the injured party, they finally manage to procure a stretcher to transport her to the so-called "first aid station" (which probably consists of a band-aid and a pat on the back).

But oh, the cruel irony of fate! Just as they're carting Helen away on the stretcher, another foul ball decides to join the party, bouncing off her already bruised cranium and ricocheting onto one of the poor souls carrying her. The stretcher is dropped like a hot potato, and to add insult to injury (quite literally), Helen ends up with a broken wrist from the fall.

With the chaos of foul balls and injured spectators, it's no wonder the game comes to a screeching halt. As the players pause mid-action and the umpires confer in confusion, a collective groan rises from the stands like a disgruntled chorus.

The fans, who were previously engaged in the spectacle of the game, now find themselves disgruntled and impatient. Their boos echo through the stadium like thunderclaps, a cacophony of discontent aimed at the interruption of their beloved pastime.

Some fans shout colorful words of frustration, while others resort to throwing their half-empty cups of beer onto the field in protest. It's a scene of pandemonium, with the energy of the crowd turning from excitement to annoyance in the blink of an eye.

Meanwhile, the players on the field exchange bewildered glances, unsure of how to proceed amidst the uproar. The umpires confer with the coaching staff, trying to make sense of the chaotic turn of events.

But amidst the turmoil, there's a glimmer of hope: perhaps this interruption will serve as a wake-up call for better safety measures and crowd control at future games. Or maybe it's just another chapter in the never-ending saga of baseball absurdity. Only time and the conclusion of this story will tell.

With the game already disrupted by foul ball mishaps and disgruntled fans, the batter finds himself shaken to the core by the chaos unfolding around him. As he steps up to the plate, his nerves are frayed, his concentration shattered like glass.

With trembling hands, he swings at the incoming pitches, but alas, his timing is all off. Swing and a miss! The umpire's call echoes through the stadium like a death knell, sealing the batter's fate with a third strike.

In a fit of frustration and anguish, the batter hurls his bat towards the dugout like a javelin, unaware of the unintended consequences of his actions. Thunk! It strikes the unsuspecting batboy square in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards in a whirlwind of shock and pain.

The dugout erupts into chaos as players and coaches rush to the batboy's aid, their expressions a mixture of concern and disbelief. Meanwhile, the batter stands frozen in horror, realizing the gravity of his reckless act.

The crowd, already on edge from the earlier disturbances, gasps in shock at the unfolding drama. Boos and jeers rain down upon the field, directed at the batter whose moment of frustration has turned into a nightmare for the innocent batboy.

The batboy is Helen's nephew. She came to the game to watch him in action.

And so, the game grinds to a halt once again, overshadowed by a series of unfortunate events that have left everyone shaken and disheartened. It's a sobering reminder that in the game of baseball, emotions can run high and consequences can be far-reaching.

As Helen arrives at the hospital, nursing her injuries and wounded pride, she's greeted with a surprising package from the baseball team. With trembling hands, she unwraps it to reveal not one, but two mementos from the chaotic game: the foul ball that struck her and the bat that caused further havoc, both signed by the batter responsible for the chaos.

At first, she's taken aback by the gesture, unsure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all. But as she reads the heartfelt message accompanying the gifts, her heart softens. The batter, perhaps feeling a pang of guilt for his role in her misfortune, has taken the time to reach out and offer his apologies in the form of these unexpected souvenirs.

Despite the pain and inconvenience she's endured, the woman finds herself touched by the gesture. In a strange twist of fate, the very objects that caused her harm have now become symbols of reconciliation and goodwill.

With a wry, concussed smile, she hangs the signed ball and bat on her hospital room wall, a reminder of the bizarre chain of events that brought them into her life. And as she reflects on the absurdity of it all, she can't help but feel an hallucinogenic appreciation for the unpredictable rollercoaster ride that is baseball.

The batter, a guy named Ashburn, continues his career with great success. He is so good and so righteous that he is elected to the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. For the remainder of his life, he sends a dozen roses, a bat and a ball to the woman. Her story becomes famous. She puts the original ball on the market. It sells for $20,000 which she uses to pay off her nephew's college tuition bill.

50 years later, the major leagues decide that a protective fence must be erected between first and third base to protect the fans. This pisses off some of the fans who claim their view is distracted by the fence.

On one hand, there are those who applaud the move, grateful for the increased safety measures that protect both spectators and players alike. They see the fence as a necessary step towards preventing future accidents and ensuring that everyone can enjoy the game without fear of injury.

But on the other hand, there are dissenting voices among the fans, who argue that the fence obstructs their view and detracts from the intimate atmosphere of the ballpark. They long for the days when they could feel the thrill of being up close to the action, unimpeded by barriers and obstacles, their lives and consciousnesses in jeopardy.

Tempers flare as the debate rages on, with passionate fans taking to social media and sports talk shows to voice their grievances. Some even go so far as to boycott games in protest, refusing to support a league they feel has betrayed the spirit of the game.

But amidst the controversy, one thing remains clear: change is inevitable, and baseball, like all things, must evolve with the times. Whether the protective fence is a necessary precaution or an unwelcome intrusion is a matter of perspective, but one thing is for certain: the love of the game will endure, fence or no fenceand so will the overpriced beer.

and so will the overpriced beer.ChatGPT

[renatorizzuti]

An Extra Special Friend

Written By Renato Rizzuti & Graphic Picture By Maria Rizzuti

When I was eight years old and growing up in Ottawa, I had an extra special friend. His name was Andy and he was always kind of scruffy and he always had his shirt hanging out of his pants before it was fashionable to do that.  Andy always looked like he had just gotten out of bed with his uncombed hair and his rumpled clothes. He had a kind of funny speech pattern, not a speech impediment per se but it was somewhat different and intriguing. At first, I never realized how “extra special” Andy was.

 Andy lived with his aunt down the street. I am not sure where his actual parents where and I did not concern myself with it since at eight years old, such matters are somewhat irrelevant. We became instant friends as soon as we met, almost like we had met before in a past life or somewhere in the cosmos. We met on a very hot and humid day, the kind of icky and sticky day we you would rather be at the beach instead of being stuck in the steamy city.

The first thing Andy did was to show me a dirt box containing his pet worms. I thought nothing of it at the time and did not consider it unusual that a boy my same age would keep worms as pets. Andy told me that he could speak to the worms and he proceeded to speak in what sounded like an official worm language to me. I actually believed that he could communicate with the worms based on his intense conversation he was having with them.

Along with his worm fixation, Andy was preoccupied with trying to catch a sparrow. We would spend long hours trying to catch a sparrow in his backyard.  He devised all sorts of traps like a wire loop and one made out of a coffee can and a stick.  Andy would demonstrate a tremendous amount of patience and concentration during these escapades.  He also assured me that his magic bird sounds would attract the sparrows.  We never did catch a bird but we had fun trying!

A Saturday morning was spent playing monopoly at my house.  The game took a long time because I had to help Andy count out his money.  I ended up winning the game but felt that I was somehow guilty of taking advantage of Andy.  My mother asked Andy if he wanted to stay for lunch and Andy agreed once he found out that we were having what he called "spassgeetie" My mother and Andy and I ate lunch together. My mother was a very tolerant and patient woman and enjoyed eating with us.                           

At one point during lunch, Andy was having trouble mastering the twirling of the spaghetti with a fork and spoon to follow our spaghetti eating technique.  Andy announced in a loud voice that the spaghetti was like “Eyetillian worms” and so he would talk to these worms in his worm language to get them to behave properly and he would be able to eat much easier. My mother smiled and was amused by Andy’s attempt to simplify the eating of the spaghetti.

After Andy left, my mother said that she was happy that I had found a nice friend.  My mother also said to me in her southern Italian dialect known as Calabrese that Andy seemed like a bit of a “chiotarellu” which means “little dummy.”  I was not completely sure what she meant at the time and just thought she meant that Andy was a real character.

Andy’s preoccupation with catching a bird was kicked up to the next level on a rainy Monday afternoon.  We were in Andy’s backyard and he had set up a new bird trap that consisted of a bushel with bread crumbs in it and a sheet of cardboard to cover the bushel once a bird landed in it.  Andy unknowing gave me a lesson in method acting as he proceeded to explain his plan:

“To catch a bird we gotta act like birds so that a bird will think we are birds and want to come and join us.  We gotta pretend we are covered in feathers, and have wings and can fly.  Oakie doakie Pokie? Soes we gonna climb up on the garbage box and jump off and fly like birds soes we can fool the little birdie birdies.”

We jumped off the garbage box frantically flapping our “wings.” Andy was a much better “bird athlete” then I.  Andy had a skinny build compared to my chubby cherubic body.  It was no wonder that I started huffing and puffing way before Andy did. 

“You are supposed to be a bird, so stop huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf,” laughed Andy.   

On my last jump, I landed on my foot funny and hurt my ankle.  I was moaning with pain.  Andy came to my rescue:

“Okay, officer down, calling for back up and an ambulance!  Doctor Andy on the scene.  Okay, lay back and relax.  I give you healing treatment!  Abracadabra, hiss boombaa you gonna get better now!”

Andy massaged my ankle vigorously and miraculously; the pain went away!  I was able to stand and I watched Andy make one final jump. There was not one bird fooled by our scheme but it was great fun anyways! 

There was a time when I did not see Andy for a couple of days.  I was sitting on the sidewalk playing with a stick in a puddle when Andy’s aunt walked by.  She was a very large woman with wild eyes. She told me that Andy had been hit by a car and died.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she told me that Andy was happy to have me as a friend.  She said that Andy never had too many friends because Andy was “retarded” which meant that there was something wrong with him.

I had heard the “retard” word before in the school yard and I knew that it meant that you were kind of stupid.  I could not believe that Andy was stupid and that I would never see him again.  I was overcome by confusion and sadness.  I thought about how Andy did not really seem that much different then me.  Maybe Andy was not a “retard” but was labeled as such by the “official” adults in his life.  To this very day, I cringe when I hear the word “retarded.”  We now use the term “mentally challenged” but that still upsets me when the term is used to describe a child.

I am sure that Andy is up in heaven now.  He is probably still talking to worms and trying to catch birds.  I am sure that everybody up there understands Andy.  Andy is probably also talking to God but nobody is laughing at him because of it.

I will always remember Andy as my extra special friend.

[voiddemon]

:) hiiiiiiiii

It's important to preempt I see 'Dreams' and 'Wishes' as connected concepts in the Kirby universe-- not the exact same thing BUT in some cases they interchangable. I also base basically all of my headcanons off of this quote from the instruction booklet of KATAM: "High in the skies above Dream Land floats the Mirror World. In this strange and beautiful land, mirrors have the power to make any wishes reflected in them come true. One day, a sinister presence invaded the Mirror World, and its mirrors could only reflect bad things. When Meta Knight discovered what was happening, he set off to save the Mirror World."

I HC that BEFORE KATAM the Mirror World was a more 'ideal' version of Popstar, built on people's collective dreams. For example if a lot of people even internally wished something was different, it would be in the mirror world. For example a lot of people wished Kirby was more mindful and didn't rush into things, so Shadow Kirby became... Mindful and patient. Dedede wished Meta Knight was a bit less selfish and more loyal (due to his own worries) and so Dark Meta Knight began to value loyalty and indulge in self-sacrificial ideals.

However since Dark Mind is most likely (to me) a reflection of Nightmare, a being who causes Nightmares, Dark Mind can inherently mess with the Dimension Mirror because it sees Dreams and reflects them. So he chose to reflect those desires of others in a way which was self serving, to take control the Mirror World. Walking back to my two prior examples: Dark Mind made Shadow Kirby hesitant to act (as well as disoriented him) so that he would not intervene. And similarly Dark Mind bumped up DMK's loyalty significantly more, but turned Dark Meta Knight's loyalties towards himself.

After KATAM though, the Mirror was irreparably damaged and could no longer reflect things. Meaning that for the most part the Dimension Mirror is not reflecting new people who did not exist outside of Popstar originally (save for a few characters depending on my mood, really, I keep it flexible), nor is it attempting to recreate any of the games. As well as this out of self-preservation it's stopped reflecting anything OFF of Popstar really (this is entirely because I'm not interested in making a Mirror Ribbon tbh). Making it so the Mirror World in reality is very very small, confusing, and it sort of loops if you attempt to go too far 'out of bounds'.

Of course for me I see the Mirror Worlders as very similar to their counterparts in some ways, but their flipped traits aren't entirely bad things. For example Dark Meta Knight values self-sacrifice very highly, and has decided to instead remain to keeping the Mirror itself from malfunctioning in the future, fearing of messing things up further. And Shadow Kirby pursues very intellectual hobbies and activities, and has become very intelligent, which Kirby doesn't have the patience for or interest in. (Not that Kirby isn't) Although of course some of their flipped or more extreme traits are bad. Shadow Kirby is a loner and is incapable of teamwork even if he tried to do so (in KF2, the game about fighting with a friend, he flies solo always), and struggles with forming bonds with others. Meta Knight's desire to best Kirby (to be the strongest) has melded with hatred and has formed a need in DMK's heart to utterly destroy Kirby, if not in combat then in another way, for killing him that one time. Dark Meta Knight also loathes Kirby (and some others, who are seen as heroes) because they have never intentionally sacrificed anything, and are entirely self-serving, and therefore cannot be real heroes. Or at least as not as real as him.

So yeaahh there's like a crumb of my mirror world headcanons. Sorry this was long. I hope you have fun creating your own Mirror World HCs. I saw from your other post you already brought up a question I'd love for honestly everyone to think about when it comes to mirror world stuff, so I'm excited to see how you interpret these characters :)!

To anyone with headcanons or theories about the mirror world (the people in it, how it used to be, etc.) please tell me I love the mirror world and its characters and just. Everything about it I wanna hear what others think

[kth1]

Welcome Home [MYG]

⟶ Welcome Home [Yoongi x Female Reader] ⟶ Genre: 18+, PWP, Marriage Au, Smut, One Shot ⟶ Warnings: father!yoongi, kissing, blow job, unprotected sex, you guys have a child, etc ⟶ WC: 5.6k+ ⟶ Summary: After picking up your husband at the airport, you greet him with what any lonely wife would in the comfort of your shared bedroom. ⟶ Beta: Miss riddle tiddle, @taegularities​, thank you for reading through this when you found the time. And also dealing with my constant shenanigans when I write aimlessly and you’re trying to clean up my act for me. lol ⟶ Author’s Note: Based on the notorious Yoongi 220529 airport photos. This pwp is nothing fancy at all, just love and thirst. :] I’m also in love with my banner.

You roll the stroller to the perimeter of the off-white bland walls of the baggage claim area in the airport. Parking typically is terrible, but you managed to swing through some loop-holes to find yourself the absolute perfect spot – right in front of the elevators of the garage. It gives you and Haneul, the eager 3 year-old boy wiggling in his seat, the chance to greet the man you’re supposed to be picking up right now.

Husband and father, Min Yoongi.

Haneul pestered you all of last night about wanting to run straight into his father’s arms the moment he spots him among the crowd of strangers. Even with Yoongi being gone for months on an international book tour, Haneul would recognise his dad in an instant. The creative kid even sketched an adorable drawing on a piece of paper, ready to hold up carefree and in plain view.

His feet kick back and forth, his frustrations untamed under the straps that buckle him in. But you fully understand your son’s happiness. Excited and completely impatient in wanting to see Yoongi. 

You’ve kept up with him nearly every day, primarily through video calls and brief texts. Yoongi always requested a new photo of Haneul every other day, fearing of missing out on any monumental moments Haneul might make in his absence.

Only once in a while would he request more of you. To see more than what he already does with the casual facetime events between the two of you. When he was alone and not distracted with the business of his tour, grieving to himself with a small glass of whiskey and empty side of a hotel bed. 

Of course you gave him exactly what he needed to keep him entertained. But you always held back the juiciest of details on purpose. To keep him interested and on his toes, to tease and taunt, yet show him a smile of nothing but innocence. The words “you can see more once you get home,” never left his brain. 

But his mind is not straight into the gutter when he first walks off the plane and follows the crowd down the escalators towards the designated baggage claim area. No, not at all.

It’s the binds around his heart which pull tighter the more he thinks about seeing the joys of his life, the people he holds closest to his love. With yearning and longing to see the people who help are vital pieces of his family. 

You help Haneul out of his seat as you straighten out his jacket. You double check if both of his shoes are strapped on securely before allowing his feet to hit the tile flooring. He is already tugging on your arm to beg you for his photo in which you happily fish out of your purse and unfold it for him. 

He checks it over, proud of his own work but also squinting as if he’s pondering the work itself. The facial gesture cracks a smile on your face as you recognize the resemblance between him and his father. The stern concentration yet the complete composed emotion.

You brush your hand through his hair, pushing the disarray of fluff off his forehead as you check for any dirty stains across his mouth and chin. Thankfully you only spot a few crumbs from some cookies he ate in the car, but Haneul is wiggling away from not wanting to be touched.

“Where’s daddy?” You chim with a softer tone, gaining your child’s attention in a flash.

His eyes expand wide with excitement as he looks around the area. You feel bad for a second when Haneul looks disappointed, but you know you are just preparing him for Yoongi’s entrance.

“Da-da?” He walks around you, keeping a hand on your leg while the crowd of people around him spook him.

You check your watch for the time, knowing that Yoongi’s plane has already landed and any minute now he should be waltzing right in with the rest of the travelers. 

“Soon, Haneul. Do you have your picture ready?”

The little boy nods frantically, pulling the piece of paper straight across his chest to display it. He continues to search around for his father, the excitement blazing in his eyes.

The first line of people begin flooding in the doors, several looking exhausted and in their most comfortable airport-wear. They all shuffle one by one until they fan out into the wider room, a few instantly gathering around the carousel. 

“Haneul,” you warn as the boy begins stepping closer to the crowd. You slowly trail behind him as you grab hold of the handle of the stroller.

“Stay close,” you express with a stern tone. “Wait for him.”

You glance up to the entranceway with hidden enthusiasm, eyes flickering through the throng of people until you see him.

Yoongi walks in the room carrying his expensive Hermies Birkin bag with a small twilly scarf you personally picked for him. It contrasts with the baggy blue jeans with ripped holes in the knees and the tucked in white t-shirt and light beige button up hanging off his shoulders – but together everything looks perfect.

Even with a mask covering his face, you can tell he’s yawning the second he walks through and examines the area around him. Your heart flutters momentarily, witnessing the way his fingers shag through his dark tendrils of hair and unintentionally make it appear fluffier. It swoons your heart as the sight before you unwinds, nearly making you lightheaded with a rising fever.

It’s as if it is the first time you’re laying your eyes on him; a love at first sight moment. Though you’ve known him for years now, you've seen nearly all sides of the man who you call your husband. 

But today hits you harder, somehow.

Whether it was the pining to see him – a growing hunger that slowly consumed you the longer he was away – or the sudden thirst that develops the second his forehead exposes as he makes eye contact with you, you cannot pinpoint where to blame. There is something utterly magical about the way your husband looks at you, like the world is empty of anything but the three of you.

“Da-Da!” Haneul yells with excitement, surprising you and everyone surrounding you. 

He treks quickly in a straight bee-line from where he stands. His arms out in excitement, waving in the air as he keeps them wide open for Yoongi. A soft smile grows on your face as your heart tightens over the cuteness overload. You notice how Yoongi’s eyes squint with happiness the moment he spots Haneul running to him. Everything inside you knows he is smiling wide under his mask.

Yoongi drops to a squatting position, prepared to envelope his son in his arm while he pushes his bag behind his back. Haneul dives face first into Yoongi’s chest, his arms clinging around his neck and holding on like a happy sloth. Your husband nuzzles his head into Haneul’s hair as his arm wraps around the little boy's frame. He lifts him up with one swift hoist, letting the boy link his legs around as Yoongi adjusts his stance and looks back at you.

You bite back a smile, but the glow in your eyes and cheeks give away your mirth. There’s nothing in your world that looks better than the sight of seeing your bundle of joy in the arms of the man of your dreams.

Haneul is grabbing at Yoongi’s cheeks\ as he walks over to you, turning his head to face him so that he can place his forehead against his father’s. You never question the act your son picked up out of the blue, but both you and Yoongi assume it’s his expression of love. And when Yoongi responds to his son’s gesture with the same exact scrunched up happy face, your smile completely cracks open.

You take a few steps to meet Yoongi the rest of the way, opening your arms wide enough to hug the both of them. With all the events happening, you and Yoongi had completely forgotten about his traveling publicist who awkwardly stands back to retain from involvement in the family reunion. 

“I missed you,” he says as he places his head against yours.

You smile with the confession, pulling back just enough to spare a few inches between another and stare into his eyes. Without asking, you lightly pull down his mask. Pushing your lips against his, you feel the warmth you’ve been missing out for the past five weeks. 

“I missed you, too,” you reply softly.

Haneul begins pushing at both of your heads, wanting to get himself in the mix of the innocent kisses. The two of you chuckle and cave in, smiling at the way Haneul lifts his picture for his dad with the utmost pride.

“I drew meow-meow!”

Yoongi looks at the sketched out orange and blue cat on the paper that his son holds up. He pulls a surprised face, eyebrows raised and everything. 

“For me?” He hums with his deep toned voice, “It’s wonderful! Good job! Is that Jae?”

“Yeah!”

“Has he been good?”

Haneul giggles, nodding his head excitedly, “Mhm!”

You back up enough to grab hold of the stroller again, pulling it over to where Yoongi starts turning towards the carousel. He nods towards his publicist who finally walks over and joins the group.

“And how was mommy? Was she good too?” Yoongi asks Haneul as he glances over to you.

“No,” Haneul drawls.

Yoongi fake gasps as he stares back at his son. It forces the kid to start giggling, and both you and Yoongi know he’s playing around.

“No?” You walk up and raise your eyebrows at Haneul. The boy laughs even more, wanting to hide away into his father’s neck. “I haven’t been good?”

You place your hands on your hips as you tilt your head. You try hard not to give into the bubblicious laughter that erupts from your son, but you cannot help it. He’s way too cheerful to stay too stern.

“Oh no…” Yoongi laughs back. “I guess mommy needs to go to timeout later, huh?”

Rolling your eyes, you pivot to your stationary stance. Shifting your weight to one leg as your hip pops out, one hand on the hip as the other holds onto the handle of the stroller now.

“If i’m not good, then that means we shouldn’t have bingsu tonight.”

“No!” Haneul protests with a whine.

Yoongi shifts him in his hold, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you bingsu. Mommy doesn’t deserve any.”

You quirk your eyebrow up as you glance at Yoongi, skeptical at his words. There’s a hint of mischief laced on the corner of his lips and the crinkle of his eyes. Whatever he has going on inside that head of his, you’re sure you’ll hear about it later.

It’s lazy the way Yoongi’s plump lips mold onto yours. He pushes himself into you, backing your body up against the nearest wall. His hands grip onto your arms softly, trailing them down to your wrists to bring them above your head. The heat of his skin presses onto yours as the two of you tangle your tongues with another.

“Good thing you took a nap earlier,” you mumble into his mouth.

He exhales deeply through his nose as he hums with acknowledgment. He grinds his pelvis into you, pinning you tight against the wall and giving you little room to wiggle.

“I needed the rest,” he chimes in. His mouth trails kisses down the edge of your jaw to the length of your neck. Yoongi’s teeth nip at your sensitive skin, instantly soothing the sting with his soft kiss. “And I needed the shower as well. But you have me now.”

“I love how long your hair has gotten,” you comment as you desperately try to move your hands. But Yoongi continues to pin your wrists with his hand above your head. “You should keep it like this for a bit.”

The dim lit bedroom illuminates the area just enough to give a sensual vibe. Dusty tones and sweet smells – courtesy to the lit candles –  help set the mood for your late night evening. Haneul knocked out fairly fast after enjoying his favorite dinner, sashimi, and getting his quality dessert time with his father. Yoongi took the honor of placing the child to bed, making sure to have the house pet, Jae, keep him company while he reads him a nighttime story.

“Yeah?” He smirks as his fingers tighten around you, “The length is a bit too long for me to maintain.”

His eyes meet you with a dark glint. Yoongi licks his lips as he admires the lines of your face.

“I’ll help maintain it,” you smile as you lean towards him, puckering your lips.

Yoongi allows your wrists to slip from his hold, giving you the opportunity to slink them around his neck and brush your fingertips against the base of his neck. Your nails lightly threaten his skin, scratching only enough to earn a low growl from him.

You step forward into your husband, clutching onto him as you anchor your weight. He steps back, ushering you along with him as he travels towards your shared bed. It’s tidy and barely touched, but that is soon to change the moment the back of Yoongi’s knees hit the edge of the bed.

Cautiously, Yoongi sits himself down as he drags your face with his. He nips lightly on your bottom lip, enjoying the sweet sucking noises exchanged between your greedy mouths. You lean forward, taking him in like an addictive drug – in some ways he is your penicillin. Treating all your lonesome and sorrows with everything you need.

Attentiveness. Physical touch. Kindness.

You’ve missed him and it shows.

It shows with the way you practically grab him possessively when you finally get him alone. How your body slots perfectly in position between his legs as your hands fumble over the button to his jeans. Your knees press into the carpeted floor as you shuffle Yoongi’s pants down. 

“Y/n…” Yoongi sighs as your name leaves his tongue.

His hand laces behind your head, gathering up any piece of hair in a fist. His cock springs from its confinements as you yank the rest of his bottoms down to his knees. They fall listlessly as he widens his legs, sprawling out before you. His dick luls heavy to the side, stiff from the riled up make-out session. 

“Let me,” you insist as your head levels with his cock. 

You waste no time in gripping the shaft with your palm, standing it up to prepare yourself to take him in. Giving a few small strokes with your fist, you feel the smooth underside of his cock glide easily inside your hand. It makes your mouth water with thirst and you’re feeling incredibly parched.

Lowering your mouth, you place a delectable kiss to the tip of his cock. The bitter saltiness from the leaking precum greets you with a blast of flavor. Your tongue rolls out between your lips, enough to kitten-lick the slit of his head and earn the first stifled groan of the night.

“S-Shit,” Yoongi involuntarily twitches his cock in your hold. The sensation must be delightful for him. His hand tilts your head to see your lips, wanting to watch the way you part them for an open-mouth kiss to his cock. “Yeah, baby. Just like that.”

The light praise grooms your pride like a pat on the back; making you feel like an accomplished wife and valuable woman to your man.

“Anything for you,” you nearly purr with enthusiasm.

Yoongi huffs a quick laugh, his mouth parting into a small smile, “Everything for me, eh?”

You grin while widening your lips and grazing your teeth lightly over his sensitive head. It visibly makes Yoongi shudder as the grip in your head reinforces its hold on you. He tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you between his spread legs. It’s a devilish scene to admire from below, but it screws your insides as you stare up at him through your lashes.

Your tongue swipes across the underside of his cock as you sink further down, keeping eye contact with the man who stares under hooded eyes. The tip threatens to edge itself near the back of your throat and that’s your point of retracting; choosing to bob your head slowly and shallowly. You pinch your lips around his dick as you suck feverishly, enjoying the flavor of his skin and arousal against your tastebuds.

God, you really did miss this.

You angle yourself better – even with the strong hand guiding you – to take more of him when you’re prepared. Hollowing your cheeks, you focus on breathing through your nose. Inch by inch you sink him further into your mouth, feeling the bulbous head press against a sensitive spot in the back of your throat.

You hum when Yoongi pushes your head down. His cock lodges its way through the entrance into your esophagus. Your eyes swell with a layer of tears, but they don’t break the brim. Instead, they glisten as you stare up at your husband with determination.

Cracking a smile would break the suction of your lips, so you give Yoongi the gesture of sucking harder to urge him on. 

“Good girl,” he whispers in a low voice. 

His head tilts back on his shoulders, exposing his Adam’s apple and thick neck. He groans and sucks his breath in between his teeth, letting you lazily blow him off. 

“You’re so good to me,” he comments in a more desperate voice.

You feel pressure of his hand pushing you further; an indicator that he’s nearing the peak of a mountainous cliffside where he’ll dive straight into the abyss of pleasure.

Saliva drips out of your mouth and down his shaft, making the glide of your mouth easier once you slide him as deep as you can. Nose brushing straight into his tamed pubes that smell like his lingering body wash. Your mouth is full with the capacity of his entire length, focusing hard on swallowing him just the way you know he likes.

Above you, Yoongi huffs into the air. His head tilts to the side while his legs twitch at your sides. 

He moans softly, speaking under his breath, “Baby, I’m going to… I’m almost there.”

His urgency shows in the way his chest rises and falls frantically and in the tightening of his abdomen. Even the slow roll of his hips cannot be contained when Yoongi tries to wedge himself in your throat. Pushing himself in to –

“-- Ah! Shit, shit, shit!”

His creamy white ropes of cum surpass your tastebuds and shoot straight down your throat. His cock twitches with delight once you gag around his member from the erratic movement, though he appreciates the noises you make as you attempt to retain yourself. Yoongi holds his breath when his orgasm washes over him, rough bouts of air escaping his nostrils while exhaling deeply.

When he finally releases his grip on you, his fingers hook under your jaw. His spent cock slides out of your mouth and drops against his skin as he raises you up from the ground. 

You smile with warmth, letting him guide you straight back to his mouth, swallowing the last bit of his semen.

“I love you,” you murmur right before your lips meet his.

His hands roam your body, finding the corners of you to pull you in closer. Begging your body to climb around him and settle on his lap. Your legs surround his frame as he makes room for you.

“I love you more,” he confesses right back. 

Yoongi’s fingertips dance around the edge of your sleepwear, a dainty little night dress you purposely wore to tease him. The nearly sheer fabric barely covers your body but adds just the amount of illusion his eyes need. He shifts the material up and over your thighs, revealing to him how you failed to wear any form of underwear and left yourself bare just for him.

He hums to himself, giggling along with you as your lips press into another. His featherlight touch tickles your skin, digits traveling up to your hips. Once he shifts you closer to him, bumping your privates against another, he takes in the amount of arousal dripping out of your core.

Like sap, your slick coats his shaft the moment you rest on top of him. Your hands help tug off his loose t-shirt to rid him of the last piece of clothing, exposing his toned chest and pale collar bones. With grace, you roll your hips against him – using his shaft like a toy while you run your sopping pussy across the length of it. Each time your clit flicks over the lump of his cockhead, you clench with excitement as Yoongi breathes harshly into your neck.

“Baby, go slow –”

“– just missed you so much,” you admit.

Yoongi winces when your hips press harder into him, his voice uttering a hushed plea when his hands grip your waist.

“Still sensitive, baby. Slow down. You have me now,” he reminds you in a sincere voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You’re in anguish over him. As if he’d been stripped away from you for centuries, but in reality it's only been a few weeks. You smell his scent lingering in your nostrils. This whole time you have missed the way he cradles you against him, holds you impossibly close during times of intimacy. Even the pheromones remind you how much you yearned for his return.

Would it be cheesy to admit that you’ve never had a love like this before?

You rake your nails up the back of his scalp, running trails up the roots of his hair before you squeeze your fingers into small fists. His locks glide through so soft and tender, fluffy from how they naturally dry.

As you continue to roll your hips on his lap, making sure to lube his cock up with your natural essence, Yoongi breathes hot air against the side of your neck.

“I haven’t even gotten to touch you yet, baby. How are you so worked up?”

“I don’t need it. I just need you,” you pant, focusing on how to expertly rub yourself on him to gain the exact friction you want.

Yoongi’s lap feels warmer, wetter, in seconds. His fingers crumple the loose material that falls off your shoulders by thin strings, gathering it up higher so he can admire the view between the two of you.

“Please,” you beg as you pull his head closer with your hands. “Please, Yoongi. I want you to fuck me.”

He groans while his arms circle around you, pulling you flush against his chest and halting your actions. Yoongi’s lips peck down your skin as the two of you breath labored breaths.

“You’re so needy. You don’t want to wake Haneul up,” he calls to mind the sleeping child resting in the other room. “Gotta stay quiet, baby.”

You nod your head frantically, head nudging against his once you press down into him. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper like a secret made for just the two of you. “I’ll be quiet.”

Swiftly, your body moves with Yoongi’s as he turns with you. Your side hits the bed before he’s slipping out from under you to stand. With sincere guidance, he pushes your frame into the bed, forcing your front into the mattress below. You feel the way his hands roam across the edges of your back as a smile grows across your face.

Your head twists to the side just to try and see him as much as possible. Playfully, you push your ass towards him when you prop it up in the air for him. The fabric falls down and pools around your waist, exposing your ass and dripping core to him.

“Oh,” he hums as he sees your naked backside. His palm grips a piece of your cheek and squeezes playfully, pulling it to the side and appreciating the view.

With his other hand, he holds his cock and lightly taps it against your ass. The light slap resounds in the room around you but unfortunately, you can only feel it. You know it must be “waking” back up for a second round. It always takes Yoongi a few minutes to recuperate after shooting his load, though it never stopped the endless rounds of sexual rendevuous.

“Baby, fuck me,” you whine and wiggle your ass to him.

“Remind me the next time I travel to take a longer trip,” he speaks with a teasing tone. “Seems like the further away I am the more thirsty you become.”

You huff with a roll to your eyes, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I would never dream of that,” he hums with a soft smile.

From behind, Yoongi shoves your face into the blankets as he lines himself up at your entrance. He does it in an aggressive manner, but you know he does it with utter kindness. Slowly, he inserts himself into your awaiting hole, feeling how you eagerly suck him in like an open invitation. He glides smoothly, descending each inch of his cock into your cunt. He doesn’t pull back and ease himself like he does usually; instead, his hips press flat against your ass in one fluid motion.

Your empty deprived cunt instantly filled with the entire length and girth of your husband.

You moan, but it’s muffled with the suffocating blankets surrounding your mouth. Cunt clenching around the favored intrusion, you cannot help the overwhelming feeling of being full – finally.

Even though you might be full of your husband's cock, unable to think properly, you cannot help but to think of how much you love the man who is stuffing you. How every bit of him falters the second Haneul cries for help and how each moment you catch him sneaking a glance at you when he thinks you wouldn’t notice… small signs of his genuine and kind nature breaching his hard and cool exterior makes you weak at the knees. It’s the little things which Yoongi writes out through his mannerisms and the way he says things which threads a rope of love around your heart. 

It tightens each and every day; continuing to reel you in like a hopeless romantic who is lost at sea.

He pulls back, drawing his entire length out and leaving just the tip. With firm fingers, he spreads your cheeks even wider and tilts your hips to arch your back. There’s something with the way your cunt fits around him that he cherishes. Along with the fresh gleam of slick that coats him like second skin; Yoongi fancies the appearance as he forcibly thrusts his cock back into you. 

Watching the way it disappears from plain sight. Loving the way you twist and moan from the rough pleasure he gives you. Even hushed by the fabrics below you, Yoongi commands you to make all the noises you want to make with the next hard thrust.

“Shh, shh,” he nearly laughs at the way you whine. 

He knows it’s ridiculous to ask you for silence; especially when you’re in such a predicament, but he wants to be sure you two don’t suffer the consequences if either of you fail. 

So attentive with the way he gyrates his hips into you, power-drilling his cock into the deepest crevices of your cunt, Yoongi is also cautious with how present the headboard is against the far side wall. It taps lightly at first, sometimes not even hitting the sheetrock, but your moans continue to rile him up. Melodic tunes tugging at his eardrums and fueling his confidence and ego as he continues to rail his cock into you in long strides.

You choke on your own tongue when the words fail to fall out of your mouth. The trapped heat of your breath only makes your face warmer when you attempt to breathe fresh air in between the moments of having the wind knocked out of you. Though you enjoy every juicy second of your husband’s cock traveling to the hidden area of your walls.

Shuffling your arms underneath you, you manage to prop your head up just enough to release a silent moan. Your head lobs with the jolts of his body into your backside, his lap tapping into the back of your thighs as his palms secure themselves around your waist. You bite down on your bottom lip hard, pinching your eyebrows together in concentration while you inhale deeply. 

You want to moan, you want to tell him how amazing you are feeling with the babbling mess of words that want to escape your throat. Your fists grip the blankets harshly, tugging them closer to you each time Yoongi’s cock threatens your g-spot.

“More. More!” You call to him desperately, keeping your voice low. 

Your ass ripples like water with each thrust, flesh shaking like jello from the momentum. 

Yoongi surprises you by pulling your body off the bed with a hoist. You arch even further to accommodate the new position. With a firm hand, Yoongi slides a palm across your mouth and tilts your head back to lean against him.

His stance behind you widens as his free hand grips you by the hip to drag you back into each thrust. Yoongi’s strength holds you perfectly to him. 

It blocks the next moan that was just about to release out your lips. His face buried into the side of your head, his mouth panting against your skin and forming goosebumps with how possessively lewd it sounds to you.

“Finish for me,” he requests with a gruff voice. 

Deft fingers slide across your front and push down on your lower abdomen as he trails further. They find the slit of your nether lips and spread them to reveal your clit. Your knees nearly buckle from the onslaught you’re enduring with his cock and now with the magical press of the most sensitive nerve “button” on your body.

Your hand finds purchase on his arm and the other reaches back to grip his leg. Your nails dig into his skin with anticipation and in need of holding onto something, anything.

Mouth opened wide for a moan, it is stifled by the palm that latches over your lips. The ragged breath exhaling out of Yoongi only turns you on more. You’d give anything to see the way his face scrunches up with focus as his nostrils flare. The imagery already seems lewd enough to egg you on when his fingertips swirl around your clit.

“Mmf!” you cry into his palm once Yoongi relentlessly refuses to give up; his cock dragging out of you only to plunge straight back in again.

It feels heavenly with just the right amount of pleasurable pain to twist your insides and spin that coil that’s buried deep within the pit of your body. In one simple earth-shattering snap, the string that holds you together finally breaks. Worn down from holding that blissful orgasm away from you unless your body is ready for its full release.

Your body fights to close your legs even more, which is quite impossible when your knees already cross over another. Yoongi holds you as your body trembles from your orgasm; like rapids flowing down a river bend. 

Unpredictable and irregular, always keeping the two of you on your toes.

Your hand tightens around his arm until you descend from the clouds. Yet Yoongi doesn’t waiver from his long strides for a second. His hips slap into you with purpose, battering your cunt with how ready he is to release again.

He pulls out far too soon for your liking. Globs of sweet white cum shoot out of his cockhead onto your backside. Yoongi pushes his cock against your skin, trapping it between your two bodies. 

His voice comes out raspy and out of breath, “The was fucking amazing. Felt so good.”

Neither one of you mind the slow dripping cum touching your bodies. Even the arousal trickling down between your legs just makes you feel filthier, but unbothered completely. The two of you stand there as you catch your breath; tame your beating hearts while aftershocks of your orgasms run rapidly through your nerves.

Even your own cunt flutters with the filthy afterthoughts of what more the two of you can do.

Slowly, Yoongi cages you inside his arms once again. His lips pepper butterfly kisses across your shoulder blade to your neck. He sighs delightfully as he rests his chin in the crook of your neck. Soft hands lace around your front and hug you, hold you.

“How are you feeling?” He quips the question after a few moments of silence.

You begin rubbing your own palms along his arms in a tender way, touching his heated skin and seeking his fingers to interlock with yours.

“Amazing,” you gleam. He can hear the charm in your voice, the satisfied tone setting him in a better mood. “You’re amazing,” you nudge him with your head.

“Not as amazing as you,” he huffs a laugh. 

The two of you hum with lighthearted amusement. But you’re being distracted the moment you hear feeble knocks at your door. A high pitched, curious whine comes from the other side – snapping both you and Yoongi out of your intimate trace and back to reality. 

“Mommy! Mommy!”

The small voice of your child chants your name as his fists continue to hit the wood of the door. 

Yoongi curses under his breath once he peels himself off of you. Together you shuffle throughout the room as you frantically call back to your in-need child. You’re searching for a towel that hangs off the master bathroom door, quick to wrap yourself before seeing your husband rummage through his drawer for a pair of pajama shorts to slip on.

“I’m coming, Haneul!”

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