#i might private this later but i wanted to get it off my chest

[wildmelon]

ruby: aka little rubes, ruby tooby, smushy, ruby tuesday, screamy, little smush, wooby tubes, and many other nicknames. thank you for opening your tiny heart to me.

we adopted ruby when i was in high school. i fell in love with her picture on the animal rescue website. she and her mom (who we also adopted) were very skittish and took a lot of time and trust-building to warm up. i loved her so much, but she didn't truly become my baby until i moved back home after college.

i was in the worst place of my life in summer/fall 2022 when she began seeking me out. you might say she knew i needed her, but she wasn't really that kind of cat 💀 we were all subject to her whims. she started spending time with me because it was exactly what she wanted to do, which makes me feel just as special as if she actually meant to soothe me. ❤️ she would come lay on my bed by the window where the afternoon sun would make it warm, eventually dubbed "her sunny spot."

it became our daily routine. she would wait all day for me to get home from work or class, and i would call for her to come snuggle as soon as i walked through the door. she would trot up the stairs after me and hop onto my bed. she would nuzzle my arm and resettle herself about three times before falling asleep. we would lay with my face against her fur while i gave her scratchies in all her favorite places. she would breathe quietly and make little trill noises when she was extra happy. i tried to never take a moment of this for granted, always thinking how lucky i was, but we never have enough time with our pets.

she would start purring as soon as i laid my cheek against her, even before being pet. she loved christmas bows and would always steal them to play with so we found them strewn around the house. she loved watching the leaves fall from the window. she was obsessed with the attic and could play up there for hours.

we said goodbye yesterday after finding out she likely had a brain tumor with few viable treatment paths. my heart is absolutely at peace knowing she is finally comfortable again, but now comes missing her so terribly. it's hard to accept that i was expecting 10 more years with her.

i love her perfect pink nose, her multicolored toe beans, her little ears, the brown spot on her tummy, and the way she looks like a white cat someone poured gray paint on top of. she was stubborn and mischievous, an absolute thief. her favorite food was cheese and she would do anything to get it. she was kind of a brat and obsessed with feathers. i love her and miss her so so much.

she also snored:

[hyewka]

—what a loser! | c.bg

୨୧ synopsis. hearing rumours of your sex life travel around your campus for the first time has you standing in front of the very person that you’re convinced is responsible. your secret fuck buddy.

୨୧ warnings. stoner!gyu, bratty sub!beomgyu, mean femdom, humiliation kink, VERY public, hair pulling, hate sex kind of, cunnilingus, use of pet, fuck buddies, reader has a priest dad, bit of a toxic dynamic

“Why’re you here?” he mumbles casting his eyes down to his feet as he idly skates around, not paying you even a little bit of eye contact or actual acknowledgement.

“Can we talk somewhere else? More private?”

He ignores you.

You huff, rolling your eyes, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. The sun had already set, there were even less people out—no one was skating around at this hour but Beomgyu. “Why—" you take a breath, already feeling yourself get emotional and angry, “Why did you go around telling people about us?”

There’s a few reasons circling your head. Attention, bragging rights—attention was a big one but you hoped, no, a part of you believes it was an accident. That he let the information slip from his lips when he was drunk, or out of his right mind. But with the way he’s acting, it’s getting harder to hold on to the belief that Beomgyu was misunderstood and not just a fucking asshole.

Too much time goes by with silence and you think hes blatantly ignoring you again, but then he halts his skating, taking the time to run a hand through his hair. Hair that you’ve regretfully played with days on end, twirling strands around your finger, giggling as if the foundation you’ve built your relationship on wasn’t such a fragile fire that could be snuffed out in seconds if not the tiniest bit careful.

Look where you are now.

“Dunno, ‘cuz I can.”

His eyes are on you, bangs parted, looking straight at you. You can’t get it out of your mind, how the ends of his lips twitched up as he said that. Bitch. Fucking bitch.

He finds this amusing. A game. Your reputation was a game to him. Of course it is. He never took anything serious, not his career, not his relationships, not his future—he never cared.

Your nostrils flare as you stomp large strides towards him, charging and shoving his chest, having him stumble backwards off his board, dryly laughing. “The goody two shoes about to commit an assault?”

“Oh fuck off, you wouldn’t dare try suing me. God, I hate you so much. You’re such a—such a fucking loser!” you yell.

That wiped off the cocky demeanour.

“Here’s some two cents for you, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about whatever this is between us. I really couldn’t. But you—” your face gets heated up, pointing a finger at him. “You will never find anything better than what I gave you. And you’re going to live with that.”

He scoffs like he’s unbothered but it’s so clear with the way he clenches his jaw afterwards he’s pissed—it hit a spot. Good. Good, let him be hurt.

“What do you even—what did you gain by telling everybody my sex life? Having people call me a slut? Some sick pleasure from being superior to me for once? Attention? Huh? Why’re you acting out now?” Your eyes are narrowed as they implore answers out of him, searching his face and eyes, anything, anything that you can read from his unbearable silence.

“Yeah.”

You blink confused. “What?”

“Yeah, I wanted the attention. Happy now?” He walks to shoulder you but you let out a scoff, holding him back by his arm and pushing him in front of you again.

“You can’t for one second act like a man can you? You just run away from everything!” you feel like you could rip out your hair with how frustrating hes being.

“If you’re just going to stand there and insult me like a bitch I might as well just go and do something fucking productive.” he spits.

Your cheeks heat up and you think for the first time you understand the phrase of seeing red. Hes been poking and poking and poking with his nonchalance then later smugness then going onto just straight up disrespect—he was really pushing you. So he should’ve expected the hand that goes to strike him against his face—your chest rising up and down, brows furrowed deeply.

A faint red hand print blooms across his cheek, and his jaw falls slack, eyes blown out and wide. You suddenly grab him by the back of his hair, no doubt burning his scalp with the way he lets out a loud hiss. “I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

You’re so close to his face and everything about the way he’s looking at you gives you the chills. You hate him. You do. He’s insane, he’s selfish, he’s rude, he’s—

A shaky lopsided grin still manages to break from his face, “No you don’t.”

And that was your last straw.

The addictive nature about Beomgyu is what kept you coming back over and over again—he never lead, he just let you…take him. And sometimes, at a point of your life where you feel like everythings being controlled for you, not having the choice to make the decisions you like, this somewhat served as an outlet.

That’s the more…reasonable explanation.

The other explanation is simple. He’s so fucking sexy.

The way he still melts into a kiss so harsh and mean, attempting to cup your cheeks, but immedietely dropping it when he feels your disapporval, his whimpers already picking up, not taking any incentive to breathe as if this kiss was enough to keep him alive; it’s those little things that have you up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Him.

Beomgyu, the stereotypical bad-boy stoner hipster outcast—the antithesis of everything present in your picture perfect life—he keeps you up at night. The mix of weed and his hilariously bad attempt at covering it with febreeze and cologne wafts your scent, it overwhelms you, but you still can’t get enough. Everything annoying about him disappears when he’s touching you.

“Why? Why do you keep doing this?” you say, finally being able to pull away from him—only after you had jerked on his hair harsher.

His lips are swollen, red and glistening—he looks pretty like this. He really does. But those lips always end up saying something to piss you off. “Keep doing what? Letting everyone know how you really are? Not actually the good girl you pretend to be, huh.”

You don’t know if he’s goading you on purpose because he likes it rough, or if he’s just being an asshole in general. It doesn’t matter. If he’s going to act like a brat, he’ll get treated like one.

Your knuckles had turned white with how hard you were gripping his hair so it feels relieving when you finally let it go. He tries to lean in to chase after your lips again, but you have your hands on his chest to stop him.

The flash of panic in his eyes when you step back from him is hilarious, it really is. It tells you everything you need to know. He wants you. He really wants you. He doesn’t care if you hit him or ruin his life, he wants you.

If his next words are any indication. “Hey, hey what are you doing? Where are you going?”

You walk to sit on a step of the stairs. “Do you think I’m a slut? Is that why you thought you had the audacity? Surely because otherwise if you respected me you wouldn’t have spread those rumors about me.”

He huffs out a laugh, the biggest reaction you’ve gotten out of him so far. He also walks to get closer to you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t even come up with one single reason that would paint me in a better light. You really do see me as a fucking douchebag loser.” He’s clearly getting emotional with the way his voice gets higher pitched, the nonchalant front cracking, his lips slightly trembling.

“Because that’s what you are. Douchebag. Loser. You’re. A. Loser. Choi Beomgyu.”

You can see his fists clench at his sides, tight lipped. If you knew any better, you think he might’ve just started crying, but you’re not interested in tears. You angle your feet to point to the ground, “On your knees.”

He only hesitates for a second, he only stands there staring at you for a second, only a second before he crumbles and does as you say, getting on his knees in front of you, between your legs. “Closer.”

“But-"

“But what?” Your skirts already half way ridden up and you stare him down, keeping your eye contact intense.

“We’re in p-public. Anyone can see.”

You know hes blushing when you see the tips of his ears peek out, bright red. Aw, he’s nervous? Embarrassed? Shy?

“You’re never seeing me after this Choi. Make of it what you can or piss off.”

His eyes widen comically at that. “What? What does that mean? Are you leaving me?”

You can’t decipher or understand why exactly hes so surprised but you shake it off, you don’t want your good time to be spoiled. Not when your underwears’ already sticking to your pussy seeing him on his knees, on the ground, with his ripped baggy jeans, no doubt a pavement burn getting to him. “Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave?”

He shakes his head vehemently, hands on your knees spreading your legs. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. Don’t leave. Gonna make you feel good, promise.”

He’s already rambling like he’s dumbed out, like he’s about to be a goner. But he’s still hesitant in his actions and you groan, throwing your head back. “What the fuck Beomgyu?”

A pout rests on his lips, “I—…I don’t want anyone seeing you..”

You think he’s giving a fuck for your decency, you think its about you for once. But then another thought pops up in your head and your lips twitch. It’s not for you. It’s for him. He doesn’t want any possible pedestrian to see what only him so far has been able to see.

This isn’t worth it.

You make an attempt to get up before Beomgyu immediately has you sit back down, wasting no time to press his face between your legs, skirt over his head. His tongue pokes out to lick on over your panties, gradually wetting it and you sigh, the tenseness of your body evaporating. “Yeah, thats it. Be good for me pup.” He whines at that.

Beomgyu doesn’t tease any longer the moment your hands go to grab his hair because suddenly he bunches your panties to the side and you feel the contact of his hot tongue on your cunt, already lapping away like a dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dumb dumb—but shit he’s having you curl your toes at the speed he’s going, the way he moans against your pussy like hes somehow enjoying eating you out more than you are.

“You’re my toy, nothing else. But you just keep—you keep irritating me, you keep being a dick, you keep provoking me.” you breathe out, tightening your fistful of his hair in your hand, making his moans even louder, nuzzling closer in your pussy you think he might genuinely suffocate at this point. But knowing him, he’d probably like that. “God, you absolute loser.”

He whines something intelligible, wet eyes looking up at you with his brows pulling up—it makes you gasp as you bite down on your bottom lip. He’s so pretty it’s unfair. Why’s such a sinful person so pretty? God must really have the time of his life making this hell for you.

You take it upon yourself to lift yourself a bit, grinding on his face harder, trying to reach your high, obstructing your view of his face—even with the anxiety of doing this so out in the open resting at the pit of your stomach. He’s practically mewling in your pussy, and the sounds send vibrations, his nose bumping up your clit every now and then. He lets you use him, he just lets you.

When Beomgyu fully submits like this to you…you see stars, you come hard. “More…more”, he groans, licking up your arousal. It’s so dirty, it really is, but you can’t help but nod.

Having the skater eat you out till your legs were jelly at a skatepark late at night would surely guarantee your place in hell.

“You’re such a whore, letting me fuck your face like this baby—don’t soil your pants yet, I know how you get. Probably getting off at the fact that we’re out l-like this…h-hah—dirty, dirty boy.”

He shakes his head, the glistening sweat of his forehead and the matted strands on his temple proof of how hard hes really going at it. “Not dirty. Just wan’ your attention..”

The second you tut at him for stopping he immedietely dives back in—you don’t know if it’s more him being afraid of a punishmet or because he himself doesn’t want to stop. Never mind that, because now hes wrapping his pretty lips around your clit and you’re fucking losing your mind with how quick your head clouds.

There are so many things circling your head right now. And this always happens whenever he starts talking during a hook up. Yes, it helps you get to an edge even faster but its for all the wrong reasons. He’d dirty talk for a bit before switching up, and suddenly all of his words are loving and cute and adorable and, and that’s bad. When you see him other than the image he’s curated for himself—that’s when you start feeling the unfamiliar butterflies fluttering.

You don’t like it. He’s not good for you.

“Stop thinking, only focus on me.” You gasp, your fingers digging into his tangled hair, disheveling it even more. Only him.

He makes you orgasm again, and when you catch your breath you gently push his head away, then harder when he can’t seem to stop kissing your inner thighs. He sighs, dropping it, but not without giving you one last puppy plea. You avoid his eyes, pulling your panties up and scoping around the area, all of a sudden feeling exposed. Did you really just let this punk eat you out on a staircase?

You stand up, dusting your ass, taking note of the redness of his knees and the large wet patch in between his crotch when Beomgyu follows, getting up from his knees, wiping his ridiculously wet lips. You tuck a strand behind your ear as you awkwardly stand, thinking over what you’re going to say now.

We’re over, bye.

I’ll go home now, don’t call me.

I hope you know how bad you messed up. Bye.

I’m blocking you on everything so don’t even think of contacting me.

“Don’t leave me.”

…That has you snap out of your reverie.

His voice is low, no doubt vulnerable. This is the worst. This is bad. Shit.

You clear your throat. “Why? Why shouldn’t I? Even if I didn’t want to I’d have to…my dad knows about you now because of the little stunt you pulled and he definitely doesn’t approve of you.” You mumble the last part, crossing your arms and keeping your distance. But that’s not of any use when he steps forward every time you take a step back.

“I’m—” He runs a hand through his hair again, clearly frustrated. And you don’t understand why, does he really operate life thinking there aren’t consequences to his actions? If he didn’t want to stop this so bad why’d he tell people about your relationship when you explicitly told him not to? “We can—we can do it in secret like we did this entire time. He doesn’t have to know.”

You sigh, also frankly frustrated. “Beomgyu! Why can’t you just-"

Suddenly you’re in his embrace, engulfing you so gently and yet the desperation in it couldn’t have been any more tighter. “Please, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll really do everything you want, I’ll be your toy, your pet, whatever shit you’re into—just don’t leave me."

You really shouldn’t give in. You really, really shouldn’t.

But then he nuzzles into your neck, mumbling with that slight whiny drawl in his tone, “I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Won’t misbehave anymore.”

Of course you give in. Again.

୨୧ note. honestly don’t know where this came from, i was just making up backstory as i was writing. literally only had one thought and one thought only, what if sub!bad boy x dom! good girl? and that was the small attempt made here lol, i love hearing any feedback or even a theory or two concerning the story’s world as i might explore these characters again 🙏

[ja3yun]

how about sunghoon as your bf? pls pls pls im on a sunghoon lockdown :((

okay let me crack my knuckles and delve into the delusional world and imagine what park sunghoon would be like as your boyfriend! there will be mentions of some smut so mdni

jake vers. | heeseung vers. | jay vers.

okay at the talking stages, i think he will keep his cards close to his chest regarding what his feelings are towards you. he wouldn't fall in love with you at a fast rate but he also won't run away if the connection isn't immediate! he will take you on dates and really get to know you. his heart is big but it's guarded, so relationships are long lasting and never fleeting, meaning he needs to know you're going to click in values and that your heart is in it for the long haul.

sunghoon, once he determines his own feelings, would want to be exclusive/bf&gf almost immediately. he values being loyal in every aspect of the word and that includes the early stages. he will be a little jarring in the beginning because of this but it's only because he's so scared of getting hurt (more on that later)

he would fall hard and become completely obsessed with you, not in a clingy way but he will always make sure his presence is known. texts to ask how your day was, random updates with schedules, notorious for sending you pictures of random objects just for an excuse to speak with you. sunghoon isn't a texter to anyone else but you, he just wants to talk to you all the time; i think this will die down once his heart settles into yours and first flutters settle.

his love language is quality time!! he loves to sit and do everything and nothing with you. he will take extra steps to make sure he sees you as many times as his schedule allows him. sometimes, he will ask for early shoots so he can meet you after work and take you for dinner or just walk you back home. i don't think he is one for being extravagant outside so he won't take you to high end restaurants or show you off because that's not quality time to him.

more under cut

speaking of relationship vs work, he is going to keep you hidden and would prefer it if you did the same. he is in no way embarrassed by you! it's just that he knows as soon as everyone knows your business and that you're dating, it's no longer your relationship. whether outside interference from fans or the company, he would much rather it be a very private love.

when you are in private, what he lacks in PDA outside, he will surely make up for when you're at home. he strikes me as the domestic type so doing the dishes while you cook, drying your hair for you after a shower, running you a bath, bringing gaeul over for you two to bond, that's his type of love service.

joking and teasing are sure ways to show you his affection. since he is quite tall, i can imagine him putting things up too high on the shelf so you need to ask him to bring it down, but in some instances, he will pick you up to grab it and tickle your sides as he does so, causing both of you to go into fits and giggles of laughter. with the serious moments, there will be nothing but happiness because sunghoon is the funniest man alive, even when he isn't trying to be.

LOVES to feel loved. he will adore it when you give him quick kisses for no reason, hug him so tight he can't breathe, and tell him random reasons why you love him. he will laugh it off and act chill about it but inside his heart would be leaping for joy. with this, he also sees trust and honesty as an integral part of love, so when you open up to him or explain your worries no matter how big or small, he will feel wanted and honoured that you're allowing him to know these parts of you.

as i said earlier, he worries about his heart being broken so he might need more reassurance than some of the other boys. he keeps his emotions to himself and can run hot and cold with no explanation, which can cause a lot of arguments between you. in these scenarios, he would value your assurance and emotional depth; in turn, this can come off as selfish because why should you be understanding when he is the one causing an issue? sunghoon knows it's wrong to ask you of so much when sometimes he gives so little, it's the benefit of him being emotionally intelligent. it is something you can both work on in the relationship and communication here is so so important!

jealousy and possessiveness run in his blood but not in that toxic, dark romance way, rather he his protective. he trusts you with his entire being but others outside are his number one enemy. if you do go out and dress up, i think these are the times he will be a little bit more affectionate towards you outside. he wants to let everyone know that you are his and he is yours and no one could hold a candle to your love. it can be overbearing but as the years go on i think he will be more secure in the relationship, thus, easing off on the whole "no one should look at you but me" front.

i want to add that being in a relationship with sunghoon would be the most rewarding. it's give and take, never boring, always passionate, he is a spontaneous lover with so much soul to give you that every day will be different. if he thinks it's getting a little slow on the tracks, he will do something to quicken your hearts for one another again. he works incredibly hard to be the best boyfriend he can, and he would expect his efforts to be matched and appreciated.

kissing: loves to kiss you. kisses are always on the table even when he is angry or mad, one kiss from you and all his worries are melting away. his lips find yours in the simplest of places - laying on the couch with him, saying goodbye in the mornings, shopping (he will sneak a cheeky one when no one is looking), etc. these would all be lingering pecks, ones he never wants to pull away from. but when you're at home and he needs you, the boy is slow and teasing, his tongue running against the seam of your lips as a warning to what's to come. i don't think he would kiss for a long time but i think 8/10 make out sessions would end up with your clothes off. he would get really into it and can't control himself, and honestly, you wouldn't want him to.

bowchikawowow: quickies are not on his agenda, he wants to fuck you properly each and every time. i think he has sex in two ways: soft and sensual, taking his time with you, teasing you, giving gentle kisses all over your body, fingers memorising the feel of your skin, soft whispers of "so pretty" and "i love you so much". he wants sex to convey his love in the way his words sometimes don't. the other way i see it would be passionate and fiery. he can dick you down hard and fast if you want to, that athletic stamina he built up over the years needs to be put to more than just choreographies. he would go down on you until you cried out for mercy, he would pound into you so good, marking and biting you all over (never on exposed skin but rather only places he is allowed to touch, he doesn't want men to think about you in any position like that).

always aftercare, never anything less. he would grab you water (and possibly painkillers depending on how rough he got), shower with you, massage your tensed muscles, he would be the type of boyfriend that is so in love with you, affection like this would come easily to him, like breathing and tying his shoe laces. he will tell you how much he worships you and after sex is when you see his vulnerability. you will spend a few hours talking about your feelings (it doesn't happen every time but when it does, it only brings you both closer than ever before).

again, these are just my opinions and observations so if you don't agree that's okay <3 (i also love to hear others' thoughts so!!)

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

what, like it’s hard?, pt. one

“it’s just that… if i want to win a seat in congress by the time i’m thirty, i need to find someone who’s serious about my career. not some little elementary school teacher that cares more about his students than what he’s wearing on my campaign stops,” tommy tells steve, as they’re sitting in quite possibly the fanciest restaurant steve’s ever step foot in. the menu hadn’t even included any prices.

“but… i’m seriously in love with you.” steve feels like his whole world is falling apart. just last week he’d been so sure that tommy was getting ready to propose. he’d introduced steve to his family—they’d spent a week out on martha’s vineyard for a family reunion at which steve had met tommy’s great-grandmother, hands laden with rings as she’d winked when tommy had asked for a private conversation. steve had been so sure that conversation was about the family ring.

“and i love you too, baby, but look. you don’t want to have to leave your students for half the year to come on the campaign trail with me, do you?” tommy asks, not even really looking at steve. he continues to just eat his stupid dinner as if he’s not ripping steve’s heart out at this very moment.

and steve can’t help but think how silly this all is, because it’s not like tommy’s actually running for anything right now. steve doesn’t even teach yet, beyond the two days a week he does his student teaching. they’re only 22, they haven’t even graduated northwestern with their bachelors degrees! but tommy’s saying these things as if they’re all real, right now.

“and i’m off to harvard next fall. it’s not like we’ll stay together while i’m there and you’re still here, right?”

and the thing is, steve had actually thought he’d be going with tommy to boston. they’re both set to graduate in the spring, steve with his degree in education and tommy with a dual major in pre-law and political science. they hadn’t really ever talked about it, but they’d been together since the beginning of their sophomore year. so yes, steve had thought they’d still be together when tommy started at harvard law.

but now steve’s starting to feel extra stupid.

“so… what? you’re breaking up with me?” steve starts to feel his chest tightening, like he might cry. he can’t believe that two hours ago he thought he’d been getting ready for a proposal.

“don’t think of it as a breakup, stevie… think of it as a conscious uncoupling. we’re just moving in two different directions. i’ll be at harvard law next semester and you’ll be…” tommy gives him a look of slight disdain—steve has never seen tommy look at him like that. waitstaff? sure. his driver? absolutely. but it’s never been directed at steve before. “well, you’ll be teaching snot-nosed six year olds. we’re on different paths.”

and that’s what truly makes steve’s blood boil. his passion for teaching and education is one of his greatest qualities and he’d thought that had been part of the reason tommy loved him. he didn’t realize that tommy loved him in spite of that. he’s not gonna let some asshole like tommy montgomery hagan iii tell him he’s no good.

so he doesn’t respond. he just takes the linen napkin off his lap and throws it on his half-eaten steak dinner and marches out of the restaurant.

tommy doesn’t even follow him out.

~*~

“oh steve… i’m sorry,” robin says to him about an hour later while steve lays his head in her lap on their dingy couch.

“it’s not even that he broke up with me,” he explains through tears. “it’s that he basically said i was worthless. like i couldn’t do anything better than teaching. as if teaching isn’t even an admirable profession! where would he be without his teachers, huh? isn’t this all about going to stupid harvard? what does he think the professors there actually do? knit?”

“is this a bad time to tell you that i always kind of hated him?” robin says, maybe trying to get him to laugh. but it kind of surprises steve. he sits up, knocking her hands from where they’ve been carding through his hair in the process.

“you did?! no, you didn’t.” he searches robin’s face for a moment and then sighs. “why didn’t you say anything? you could’ve saved me a whole lot of wasted time.”

“babe, you were so gooey-eyed for that guy, nothing i said was gonna change that. a crowbar couldn’t have pried you away from him. but you have to know he was an asshole.” when steve stares at her blankly, she huffs. “steve, he used to offer to cover the whole tab when we went out. how often did he ever actually pay, even for his own drinks? he made poor jonathan cry the last time we were all here for game night, just because jonathan asked for clarification on the rules for pictionary.” steve is still staring at her. “he tried to stiff argyle by offering him a flight on his dad’s private jet instead of paying for his weed and we all know he doesn’t even have access to the jet. dude was cheap as fuck and not even nice about it.”

steve thinks about it. it was kind of true. tommy was a horrible tipper—steve usually laid down a couple of twenties when they went to dinner together when tommy wasn’t looking. he can remember more than a few times where the guy had sent their food back even though it had looked perfectly wonderful to steve. so… okay, maybe robin had a point.

steve tells her as much, then adds, “but he was always nice to me.”

robin snorts. “are you kidding? he’s stood you up so many times i can’t even remember all of them. remember that time he said his first impression of you was that you weren’t as hot as your pictures? who says that to the person they’re dating?”

steve groans and lays his head back down in her lap.

“okay, so maybe you have a point about that too. but i was gonna marry him, rob. what do i do now?” he knows he’s whining, but he feels just a little bit entitled to it right now.

“i don’t know, babe. get over it, i guess. welcome to the world of us singles. it sucks out here.” steve can hear the fondness in robin’s voice as she says it, but still. it does sting just a little.

they sit there in silence for a while, with robin running her hands through his hair again. it’s so soothing that he almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks again.

“hey, you know what would be super funny?” she’s laughing a little as she says it.

“what?” steve had been dozing just a little and his voice sounds muffled by fatigue.

“if you got into harvard and just showed up on the first day. imagine the look on his face.”

steve laughs at how ridiculous that sounds. like he could get into harvard. plus, he’s got teaching to think about. he doesn’t have a place yet, but he knows he’ll get one soon.

but as he sits there with robin’s hands stroking through his hair, he begins to daydream about how shocked tommy would be. about how he’d have no choice but to eat his words when steve proves himself by getting into one of the most competitive programs in the country. about how good it would feel to prove the bastard wrong.

“robin?” she hums in response. “you’re a goddamn genius.”

~*~

“dingus, are you sure you want to do this?”

the spring semester starts in three days. it’s their last semester at northwestern and there’s nothing but great big darkness on the horizon of steve’s future. he hasn’t slept in two days, busy studying, thick workbooks piled around around him at the kitchen table. he knows what he must look like, over-caffeinated with bruises under his eyes.

“i’m sure.” steve has his lsat exam in one week. “i have to take the exam this week. apps are due by march first.”

“no, steve, i don’t mean taking the test. i mean applying at all. it’s clearly more stress than it’s worth. do you even want to go to law school?” robin sounds concerned and normally steve would think it’s very sweet, but currently it does nothing but irritate him.

“i could,” he responds grumpily.

robin sighs. “i just mean… is this worth it?”

steve looks up then and sees her biting her lip, clearly worried about him. he puts his pencil down and stops the timer on his phone, giving her his full attention.

“this isn’t just about tommy.” robin gives him a skeptical look and it’s his turn to sigh. “it’s really not. maybe it started out that way, maybe it was just a stupid joke to get revenge on the asshole, but now it’s more than that. it’s proving that i can do something unexpected of me.” he swallows. “no one even believed i would get into college. i was just some stupid jock in high school who’d never amount to anything. and then i got in to northwestern and i was so shocked and happy. but i found out that my dad had actually pulled a bunch of strings. so i hadn’t gotten in on my own merits. he didn’t think i could. but now…” he runs a hand through his hair nervously. he’s never said any of this out loud before. “he’s not around now. there’s no one to help me. no safety net. if i can do this, it’ll prove something to me. something that maybe i don’t really believe yet.”

he expects robin to say something about external validation being a corrupting force and identity built on academic achievement being solely a losing game, but she doesn’t. instead, she sits down across the table from him and picks up a workbook.

“okay,” she says. “what do we have to do?”

~*~

“mail here?” steve calls out when he hears the front door close behind robin.

there’s a moment that feels like a pause. “yeah, it’s here.”

steve practically sprints from his bedroom to his living room. robin holds a single white envelope in her hand. steve all but snatches it from her.

his fingers move to rip it open, but then he hesitates. he thrusts it back towards robin. “i can’t,” he tells her. “you do it.”

her eyebrows shoot up. “you’re sure?” steve nods. he watches her rip the envelope open, bouncing on his feet. she scans the page and then she’s smiling.

steve grabs the paper from her. “oh my god?!” he yells. “oh my god!”

robin practically jumps into his arms. “179, baby! harvard law here we come.”

~*~

even after such a successful run at the lsats, there’s still the little matter of actually getting in to the school. steve’s only experience with the academic application process was with undergrad and it appears that applying for anything beyond a bachelors degree is an entirely different ball game. he’s so out of his depth that he’s forced to turn to grad school message boards for advice and tips of how to get in. it seems like everyone else is applying to a hundred different schools while steve’s only applying to one. he learns this is a terrible strategy for planning one’s future, but that doesn’t really matter to steve. for him, it’s harvard or nothing.

there are so many different parts of the application that it makes steve’s head spin. there’s the statement of purpose and the personal statement—the difference between those two requires robin’s careful and slow explanation about three separate times. then there’s the writing sample and the application and the recommendations and the transcripts and and and

but with robin’s help, steve completes each component and successfully sends his materials by the day of the deadline.

steve’s never been a patient person. no one on earth would accuse him of that, so even he can tell that he’s getting on robin’s nerves every day as he practically pounces on her when she returns from collecting the mail.

and then one day, finally, at the end of april, she comes through the front door and clutched in her hand is a big, thick white envelope emblazoned with the words ‘harvard law’ in bold, beautiful crimson red.

~*~

“last chance to back out,” robin says smiling as she swings herself up into the passengers seat of their rented u-haul.

“nah.” steve returns her smile as he slides his sunglasses from his hair onto his face. “let’s get out of this dump.”

and with that, they leave their first apartment behind, headed to the coast.

[wanted to finish this completely before posting but my benadryls kicking in and i have no self control. eventual steddie, promise! no tag list for this one, sorry!! it’s giving me anxiety on the other one lol absolutely not edited, if u see a typo no u don’t. i wrote this on my phone in a feverish frenzy. also, i originally invented someone for the role of warner but then i was like ‘IDIOT!!!!! why would u not choose tommy?????’ so if there’s a name in here that shouldn’t be, no there isn’t.]

[writinginfinite]

we've been caught, might as well post it pt. 2

pt. one

remember when we started our relationship? You made me promise we would never go to bed upset. I know you’re not upset, but you’re probably confused or second-guessing everything

As you stepped off the elevator, the tension between you and Lewis eased; it was now a mix of anticipation and excitement. The two of you had just taken a significant step in your relationship. But despite that, there was still a nagging thought in your head: how long could you maintain your anonymity? You loved your career, having worked hard to be promoted to an executive position just months ago. You hadn't done all that work just to become known as "Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend." 

“What’s going on in that head of yours? And don’t lie to me,” Lewis asked, setting the shopping bags down. You let out a deep breath as you walked slowly toward him, craving some reassurance.

With your arms wrapped around Lewis' waist, you mumbled into his chest, “Who said I was going to lie?” He gently lifted your chin, wanting you to meet his gaze, but you kept your eyes closed, not ready to face those familiar brown eyes just yet.

“Because I know—” 

“Yeah, yeah, you know me better than I know myself,” you interrupted, finishing his usual line. 

“Well, if you know that, why would you even think about lying to me?”

You let out a groan, signaling he won. “It’s just… Lewis, I…”

Words failed you as you finally looked into his brown eyes, feeling even more vulnerable and becoming distressed. 

“Let’s go shower and talk about this in bed,” Lewis suggested.

“It’s almost twelve-thirty in the morning. Let’s shower and talk about it later,” you countered.

Lewis quickly dismissed your suggestion, and you knew he was right.

“Remember when we started our relationship? You made me promise we would never go to bed upset. I know you’re not upset, but you’re probably confused or second-guessing everything. We’re not sleeping until we discuss this.”

“Now let’s go. I’ll start the shower. We can also wash your hair while we’re in there,” Lewis said, placing a kiss on your lips before walking away, not giving you a chance to protest.

//

You sat in bed, tapping on your phone as you waited for Lewis to join you. You were distracted until you saw a familiar tattooed hand gently grab your phone out of your hand. “Hey, I don’t want you reading social media yet, especially before we discuss everything.”

“Wait, give it back. I wasn’t looking at social media. I wanted to deactivate my LinkedIn. You can call me paranoid later.” LinkedIn was the only public account you had, detailing everything about your career and past—at least professionally. You wouldn’t put it past anyone to use any means necessary to figure out who you were.

Hearing the worry in your voice, Lewis immediately handed your phone back. “I understand. Let me finish getting ready, and I’ll be right back. Don’t fall asleep on me.” 

After ensuring your LinkedIn was deactivated, you double-checked to make sure your only other social media account, Instagram, was set to private. You also decided to change your profile photo, replacing a picture Lewis had taken of you at dinner with an off-guard shot he had taken of you admiring the sunset on the beach. 

As you placed your phone back on the nightstand, you began to wonder if this type of paranoia would become your new normal. 

“You know you can’t expect all the worries to disappear hiding under the blankets,” Lewis said as he got into bed with you. 

“Why can’t we just talk about this in the morning?” You questioned as you clinched the covers even closer to you. 

You suddenly saw a peak of light come under the covers. “Fine, if you wanna hide under the blankets, I’ll join you. But we’re not running away from this. Please look at me, tell me what’s in your head, my love?” Lewis said as he slid under the blankets next to you. 

This man knew what to say to make your worries melt away. Someone could tell you the world was ending, and all you had to do was look into those brown eyes and hear Lewis’ voice, to calm down. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look into those brown eyes just yet. You needed to get everything out first. 

“Lewis,” you whispered his name into the covers. “I’m afraid. Of what, I’m not sure yet. I love you with every fiber of my being Lewis and trust you completely. It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s what outside our home I’m worried about. The things outside of my control. I’m scared of losing everything I’ve built up for myself. But God knows I want everyone to know the man I love.”

Finally, finding the courage to turn and look into those brown eyes filled with curiosity, you murmured, holding back tears, “It’s just that everyone already knows everything about the man I love.”

Lewis stared at you with a mix of empathy and protectiveness. His hand gently caressed your cheek. “Hey, listen to me,” he began softly. “People think they know everything about me, but they’re strongly mistaken. They know the driver, the public figure, what I choose to portray to them on the weekends. But they will never know me the way you do. They don’t know how I sing off-key in the shower or how I arrange my things in a certain order. They don’t know how badly I want to hear your voice or see you run in my direction and wrap your arms around me during a race weekend. Or how I love coming home, because seeing you calms me more than anything else ever could.”

Lewis brushed away a tear that fell from your eye. “Everything you just told me is 100% valid. Your happiness and sense of security are my number top priority. I don’t want you to worry because you know I will do everything in my power to protect everything you’ve built up. But most importantly, I’ll protect you. Love, I’m so proud of you. You’re my entire world.”

Lewis' voice was filled with tenderness. “I want to show you to the world. But I respect your boundaries, and we’ll only do so when you’re ready. Until then, it’s just us. Our love doesn’t need to be displayed to be real. It’s in every moment we share, every look, every touch.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “We’ll take this at your pace. Never forget, I love you more than you’ll ever understand. I’ll be right here, every step of the way.”

“Okay,” was all you could say, mustering up a smile. This man did it again. 

“There’s that smile I love to see. Seriously, are you sure you’re okay? You’re not rushing because you want to go to bed?” Lewis questioned, refusing to go to bed until he knew things were completely fine between you both. 

“You told me what I needed to hear, and I trust everything you’ve said. In all honesty, I’ve trusted everything you’ve ever told me. Never have you given me a reason not to doubt you. I love you, Lewis,” you said, reassuring him. This time, you were the one to initiate a kiss. “Let’s go to bed now,” you pleaded because you were struggling to keep your eyes open. 

“Yes, come here,” Lewis said, pulling you closer and onto his chest. “Don’t need you grumpy while doing your hair later,” he mumbled. You were too tired to come up with a response, so you playfully kicked his leg, and the rest was a blur.

//

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, the memories of hours ago slowly coming back to mind. You reached for your phone to check for any new notifications, but your phone was gone. All you found was your charger and a note with familiar handwriting.

“Good morning, my love. Looking for your phone? It’s in the kitchen with me. I don’t want you reading anything yet; you have a lot to do and are easily distracted …” 

You playfully rolled your eyes at that part. As the note continued, it read, “Don’t roll your eyes because you know I’m right. Now go get ready to start your day.”

“This man, MY man,” you said as you got out of bed, placing the note back on the nightstand. 

As you walked into the master bathroom, you saw a set of clothes laid out - the type of old clothes you wore just for hair wash day. An old t-shirt of Lewis and a pair of lounge shorts, with another note on the counter. 

“Breakfast is ready when you are. I’m downstairs. Also, check the second bathroom when you walk down the hall before coming downstairs,” 

You were at a loss for words. No matter how much Lewis had done for you, he always surprised you. You went through your daily routine and then put on the clothes Lewis had laid out for you. This time, you grabbed the note and walked over to place it on your nightstand with the first one. 

As you walked down the hall, you noticed the light was on in the second bathroom. It was odd because Lewis rarely kept on lights if no one was in the room, but then you remembered the note. As you walked in, you blurted out, “Aww, Lewis!” 

It was the simplest gesture. In the bathroom, he had laid out everything you’d need to braid your hair, along with your iPad set up with your comfort show - the one you always rewatched when you were doing your hair. 

You turned off the bathroom light and hurried down the stairs into the kitchen. There, you found Lewis with headphones on, making a cup of tea. You carefully tapped him to warn him of your presence, not wanting the hot tea to spill on either of you. 

Once he put the hot cup down, he turned around and removed his headphones. You then wrapped your arms around his waist, repeating, “I love you. I love you. I love you,” with your voice cracking. 

It was something so simple, but it gave you the extra reassurance you needed that everything he told you last night was true. 

“Well, good morning,” was all Lewis could say before you stood on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Yes, I rolled my eyes at your note,” you stopped him. 

Lewis then picked you up and placed you on the counter. “Oh, so you saw your notes and followed directions for once,” Lewis playfully teased. 

You tilted your head, questioning what you just heard. “For once? I always follow -" You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Lewis tilted his head, knowing what you said wasn’t true. 

“Well, okay, that one time when we -“ 

“Just one occasion you can remember? Want me to try and bring back some memories?” Lewis said as he grabbed you again, throwing you over his shoulder. 

“No, no, no,” you protested. “Okay, you’re right. Put me down, Lewis,” you laughed, kicking your feet in the air trying to fight his grip. 

“That’s what I thought,” Lewis said as he softly tossed you on the couch, now laying on top of you. 

He stared at you for what felt like hours but was only seconds before asking the same question he asked before bed last night, “Are you sure you’re okay?” while trying to read your face. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Well, not really,” you said, causing Lewis to sit up with a face of worry. “I'm not fine because I’m really hungry,” you finished your statement. This caused a sigh of relief from Lewis, followed by a laugh and now tickles. 

“Mercy, mercy, mercy,” was all you could say between squeals before Lewis stopped and sat you up, placing you on his lap. 

Lewis held your face in his hand, saying, “Well, I made you breakfast and tea, which is probably cold now. I can remake it if you’d like?” 

“Lewis, they make these things called microwaves. I will be fine.” 

“Feeling smart-mouth, are we this morning?” Lewis said with a quizzical look. “I’m kidding. I know your hair is an all-day affair, so I purposely planned my meetings for today, which may be an all-day affair because you know what next week is.” 

You let out a sigh, remembering the next three weeks were a triple header. Spanish, Austria, then Silverstone. Three weeks where you would only see Lewis over FaceTime, waking up and going to sleep in an empty bed and quiet house. Last year it was rough, but especially now that you’re living together in this big house, you knew it would be tougher. 

“Hey. Let’s take it day by day. I’m not leaving yet, so let’s not think about that. Getting grumpy for no reason,” Lewis said before kissing your forehead. 

“Now it’s 7:30 and my meetings start in thirty minutes. I’ll sit with you while you eat. Come on,” Lewis said, while guiding you back to the kitchen. 

“Can I please have my phone? I don’t care about reading things online. I wanted you to pick my braids.” 

“It’s over there on the countertop. Let me grab it. You eat.”

You had more messages than normal, but quickly swiped past them and to your photos. You gave Lewis two options: boho knotless braids or butterfly locs. 

He swiped between the two photos before deciding on the boho knotless braids, which you were hoping would be his first choice. 

As you got up to put your dishes in the sink, Lewis stopped you to take them from you before handing you your phone back.

“I got this. Go start on your hair. If you need anything, text me. I’ll be in my office for the majority of the day. Also, I already prepared lunch and started dinner. Don’t ask how long I’ve been up, sweetie.” Lewis placed a kiss on your lips before heading down the hall to his office. 

//

“You were right. Not using my phone helped me finish my hair in record time,” you said to Lewis as you both sat on the couch, eating ice cream before bed. 

“See, I told you. So, you can admit, I’m right- you are easily distracted,” Lewis responded with a smirk. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. You told Lewis to stay put while you went to wash the final dishes you two had used. 

As you were putting the dishes away, you heard Lewis’ voice from a distance say, “It’s mostly all positive online. And don’t worry, no photos of you have been found. It’s all ‘Respect their privacy’”

"That's nice to know," you said while closing cabinets.

“The few people we’ve told, I’ve reminded them to not say a word. And I know we can trust them,” Lewis said, with him now behind you. 

“I know. I saw our friends’ texts and reminded them as well. I’m taking your word for it. I’m not going online anytime soon. I’ll be fine, Lewis. We’ll be fine,” you said, turning around to embrace him in a hug. You needed it because you knew in just a day he’d be off again, this time for a while. 

// SPANISH GP

You decided to work from home this Thursday, sitting in Lewis’ office even though you had your own. It had only been a couple of days since he left, and you started to wonder how you’d survive another 23 days without seeing him. You tried your hardest to never miss an opportunity to see Lewis on television.

It was super early, the sun barely up, and you hadn’t even turned on your laptop for work. Instead, you sat in Lewis’ office chair, watching the drivers’ press conference. You were wearing one of the many sweatshirts Lewis “mistakenly” placed in your closet before he left.

You took a quick selfie with his desk in the background. “Good afternoon, my love. Like my setup? Also, you ‘mistakenly’ left a couple of your sweatshirts in my closet when putting away laundry. So I’m claiming them for now. I love you and miss you.” You hit send before realizing the press conference had just started.

Lewis never had his sound on during these events, so you weren’t worried about him seeing it.

But you were wrong.

You watched live as Lewis pulled his phone out of his pocket. You looked at your phone as the message now said, “Read.”

You could see Lewis clicking on the photo, zooming in to figure out where you were. A huge smile formed on his face.

You thought Lewis was about to say something but realized he hadn’t heard the question. You frantically texted him, “LEWIS!!! They just asked you about your odds at Spain this weekend.”

Lewis could sense your panic through your text and was laughing, putting his phone on his lap. He was always calm when you felt he should be stressed.

As Lewis was picking up the mic, it picked up him whispering to himself, “Is she in my office? She found them,” before speaking directly into the mic, “I’m sorry. Did someone ask how I feel about my odds at Spain this weekend? I'm sorry I missed the question.”

The reporter responded, “Yes, that was the question. But if you want to tell us who’s in your office and what she found, that’d make for better reporting.” There was no hint of joking in the reporter’s voice. This reporter was known for trying to push Lewis’ buttons.

Your heart sank. You just hoped the man wouldn’t get to Lewis and that he wouldn’t say anything that would give them clicks.

The once joking face on Lewis turned serious. He moved to the edge of his seat. “Watch it. Don’t speak on her again.” The reporter retorted with, “We’ll figure out who, sooner or later.” You knew this had struck a huge nerve. Lewis said he’d protect you, and just days after that promise, people were coming for you.

You quickly typed out, “Lewis, please don’t give in. Ignore him, please. You’ll give them what they want. I’m fine. We’re fine. We’ll discuss this later. We’ll do this on our time.”

As Lewis was about to raise the mic to speak, his phone vibrating stopped him. You saw him read over your text, and you watched him nod his head, signaling he got your message.

“We’ll do this on our time. Now, to answer your question…” You were relieved when you heard Lewis move on.

All you could think was, “We’ll have to do this earlier than hoped.”

Immediately following the press conference, you received a text from Lewis. “I’m calling you in a few minutes.”

No “My love” or greeting—just a straightforward message. He was pissed.

//

You sat on FaceTime with an apologetic Lewis, trying to reassure him you were fine. It wasn’t a lie—he had done exactly what you’d hoped, keeping your name out of the press until you were ready.

“Silverstone,” you blurted out, confusing Lewis.

“Yes, Silverstone is the last race before I come home.”

“How about we make this known at Silverstone? We said we’d do this at our pace, and I don’t want it happening outside of our control. I want us to do it. So, Silverstone. I can come there on race day.”

For the first time in your relationship, you left Lewis speechless.

“Did you lose service? Are you still there?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush this. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Lewis, I promise you, I’m fine. I want to do this now. How about this: if you’re on the podium, I’ll be there waiting for you. Otherwise, we’ll keep things under wraps.”

“As if I needed any extra motivation to get a win or be on the podium. I’ll get things together; you focus on work. I’ll keep this as low profile as possible. I love you so much and can’t wait to see you. And, hopefully for the first time, have you there after a win or podium.”

// SILVERSTONE

You sat in the Mercedes hospitality area, trying your hardest to blend in as a fan on a solo trip. “Come on, Lewis,” you kept saying as he tried to overtake for P2.

The only person who knew who you were was Rosa, the one person in the garage Lewis trusted to stay silent.

You, along with everyone in hospitality, clapped with excitement as you saw Lewis pull into P3 in parc ferme. You looked down at your phone to see a text: “It’s Rosa. Meet me at the exit. I’ll walk you to the team. You’ll need more credentials. He did it! I know he can’t wait to see you!”

You quickly got up, straightened your dress, and found Rosa. In hand, she had your extra credentials and walked you to the front of the barricades, to the confusion of the team members.

As Lewis made his way to the team, he made eye contact with you.

“You’re here!” Instead of jumping towards his team, he grabbed you into a hug, slightly picking you up. At that moment, everything went silent—it was just you and him. You couldn’t let go, but you knew you had to.

You were up front as you watched the podium celebration. Cameras were in your face as Lewis was handed his trophy, but you didn’t care. You weren’t worried if people figured out who you were anymore; all that mattered was that you could finally celebrate alongside him.

Once the podium celebration was over, Rosa quickly grabbed you and took you back to Lewis’ motorhome. She tried to be discreet, but there was no hiding you anymore. You followed her, giving her a hug as you walked, finally introducing yourself.

“Trust me, I know who you are. I’m the only person he talks about you to, and all I can say is, this man loves you.”

“He should be inside. I’ll leave you two,” Rosa said before walking off.

You walked in to see Lewis sitting on the couch, changed into a team shirt and pants before heading to his final press conference. He immediately jumped up to hug you, whispering words of affirmation.

“You did it! At your home track as well!” You couldn’t stop smiling. “You have a press conference to go to. I’ll be here when you get back!”

“I love you,” Lewis said before running out to the press conference.

// PRESS CONFERENCE

You sat on the couch, watching the press conference. Lewis started off by saying, “Yes, that was her. That’s all I’ll say about her until she’s ready.”

//

author's notes: part two of "we've been caught, might as well post it" sorry imagine part x is taking awhile.

3.8K words. need to proofread again.

[venus-haze]

Watch Honey Drip, Can't Keep Away (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: America’s golden son can't keep his eyes off of you, almost like he wants to devour you whole...or something like that.

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. This is kind of in the same universe as She’s Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best. I know generally men in the ‘40s, let alone Soldier Boy of all people, wouldn’t really consider going down on a woman, but it’s my fic and I get to decide he eats out. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Period typical misogyny, power imbalance. Explicit sexual content involving masturbation and oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

“Which city are we going to next?” you asked, finally comfortable in the swanky hotel room in Chicago you were roomed in with three other girls from the troupe. Soldier Boy’s Sparkling Sweethearts. People came from miles around to show their patriotism–and get a look-see at the acts. If it weren’t Soldier Boy, it was you and the other Sweethearts. Something for everyone, really. Even in places like–

“Wichita.”

A collective groan filled the space, littered with makeup and dresses that’d inevitably shoved into suitcases in a hurry the moment of checkout. There were more important things to worry about than being organized.

“Better than wherever the hell we were last week. Couldn’t get enough of us on Saturday, and then nearly ran us out with pitchforks after the preacher was through with them Sunday morning.”

“I’m going down to the bar while we’re still in a hotel that has one,” you said. “I’ll be back later.”

“Not if Soldier Boy’s there.” A giggle tore through the room. “Did you see him earlier? He looked like he could eat you alive.”

You weren’t even supposed to have been up there with Soldier Boy during his act, a routine that showed off his powers and preceded his usual rousing speech to get the American public to open their hearts and wallets to the war bonds drive. But Darla had broken her leg while ice skating on a day off in Milwaukee, and Soldier Boy had specifically asked for you to fill her spot.

Your role involved memorizing a few lines from a script and looking pretty while Soldier Boy understandably took the lead, but your “rehearsal” just hours before was little more than going through your lines once before Soldier Boy poured you a shot to “calm your nerves” and spent the following fifteen minutes fucking your mouth before sending you off to get ready for the show. 

Walking up on that stage again after your usual routine with the Sparkling Sweethearts was nerve-wracking. Though you knew what to expect, you still felt like your heart was going to pop out of your chest every time he lifted you above his head or tossed you up in the air and caught you, to the raucous applause and cheers of the Chicagoans and celebrities who’d packed the theater to see him.

“Betty Grable’s in town, so I think she’s the main course,” you said as you left, closing the door behind you and leaving your coworkers to tease you in private.

Among the various hobbies you’d taken up since becoming a Sparkling Sweetheart, people-watching in hotel bars was one of your favorites. He would almost always be there too, an otherworldly presence with an abundance of movers and shakers rotating in his orbit, unable to resist the pull of America’s golden son.

Some of the girls in the troupe didn’t care for him, found him too brash and handsy. You could think of at least one who’d been unceremoniously replaced after loudly complaining one too many times. No one really knew what the extent of his powers were, but after that incident, you suspected enhanced hearing might be among them. Or someone was just a snitch. 

When you stepped into the bar, a quick scan of the room revealed Betty Grable to be nowhere in sight. You didn’t see Soldier Boy either, until a deep voice wrapped around you like velvet.

“There’s my girl.”

“Who, me?” you asked teasingly.

“‘Course you are, honey.”

“Because I heard Betty Grable’s in town—“

He scoffed. “That broad? Who needs her?”

Your chest filled with pride at his statement. She was the pin-up girl of choice for every GI in Europe and the Pacific. Well, almost all of them. His arm settled around your waist as he told the bartender to give you whatever you wanted. The overhead lights in the bar were nice and low, you felt warm beneath Soldier Boy’s gaze. Being the object of his attention always carried weight. He was the world’s first superhero, after all. A living legend. Plenty of other women he could be spending his time with besides you.

Pressing your lips to his cheek, you whispered a ‘thank you’ for the drink, taking in the way he licked his lips, his handsome face so close to yours, still under the slight cover of the shadows. Whoever decided a helmet that covered half of his face would be part of his costume needed serious help. 

“Y’know, if you hadn’t come down here, I might’ve gone up to your room and dragged you out,” he said, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “It’s like you were shakin’ your ass just for me on that stage.”

“It’s called shimmying, and I’m glad you liked it.”

“I was thinking, how about you replace Darla for my act?”

“Permanently?”

“Sure, we’ve got great chemistry,” he said, squeezing your hip, “on and off stage.”

As the night progressed, your conversations with Soldier Boy were interrupted by the slew of people who recognized him, excitedly introducing themselves and asking for a few minutes of his time. He graciously accepted with a ‘You don’t mind, right honey?’ And you shook your head, watching him humor politicians, business moguls, and socialites.

You smiled when the latest one had made their departure, tilting your head the slightest bit. “Do you even remember what my name is?”

“Honey suits you better,” he said, his tongue darting out between his lips. “Bet you taste like it too.”

“You sure?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“I guess so.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, passing you his room key. “You go make yourself comfortable while I close out my tab.” 

As if he’d even be paying for the drinks himself. It’d probably be billed to the Department of Defense, or that strange company that sponsored the tour. You didn’t pay much attention to who was signing your checks, just that they cashed out when you brought them to the bank.

You balked at his hotel room, far more space than a single man could possibly need. Then again, he rarely spent his nights alone. 

Comfortable. Ridding yourself of your clothes, you climbed into the giant bed, pulling the covers just over your breasts. As you laid back on the plush pillows, you recalled earlier that day when he had swatted your ass as you walked off stage after your act with him was finished, playing it off as a joke to the crowd who cheered and whistled. The simple yet slightly painful gesture had gone straight through you, however, and you worried that there’d be a noticeable wet spot on your satin panties when you and the other Sparkling Sweethearts returned for one last routine to close out the show, your high kicks telling on you.

Biting your lip, you glanced at the door and slipped a hand between your legs. He had only said to make yourself comfortable, nothing specifically about waiting. Gently prodding two fingers against your pussy, you weren’t surprised to find that you were wet already. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pushed your fingers inside, thinking about how his hands felt on you earlier. Strong and steady, big hands that could break you so easily but didn’t.

“Couldn’t wait?” He stood at the end of the bed, fully clothed with his arms folded over his broad chest as he pinned you in place with his disapproving glare.

You gasped, pulling your hand from between your legs. “I was just–”

He clicked his tongue at you, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “My fault for keeping you waiting too long, doll.”

Soldier Boy joined you on the bed, pulling back the covers you’d pulled over your bare body. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you with an overwhelming fireceness as he groped your breasts, squeezing down your stomach to your hips and finally your thighs. His lips followed that same path, kissing and biting along your skin that suddenly felt feverish beneath his touch. Still, your pussy ached for him, especially since he had walked in while you were pleasuring yourself, but he wasn’t paying any mind to it.

Until he dipped his head down, licking your wet cunt. In your shock, you pushed your thighs together, as if his intrusion were unwelcome. 

His strong hands held your legs apart, gently squeezing the tender flesh. “I jerked off thinking about this earlier, but nothin' like the real thing, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes focused on the ornate ceiling. Gold leafing, a Renaissance-esque painting, surely Soldier Boy didn’t care much about that. 

“Eyes on me, honey. You got that?”

Immediately, you looked at him, his blazing green stare burning through you until you nodded. He wasted no time in burying his face between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit with such force that you realized you had no idea what getting eaten out by a superhero would actually entail. 

He lapped at your pussy with an insatiable fervor that made your legs shake beneath his steady grip. Your moan caught in your throat when he plunged his tongue deeper into you, his nose brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves he’d already teased. 

A whine tore from your throat when he pulled away for a moment, smugly admiring your glistening sex. His lips appeared coated in your juices, and you nearly came at that sight alone.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he growled appreciatively. “This all for me?”

Who else? As if any other man could make you feel pleasure so intensely, as if that were yet another superpower of his. For a moment you bemoaned a possible future of unsatisfying sex with some regular old Joe–not America’s hero, its fucking sex symbol. But all you could manage was a weak, “Yes.”

Satisfied with your response, he closed his plush lips over your clit, sucking on it like he was pulling from a cigarette, your arousal burning deep in his lungs. You grabbed at the sheets, digging your hands into them as you grind your pussy against his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, shooting open when he smacked your thigh. Eyes on me.

“Fuck—Soldier Boy,” you moaned. “‘m close.”

He growled against you, the vibrations from his throat edging you closer to orgasm. His inhuman stamina meant he hadn’t given you much of a break since he lowered his face between your thighs. He’d been content to tease you for a while, but he seemed more focused, intentional with the way he ate you out, his attention especially focused on your clit. 

You could feel it, that tightness in your abdomen that was about to snap. Involuntarily, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were on that stage again, in his big arms, bright lights blaring as you stared dreamily at him. Then he threw you in the air, higher and higher until you came back down and–

“Soldier Boy, oh my god–don’t fucking stop,” you pleaded, riding out your orgasm on his face.

His hands held down your bucking hips, your ecstasy overpowered by his determination to bring you over the edge until you were an incoherent mess, muscles aching at the exertion of each orgasm despite him doing all of the work. Light-headed, seeing stars, you reached down, tugging at his hair. That was it. You were tapping out. Mercy.

He granted such, though he pressed sloppy kisses to your inner thighs, nipping at the tender skin. All you could give him was weak moans in return. If you expected to be able to go anywhere else the rest of the night, he’d made damn well sure you couldn’t so much as move from his bed. Maybe that was the idea.  

Your breath caught in your throat when he lifted his head, wiping his glistening lips with the back of his hand, though the evidence of your orgasms was still all over the rest of his face. He kissed you, the foreign taste of yourself filling your mouth, sending a deliciously obscene rush through you. His mouth broke from yours, just for a moment, as he whispered your name against your lips. You realized you didn’t actually know his.

[dolliethv]

"34+35"

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! a little smut, inspired by Ariana Grande's song "34+35" enjoy it!! xoxo.

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 1,4k

The clock struck 2:30 AM, but the night was just beginning for them. In the small apartment in London the rain slid down the windows creating an intimate atmosphere that enveloped them. They had planned to "watch a movie," although both knew it was just a pretext.

Jude Bellingham, a well-known footballer, lay back on the bed, his tight shirt revealing every line of his muscles. You, a fashion design student, had carefully chosen your outfit: comfortable, but revealing enough to spark the imagination, a loose shirt of Jude's and just your underwear. From the moment your eyes met, you both knew the real attraction of the night wasn't on the screen.

You lay on the bed, your legs casually crossed, but you knew exactly how to draw his attention. Jude watched you, his dark gaze full of intentions you couldn't ignore.

"Are you sure you want to watch a movie?" he asked, with a mischievous smile, leaning in so his lips were dangerously close to your ear. "Because I have better ideas for how to spend the time."

You smiled, feigning disinterest as you toyed with the remote. "Oh, really? And what would you suggest?"

He raised an eyebrow, his fingers brushing slowly against the exposed skin of your thighs. "I could teach you some tricks you won't learn in your classes... and promise you won't be bored."

You laughed softly, feeling the tickle of his touch. "I hope you're not all talk and no action."

"I don't usually disappoint on the field, or off it," he replied, pulling you closer by the waist. Your gazes met, and in the sparkle of his eyes, you could see the promise of an endless night.

Later, as soft music filled the room, you looked at him with a cheeky smile while he ran his fingers through your hair. "Tell me, have you ever been with someone who can keep up with you until sunrise?"

You looked at him challengingly, leaning closer. "And have you ever met someone who doesn't let you rest?"

The tension between them was felt in every sigh and stolen glance. He seized every opportunity to come closer and drop hints that exposed his intentions, while you remained playful, enjoying the game.

As he wrapped an arm around you, he leaned in and whispered in your ear with a mischievous grin. "I won't deny it, I've been imagining you differently all night... and none of it includes that outfit."

You raised an eyebrow, amused as you moved slightly away just to provoke him. "Wow, is that the best you've got? You should work on your lines, or you might think you impress me just with that pretty face."

He laughed, keeping his composure, his eyes slowly scanning you from head to toe. "I don't need lines if you know what I have down there... And believe me, what I'm imagining will keep you awake all night."

You looked at him with feigned surprise and leaned in close enough for your lips to brush his without actually kissing him. "Oh really? All night? How ambitious. But look, it's not that easy. I might be the one leaving you begging for a break."

He smiled, amused and provocative, not backing away an inch. "It's a risk I'm willing to take. But I warn you, I don't tire easily. And I don't care how many times we have to 'train' to get it right."

You laughed, theatrically placing your hand on your chest. "Oh, look at you... all athletic in every way. Too bad not all your tricks impress me."

He looked at you with a playful glint in his eyes, sliding his fingers along your waist until you shivered slightly. "Then I'll have to show you some moves that aren't taught in training. Ready for a private lesson?"

You pushed him gently with a mocking smile, enjoying the game. "You take this teaching thing very seriously... But what if I end up teaching you something?"

He moved even closer, softly pinning you against the bed, his lips a whisper away from yours. "I think that's a lesson I'm eager to learn.. And I don't plan on skipping a single second."

"I've been drinking coffee and eating healthy all day," you said, with a provocative tone as you leaned towards him. "I hope you can keep up."

Jude handled your body as if you were a feather, turning you around so that you were at the level of his crotch and he was at yours. "Thanks for making my job easier," he said, referring to your clothes.

What followed was the most delicious experience you've ever had... Jude's long tongue ravaged your pussy mercilessly. He sucked on your clitoris, driving you to your limit, and you couldn't handle it anymore, moaning loudly.

Soon, as Jude licked your pussy you helped him pull down his boxers so you could take the next step. Damn, his cock is huge; you know it because it's always been hard for you to take him due to the size difference between you. Amidst your moans, you tried to take his cock into your mouth, sucking on the head and helping with your hand to fully caress it.

Jude inserted two fingers inside you, giving your ass a playful slap. "That's it, baby, you're doing great," he grunted.

You couldn't take it anymore; damn, you couldn't stand it!! You came, releasing your fluids at the same time as Jude... oh? That was really hot.

It didn't end there, and you and him continued fucking. Damn, this man really keeps his word.

Your legs were trembling from the overexcitement; you had never experienced this. Jude settled you with a smile on his face, cleaned you up, and found comfortable clothes for you

Hours passed like a sigh, and when dawn began to peek through the window, they were still immersed in their own world, wrapped in disheveled sheets and unspoken promises. Their bodies fit perfectly together, creating countless moments where words were unnecessary, and only the pure sensation of being together remained.

"We could do this every night," he whispered, stroking your hair as you nestled against his chest, both breathing in sync, exhausted but satisfied.

"And who says we won't?" you replied, closing your eyes with a smile on your lips.

That morning, there were no alarms to pull them out of their dream. The movie they never watched remained paused on the screen, but for them, the real action had happened off-camera. Because in that small room, night and day blended together, and all that mattered was the promise of a new adventure when the lights went out again.

[featherandferns]

covet (drabble)

jj maybank x fem!reader | short and not exactly sweet ;)

content warnings: sexual content

word count: 4k.

There are certain things on this earth that can soothe the soul. A warm blanket that has a smell which reminds you of childhood; the incessant, repetitive come and go of the ocean waves on a sandy beach; when the sunset hits just so and everything feels at peace. It seems that the warmth of JJ Maybank’s skin against yours brings about that same clandestine peacefulness. You nuzzle your face against his bare bicep. His skin smells of sandalwood and seawater and sunscreen. The coarse hair barely tickles your cheek as you do so, making you smile, sleepy and spent. His breathing is slow and steady, warm air hitting the back of your neck, his head resting just behind your own as his body spoons yours. You shift your feet under the messed covers and feel them brush against your shorts and panties that JJ had almost frantically pulled down your body only thirty minutes or so before. 

You want to talk but aren’t sure if you should. It feels as though there’s this bubble the two of you are held in and if you speak, you might cause it to burst.

JJ has this thing about him. He reminds you of a bonefish: a finicky fish known for being slippery and hard to catch. The fact that you have him here with you, like this, coiled around you the way he is despite the two of you having climaxed over ten minutes ago, feels rare and special. It terrifies you to do something to scare him off after wanting this for so long. After wanting him. 

And yet, despite this, you can’t help yourself. It feels out-of-body when you hear your voice quietly interrupt the silence. 

“Which do you prefer?” you begin to ask. “The sea or the marsh?”

At first you wonder if JJ’s fallen asleep, as his breathing doesn’t stutter and he doesn’t speak a word. 

“Ain’t they the same thing?” he asks, his voice barely above a rasp. 

“No,” you say, “the sea’s bigger and louder. They’re different.”

“Maybe the marsh then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I like the quiet of the marsh. Feels private and stuff, y’know?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling stupidly to yourself, grateful he can’t see your face. 

There’s some conversations you have in your life which feel as though they guide you and shape you into who you become. Some interactions carry such weight that you want to tether the words together and wear them like a necklace as to never let them drift. You have a notion that this entire night with JJ is that for you. You never want to forget the feeling of his fingers on your body, his mouth on your neck, his tongue on your chest, his arms around your frame, his voice against your pillow, and his answers to your questions. As if deciding this, you push yourself tighter into his hold. He responds easily, his own grip tightening by a slight, and you let your eyes slip shut. 

“You gonna sleep over?” you ask. 

“Maybe.”

That isn’t a no. You smile. It wobbles when he untethers himself from your body only moments later though. At first you think he might be getting more comfortable, but then you feel the mattress dip as he moves to sit on the edge. You sit up, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, and watch as JJ reaches down for his t-shirt. 

“You’re going?” 

“It’s late,” he says, back facing you as he dresses, “and I got work tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you mumble. 

As if sensing your disappointment, once his t-shirt is over his head, he turns to you. A smile slips onto his face easily; it’s charming and disarming. You find your own smile returning at the sight. You feel your heart stutter and body throb as you remember how it felt to be tangled up with him less than an hour ago. JJ reaches out a hand and one of his fingers strokes along your cheek, cupping your chin before letting slip. 

“I’ll see you around though.”

“Okay,” you nod. “You got my number, right?”

“Course,” JJ smiles. He stands, boxers already on, and shucks on his shorts. You stay in spot as if frozen, naked. He checks his hair in the mirror and messes with it a moment before grabbing his keys and phone from your desk. Then he takes the short steps to your bed and plants a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’ll see you,” he mumbles, pulling away, glancing at his phone, probably checking the time.

Then he walks out your room, closes your door, and leaves you in silence. You stare after him somewhat dumbfounded. The stupor ends at the sound of your front door slamming closed (thank God your parents aren’t home) and you sink back into the sheets. The smell of him lingers against the linens: sandalwood and seawater and sunscreen and sweat. You snuggle into the side where he had just laid, as if trying to keep close to him, and let yourself slip off. 

***

Days stretch into one mundane strip of living. You go to work and clock in and clock out. You shamelessly watch your phone; switch it on and off from ‘do not disturb’ and feel the same dulling disappointment when there’s no notification from a certain blonde haired boy. The silence feels almost like a strategy. A way to keep him at the top of your thoughts. You tag along to keggars and parties and surf days with the underlying hope that you might bump into him again. But JJ’s scarce suddenly on the island. As the time passes, you find it harder to remember the pull of his body against yours, and the smell fades from your sheets. It’s like he never existed in your life let alone in your room.

When you agree to join Caitlin to yet another gathering at the boneyard, your expectations are as low as the tide. Two hours in and your cup is empty again. You venture to the kegstand and wait patiently behind the girl in front. A tap of a finger on your shoulder has your head whipping around. 

“Hey,” JJ grins. 

Your smile comes too easy. “Hey.”

“Didn’t know you were here tonight,” he says. 

“Could say the same to you.”

“I’ve been busy,” he hums, taking a swig of his drink.

The girl in front finishes and you shuffle forward, eyes trained mostly on JJ. He’s in one of those muscle-tees - a rather useless piece of clothing - and the same shorts he’d worn when you two had hooked up. Before you can go to refill your cup, he takes it from you and does it on your behalf. It shouldn’t affect you the way it does. 

“So, how you been?” JJ asks, holding your cup out to you. 

“Good,” you say. You feel you shouldn’t mention how you’ve been thinking of him non-stop for the past week. “Working a lot.”

“Seen anyone lately?”

Eyebrows tugging together, you try to track the meaning. “Not really, no.”

“I just, uh, heard you might be hanging with Jamie P.,” JJ says somewhat casually. 

You can’t help but laugh. “No, no. Definitely not.”

“Damn! Not the heat on Jamie P!” JJ chuckles. 

You laugh again and then the two of you share a smile. He holds his cup out half-jokingly and you tap yours against the rim as he says, “well, cheers.”

And from there the night follows a similar to dance to the last time you hung out. Seemingly out of nowhere, JJ approaches, and he talks and he flirts, and you laugh and indulge and try to keep your cool. Just as before, the two of you come to the same fork in the road. Sat on a piece of old driftwood, side by side, practically shoulder to shoulder, JJ nudges his combatboot clad foot against your ankle. 

“So, uh, your parents still away?”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “That was not smooth at all.”

JJ laughs, “what’d you mean!? I think that was pretty good.”

“Mhm,” comes your unconvinced reply. 

Rolling his eyes, JJ now nudges his shoulder against yours. Your face feels burning hot so you opt to study your feet. His gaze on you feels like an infrared light, shining through you, studying your thoughts. Did he know how long you’d wanted him? How long you’d waited for him to notice you? A part of you longed to ask him why. Why now? What made you realise? You don’t, though. Instead, you find some courage and dampen your lips, glancing up at him to meet his eyes. There’s an undercurrent to his: something deep and sensual. You know that look now and can read right through it. It’s the first spark to your kindling. 

“They’re not,” you quietly tell him, replying to his earlier question. 

A small smirk tugs at the edges of his lips. “Ain’t they?”

“Mm-mm.” You shake your head.

JJ’s foot rubs at your lower leg, up and down, slow and without hurry. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s his stare, or maybe it’s a combination of everything, but you feel yourself crave it more and more. 

“You wanna get outta here then?” he asks. 

“Okay,” you mumble, smiling shyly.

JJ grins and downs the last of his drink, and you sip away the dregs of yours. Truth was, your cup had been nearly empty for a while, but you were scared he might slip if you left to get a refill. With JJ, you always had to monitor the rod. 

Instead of walking to your house, this time JJ guides you to his bike. He chats as you go, telling you about something that happened at his job at the country club, and something he and John B (his best friend) got up to the other day, and you nod and listen, genuinely captivated by the life he leads. Any insight into his day-to-day living feels like reading a page from the Lord’s diary. You treasure his words and his energy, and his attention most of all. There’s little hesitation when you mount the back of JJ’s bike, wrapping your arms around his middle as he kicks off the stand and revs the engine. A dreamlike haze comes as the two of you dart down the streets of Kildare. When he whoops and hollers you can’t help but giggle, face pressed against his back, once more hypnotised by his whole being. He slows to a stop outside your house and helps you off the bike, and the two of your hands remained tethered as you guide him up to your door. 

The moment you pass through, his lips are on yours, his hands cradling your body like you’re something precious. You’re glad to respond: sighing against his mouth, tongue teasing against his. His fingers are cool on your burning skin, slinking under your shirt and slipping over your bralette. It’s confusing and messy as the two of you stumble along the hallway, giggling when either of you collides with a piece of furniture or trip over a shoe. Soon enough, you’re back in your bedroom. 

And then you’re naked atop of him, and he’s going down on you like it’s his God-given right, and you’re working him to the edge with your hand, pressing tantalising kisses to his neck and earlobe, and the two of you are fucking; a writhing, sweaty mess in your bed. Every noise he makes marks itself against your frontal lobe in permanent ink. Every press of his fingers into your flesh tattoos onto your neurons. Every moment is forever memorialised in your mind. And then it’s all over. He shakes when he comes, panting against your bare shoulder. You daren’t let go of him. All you can seem to think - a rather innocent thought in lieu of what just occurred - is how happy you could make him if he just let you. 

This time, instead of cuddling, you find yourself sitting against him upright. He’s toying with your hair, working it into a braid, and when you complain that you’re cold, he hands you his t-shirt. That and his boxers are the only clothing keeping you apart from being skin to skin. You sigh and relax against him, and he decides to wrap his arms around your front now instead. His voice is warm and cosy like tennessee whiskey when he speaks against your ear, chin settled on your shoulder. 

“You’re something real special, you know that?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, bashful. 

“Nah, I’m serious. Like the smartest chick I ever met.”

“Can’t meet a lot of chicks then,” you try to jest. 

“Yeah right,” JJ snorts.

Something in your stomach shifts at the mixed meaning. Something in your heart makes you overlook it. You bring your hands up to tether your fingers into his, clasping both your hands together over your stomach. Your fingers run over his knuckles; feeling every healed cut and bruising scar. 

“Why me?” 

“Huh?”

“Why me?” you ask, unable to hold off any longer. 

JJ shrugs. “What’s that mean?”

“Like what made you choose me?” you say, not daring to look over your shoulder. 

JJ clears his throat and sniffs, and a pause comes that’s hard to name. “I don’t know. You’re, uh…You’re fuckin' hot for one.”

You laugh quietly at that, the same way JJ does, and you try to tell yourself that that’s reason enough. But it isn’t, and he doesn’t elaborate, and suddenly his hold feels a little less comforting and a little more like a trap. 

***

The seat of the campervan is uncomfortable enough without you writhing in it. JJ kneels on the floor in front of you. His palms are pressed against the inside of your thighs, holding you open, head nestled between them, and you’re doing your damndest to keep still but it’s hard when you’re this close. Half-broken pleas fall past your lips, your head tilted back, eyes slipping open and shut, as JJ eats you out. It’s like some filthy prayer, the sounds the two of you make together, and it makes it harder not to come. It’s not as though you can’t - you just don’t want it to end. 

When JJ pulls away, though, you find it impossible to not fall over the edge. His fingers slip into you all too easily - embarrassingly so - and he sits back on his haunches, wiping the lower of his face clean on the back of his arm as he fingers you. 

“Come on, baby,” he mumbles, watching you. “I know you’re close.”

Your voice cracks when you come and you’re not sure why. 

By the time you’ve caught your breath, JJ’s already back on his feet and heading to the door of the van. You scramble to pull your skirt down as he yanks it open. 

“Where are you going?” you ask. 

“Gotta take the van back to John B’s,” JJ says without turning, jumping out the back of the van. 

You wipe your face and run a hand over your hair, feeling messy and dirty, and follow after him blindly. 

“Can I come with?” 

“Sure, I guess,” he shrugs.

You head to the passenger side and climb in. JJ starts up the engine and the two of you head to John B’s place. Now instead of your moans and JJ’s grunts, the van is filled with noises from the radio. Mindless chatter that you struggle to home in on, body still scrambled from your quick hook-up in the back. As usual, JJ doesn’t make much conversation. You like to think he prefers to observe and sit in a moment, though that feels strange considering how talkative he is around his friends. But if he didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be. More often than not it was JJ who sought you out and you were more than happy to be found. Reminding yourself of this, you spare him a glance - his eyes trained ahead on the road, a line set on his face for a mouth - and smile smally to yourself. 

John B’s house is a fishing shack on the marsh edge. There’s few lights on from outside at this hour of dusk. The two of you climb out and you follow JJ dumbly to the door, unsure whether to reach for his hand or not. He doesn’t knock. Walks right in as if it’s his home as well and hollers out for John B once he does. You linger in the doorway. 

John B rounds the corner and the two share a bro-style hug, falling into conversation as JJ hands over the keys. You keep your smile steady and hang back, and soon enough John B’s eyes fall on you. As they do, JJ gestures between the two of you. 

“Oh, right, uh,” he says before introducing the two of you. There’s no label prior to your name. Not even friend. You aren’t sure what to make of that and so you don’t make anything of it. You aren’t sure what to make of the look John B shoots to JJ either. Whatever it was, it doesn’t seem to sit well with JJ. He turns to you and wordlessly guides you out the house and onto the porch. The door swings closed. 

“So, uh, listen,” JJ says, glancing back inside briefly. “I’m gonna crash here for the night, yeah?”

“Oh,” you say. “Okay.”

JJ looks at you, briefly scanning up and down. His lips rub together. “So, uh, you’re good making your own way back right?”

“Oh,” you repeat, more stunned this time. 

“I mean, I can give you a ride if you need–”

“No, no, it’s, uh, all good,” you ramble. “It’s not even that late anyway. Or that far.”

“You sure? I mean, I really can if you need me to,” JJ says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I got it,” you smile, fighting back a wince as you do. “I’ll see you soon, right?”

“Yeah, course.” JJ finally seems to find his own smile, and you try to let it reassure you as it had before. You really do try. 

“Well, see you ‘round then,” you awkwardly say, heading down the porch steps.

You begin to walk up the drive and decide to take one last glance back as you do. It’s perfectly in time to see the shutter door close and hear JJ’s loud chatter with John B. When you round onto the road, the silence feels deafening. 

***

The gaps in yours and JJ’s interactions felt familiar now. That was just how you two worked. That’s to say, when he winds up at the restaurant you work at with his friends, you’re taken aback all the same. A smile comes to your features as quick as your heart is beating. You scoop up some menus before anybody else has a chance to and venture over to their table. 

“Hey guys,” you smile. 

JJ’s head darts up at the sound of your voice. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even look happy. If anything, he looks panicked. It feels as though the world tips slightly on its axis. 

You hand out the menus. “You guys need to know the specials today?”

“Yeah, please,” the girl smiles. You recognise her vaguely from school and JJ’s instagram. Kiara, you think her name is. She’s gorgeous: sunkissed and toned, her hair intertwined with tiny braids and wrists decorated with handmade bracelets. She sits in between JJ and John B. 

“We got a Thai chilli salmon today with grits and seasonal veggies, and sweet potato soup with garlic seasoning. Can I get y’all any drinks?”

“Waters would be great,” Kie replies.

You nod and try to catch JJ’s eye before leaving. He’s staring steady at the table. As you fill a jug full of water, you can’t help but glance at the table from time to time. Kiara excuses herself, heading towards the bathroom, and the tone completely shifts. John B grabs JJ by the shoulder and talks to him in a stern manner, though you can’t make out what they say. The other guy (Pope, you think his name might be) nods along emphatically to whatever John B is saying, and with all their attention taken up, you slowly make your way over with the water. 

“It’s fucked up JJ. You gotta tell her before she finds out–”

Pope must spot you in his peripheral vision as his eyes momentarily widen. 

“Water!” he loudly announces. 

John B and JJ quickly break apart. The blonde haired boy looks borderline sheepish as you place the jug down. An uneasy feeling sets in your gut. Kiara returns and joshes them for acting so strange. Nobody laughs and nobody talks. 

“Y’all ready to order?” you ask, pen and pad at the ready. 

“We’ll just do a large serving of your fries and some onion rings,” Kiara replies. 

You scribble it down and nod. You don’t bother trying to catch JJ’s attention this time. Mumbling out a thanks, you head back to the kitchen. Caitlin doesn’t ask questions when you ask her to take over the table for you. It hurts too much to have JJ act as though he doesn’t know you. It feels as though a bird has flown by and erased his memory; cleansed him of all past sins, including you. 

It's an understatement to say it catches you off guard when JJ lingers behind to talk to you after his friends leave. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the counter. 

“Hey.”

“I’m, uh, sorry ‘bout that, earlier,” he uselessly apologies. 

“It’s cool.”

“It’s just kinda complicated cause of…Well, you know…”

“Yeah, course,” you mumble, not having a clue what he was meaning. 

“So, yeah, I just think…I think maybe we should dial it back a bit,” JJ not-so-delicately says. 

Your brows tug together. “What are you talking about?”

“Just us. Y’know, this thing? I think it’s kinda run its course. Done what it needed to do and stuff, don’t you think?”

You stare at him a moment, completely baffled. It feels as though he’s spent the past month building you up, working you onto pedestals, only to tear them down from beneath you and watch you fall. You sort of hate yourself for not asking for more of an explanation. Instead, almost stupefied, you nod. 

“Yeah, uh, okay.”

JJ grins, bright and happy, seemingly pleased by the amicable conclusion. His knuckles rap lightly against the counter in farewell. 

“I’ll see you around then,” he says, already starting toward the door. You don’t even bother trying to reply. 

***

There are certain things on this earth that can soothe the soul. A warm blanket that has a smell which reminds you of childhood; the incessant, repetitive come and go of the ocean waves on a sandy beach; when the sunset hits just so and everything feels at peace. But the relaxing lap of the tide and the tangerine skyline does little to ease the rising concoction of emotions climbing up your throat. Some intoxicating combination of anger and jealousy and hurt - so much hurt - as your eyes settle in on JJ.

It shouldn’t surprise you all that much. He isn’t known for being loyal, or committed, or even present. JJ had a reputation that was hard to shake, and whilst some of it was thanks to his father, some of it was thanks to him. It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. Maybe it’s because of who he’s with. Maybe it’s because it’s Kiara who’s hanging on his arm, laughing at his jokes, leaning on him like you got to do for a handful of weeks. Maybe it’s because you know how long JJ and Kiara have been friends, and how this doesn’t feel meaningless. If anything, it feels the opposite. 

Those feelings fester inside of you. Bury deep in your stomach and poison your mood. Hurt of that kind does things to a girl. It makes them bitter and vengeful, and suddenly karma becomes your kink. You stand on the far side of the beach with your friends, tuned out of the conversation, gaze set on JJ. He must feel it. It isn’t exactly a stare, there is little malice in your eyes, but it’s steady-set like an eagle watching prey. When JJ glances over and meets your line of sight, you can’t seem to look away. You want to do something hurtful to him, something savage and cool, but you can't find it in yourself. All you can remember is how he smells: sandalwood and seawater and sunscreen.

Kiara presses a kiss to his cheek as she breaks off to grab a refill and you find yourself following her course. It shouldn’t bring you as much joy as it does knowing JJ can’t do anything but watch. 

The two of you arrive at the keg at the same time. She catches sight of you and smiles. Greets you and double checks your name, smiling moreso when she gets it right. 

“So, you and JJ, huh?” you lightly ask, filling your cup. 

This dopey smile flashes across her face as she glances over her shoulder to him. You feel sick and pray it doesn't show. “Yeah. It’s pretty new.”

“I’ll say,” you reply. Only last week, he had his head between my thighs. “He’s sweet though, right?”

“Yeah,” Kie chuckles, sort of rolling her eyes. “When he wants to be.”

As she fills up her cup, you look over her shoulder to JJ. He's watching the interaction like his life depends on it. Maybe it does. He gives a slight shake of his head. It’s subtle but it’s enough.

Kiara stands tall once more and you casually tap the rim of your cup against hers in a mock cheers, just as JJ had done to you a couple of weeks prior. She smiles at you. 

“We should hang out more, y’know,” she says to you, taking a swig of her drink. “You’d get along good with JJ, I bet.”

You just nod.

“Well, I better head back,” Kiara says in farewell. She wanders back to JJ. 

You stand steady and watch them reconnect. Watch how she wraps her arms around his shoulders and falls into conversation with John B. Watch how his arm stays steady held around her waist as she does: the quiet possessiveness and protectiveness that comes with such an action. It fills you with a confusing influx of emotions.

But you’ll never talk about it. Don't need to. It's pretty clear, here and now.

August was a placeholder for JJ. You were the ideal distraction from the girl he wanted the most. So blinded in your infatuation, so obvious in your obsession, that JJ could get his affection temporarily from another. But you don’t really have a basis to be angry, do you? After all, how can you lose something that was never truly yours. 

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: Hii can I request a jealous!max verstappen x reader where they’re secretly dating but the other drivers keep flirting with her lol (anonymous)

Word Count: 580 words

(author's note: first f1 fic, i hope you all enjoy !! 🫶)

When Max and Y/N finally started dating, Max requested one thing from his girlfriend; they kept their relationship private. Y/N had agreed immediately, understanding that life as an F1 driver’s girlfriend could become stressful at times.

However, Max began to regret his decision when he spotted Y/N and Charles talking animatedly outside the Ferrari garage. He stood watching from afar, grinding his teeth in annoyance.

“So Max is taking you to Bali? That’s nice,” Charles commented, smiling at the woman in front of him.

“Yes, he is! When he heard it’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to go, he booked the tickets immediately. We’re going together at the start of the off-season.”

“That is the most Max thing I’ve ever heard. I'm excited for you, though, Bali’s gorgeous.”

Y/N laughed, “You’re not wrong. Are you and Alexandra planning on going anywhere?”

“I think she mentioned wanting to go to France? I can’t remember off the top of my head, but we’re definitely thinking of going away.”

“That sounds lovely. Please do tell her I say hello.”

Max had decided he couldn’t take it any longer. He stormed over to Y/N and Charles and put on the fakest smile he could muster.

“Everything okay over here? You both seem to be having fun.”

“Hi Maxie, Charles was just telling me about his holiday plans with Alex!” Y/N said happily, turning round to look at her boyfriend.

“Yeah? Well, I think we’re needed in the garage, so we should probably get going. Wouldn’t want to keep Christian waiting.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later Charles, good luck with the race!”

“Bye Y/N, see you around,” Charles replied, waving goodbye.

Max began walking off in the direction of the Red Bull garage, with Y/N hot on his heels. When they finally arrived, Y/N turned to face Max.

“I know Christian didn’t need us Max, are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Max scratched the back of his head, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Maxie? You can tell me, I won’t laugh at you.”

“You talking to Charles made me a little jealous.”

“A little?” Y/N said, raising her eyebrow.

“Okay, a lot. I shouldn’t have pulled you away from him like that, I’m sorry, schatz.”

“It’s okay, lovie, just remember I'm yours and only yours.”

Max pulled Y/N into a grateful hug. He knew he could be irrational sometimes, but he was thankful that his girlfriend was always there to ground him and remind him that she loved him.

“I think,” Max started, “That I'd like to go public.”

“Are you sure, you know I don't mind either way, Maxie,” Y/N responded, looking up at her boyfriend.

“It might help if others know that you're mine. They should flirt with you less.”

Y/N slapped him gently on the chest, “They don't flirt with me Max, don't be ridiculous. It would be impossible for anyone to flirt with me when you're standing a metre away staring daggers at them.”

“I suppose, but I still want to tell everyone.”

“Okay then, whatever you want.”

Max pulled Y/N into another hug, “I'm sorry again for earlier.”

“It's okay, I know what you're like by now. You and your irrational thoughts.”

Max laughed, and the pair remained in each other's embrace for a while. Until Christian actually did need them both, and Max had to detangle himself from Y/N with a disappointed and discontented sigh.

[ctimenefic]

uhh sooo this needs fic for science (and me) pls could you oblige

always and forever my darling. thank you for this absolute treat of a photo set. you'll notice I basically didn't get past photo one, hope that's alright

“Can you do my back?”

George sounds fucked out; that’s the only reason Alex cracks open an eye, to check the sun and sea and sand haven’t decided to challenge him personally on making George William Russell achieve ultimate bliss. From his own lounger he can just about see George’s face smushed into the crook of his elbow, the corner of his mouth tipped up, and what is no doubt a pleading look unfortunately entirely concealed behind sunglasses. 

“Please,” he adds, and Alex can’t tell if he imagines eyelashes fluttering madly beyond the dark lenses. “I’ll get tan lines.”

“Just take your shorts off,” he grumbles back. He has; an artful grecian fold of towel is all that lies between him and cockburn. It’d been a faff to get it just so, and he’s at that itchy-good stage of his tanning, where sweat’s beading on his skin enough to make it feel tight and stretched, but not uncomfortable. A primitive pleasure. Not something to interrupt with the slime of factor five.

George hmphs into his arm. “It’s not a nudist beach.”

“It’s a private beach. On a private island.” Alex tries to sound annoyed, but it’s actually a fucking marvel that George’s inhibitions reset on a goldfish-like timer; it doesn’t seem to matter how many times Alex fucks him til he shouts on the sand, or sends him back to the villa glistening chin-to-chest with his own come, a few hours later it’s back to baseline, and Alex gets to make a spectacle out of him all over again.

“Aleex.” It’s always like that, stretched out just long enough to be noticed, but short enough to read like a typo, sound slurred and drunk and happy, like George just wants his name on his lips a little longer. And it’s always enough to work, Alex has to concede, as he scrabbles in George’s beach tote for the spray. 

“Alright princess,” Alex snarks, but even that can’t shift George’s smug expression. He straddles George’s thighs and over-spritzes til George’s back is gleaming wet with the stuff. It’s shiny, and smells faintly of cucumber; it makes him think of his sisters doing spa days at home, face masks and fluffy slippers. George might like that.

Another spritz for good measure and George huffs. “That’s expensive.”

“You’ll get another win bonus after the break,” Alex retorts, fond. He follows it up with a smooth press of both palms, right the way up George’s back, either side of his spine, and down his arms, and George melts under him. The cucumber scent darkens as it meets skin and sweat; Alex feels thirsty even as his mouth waters. He skims up the sides of George’s ribs next, even though George could obviously have reached there himself; lets the pads of his fingers linger in each hollow just a second. There’s not a part of George he hasn’t touched, but there are places he hasn’t memorised yet. It’s summer. They have time. 

When he glides his palms up to George’s neck, rubs the suncream with his fingertips right up to the base of his hairline, George shivers and stretches like a cat under him, pliant and satisfied, and it takes more of the weight of a bad half season off Alex’s shoulders than a dozen hours of sunbathing and swimming could. He presses his thumbs in at the top of George’s traps, revels in the open mouth moan he barely muffles against his arm. 

“Maybe I should take my shorts off after all,” George murmurs, smug - and there it is, there’s the fucking play. He wiggles a little, arse suddenly straining to escape his Hilfiger swim trunks.  

Alex swats his shoulder. “Hussy.” Just to be petty, he slides over George’s arse instead, wedges his knees against George’s ribs and lets some of his weight sit there against his mid-back. That’ll teach him not to ask for what he wants flat out. 

And then George shifts his arms - moves his head round, to give Alex a look, maybe, or just to get comfy - and his shoulders pull in. Just a fraction. Just enough to turn the long line of his spine into a gully between thick, strong muscle. Just enough to catch the head of Alex’s dick where it sat soft against one of his vertebrae, and squeeze.

George doesn’t even notice, that’s the thing. But Alex - Alex can see it, how fucking fast he’s getting hard at the feel, the look of it, the pink of him against the soft brown of George’s tan. He can imagine how it might-

No. No, that’s not- He’s heard of blowing someone’s back out, but it’s not literal, it’s an expression. It’s George last night, shiny eyed and weak all over, when Alex gave him fingers to suck and fed him ice cubes and mango slices and stayed inside him until he was hard again, because he could, because it’s summer and they have time. 

He’s not going fuck George’s back. He’s not. He’s- he can be normal about this. Even if it would be like when his ex-girlfriend would lie him flat on the floor, core tensed, and then run her pussy over his cock, slide back and forth until her thighs shook and she was dripping wet - actually dripping, fat drops he could hear hitting the skin of his stomach, his dick. Like that, but better, because it would be George stuck just taking it, feeling it, not even able to watch as Alex fucked up into the tight space between his shoulderblades.

He’s utterly hard now, dark and straining. A drop of precome appears. If he moved, it’d smear on George. He could rub it in. He could smear more. 

He could watch his come sluice down the whole long length of George’s spine, pool in the small of George’s back, or slide down to his arse, push it inside and fuck him there too, fuck every place he could be fucked until he was more inside George than out. 

He’d had an idle plan to finger George until he gaped for their last night on the island - not fisting, that was one of the words George couldn’t say, had blinked at rapidly when Alex had tried probably the world’s most ill-advised conversation on kink. But as close as he could get without George bolting. Four, and his mouth, until George cried, late enough into the night that he’d squirm on the jet home in the morning, empty and needy. Maybe then he’d finally let Alex fuck him mid-flight, whatever the pilot might hear. 

George shifts again, a tiny movement, but enough that Alex hisses at the change, the heat of a fresh centimetre of George’s skin under the head of him. Precome rolls down, splatters silently out of sight, in the gully of his spine. Alex closes his eyes for a breath.

“Georgie,” he starts. “Be a very good girl for me and stay still.”

[euphoricfilter]

For the drabble game could you write fluff with youtuber bf jk ? I am not creative so I couldn’t think of a sentence sorry😭 but maybe he does one of those 24hr streams, I love your writing!

youtuber boyfriend! kook headcanons:

tags/ warnings: none. just a lot of fluff and feelings <3

notes: when i got sent this idea ages ago i got so excited. and i wrote three fics for it but hated them all and then made sure they were to never see the light of day. so my solution is to write some cute boyfriend headcanons instead to make up for it!! simply because i absolutely love this idea and i need to write anything for it to sate the need within me.

notes 2: this got slightly longer than i’d intended LMAO sorry 🕺

𓇻 i feel like jungkook’s channel has a plethora of videos, though he specializes in gaming.

𓇻 its probably one of his biggest passions. though i do see him dabbling in commentary, or even review type videos. maybe he’s a bit of a collector as well and goes on hour long rants about rare items or hauls of what he purchased over the years.

𓇻 i see the both of you probably meeting at one of those second-hand game and film stores.

𓇻 maybe you’re just milling around. more content to browse the movies than the games because you only own an old console (something cute like a nintendo DS) but they don’t really sell the game cards commercially anymore

𓇻 and jungkook loses track of why he was even there in the first place when he spots you. slowly scooting towards the corner you’re in.

𓇻 jungkook might not exactly believe in love at first sight, finds it a little hard to imagine loving someone so soon. but he definitely believes in destiny, even fate. and some small part of his mind had convinced him that surely this was just that.

𓇻 he’d be a bit shy about trying to approach you, mouth opening only for nothing to come out because what was he supposed to say? and maybe he accidentally startles you, offering to pay for the few dvds you had hugged to your chest as a lame sort of compensation

𓇻 he’d be the one to ask for your number, he’d be the first to text. you’d tell him later on it’s because you didn’t want to come off too head-strong. worried you’d scare him off messaging only hours after meeting. and then he’d tell you he had worried about the same thing

𓇻 jungkook wouldn’t straight out tell his audience he’d gotten into a relationship. it’s not that he was embarrassed about you, quite the opposite; he’d love to flaunt you to the world. it’s just he’d worry about the reaction from fans.

𓇻 he’d have a pretty hefty audience, a well established one even. and he wasn’t blind to the mean comments that would occasionally show up beneath videos or social media posts. he, himself, never found much issue in dealing with them, on occasion he’d get a little down but he knew that really he put himself up for this. he chose to show his face online, and with that would come some backlash. however, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about you or how shitty comments would effect your well being.

𓇻 definitely the “in a relationship but it’s private” sort of photos would slowly creep their way onto his IG posts. maybe of little date nights— candles on the table with a dinner you’d cooked together (2 glasses, 2 plates and 2 sets of cutlery), or your favorite cake he’d tried to bake himself with the lego flowers he’d spent the previous evening trying to make (because at least you could look at the lego ones forever and they wouldn’t die). or maybe even your hand snuck in a photo or simply your silhouette beneath a sunset.

𓇻 maybe a few of your own collectible items had made their way onto the shelf in his studio. an obvious beanbag in the corner (you’d often sit there and read as he went through emails or scripted videos). valentines cards that he’d never thought to take down, or posters of yours that never exactly fit in the bedroom

𓇻 it would become apparent that he was in a long-term relationship when he’d film a moving video. so much of your stuff mingled with his own, split seconds of the shared rooms he’d add to the video before showing his audience his new office space. the extra shoes and cute little additions to his home; soft cushions on the couch, ceramics you’d begged him to buy. your hoard of plushies that took up half the bed or the stupid amount of skin care products stacked up in the bathroom. all a sure way of telling his fans that he was serious about you, even if they had no idea of your name or face

𓇻 maybe with enough comments he’d make a little announcement at the end of a video.

𓇻 “i know you’ve all probably guessed by now, but i am in fact, in a relationship”

𓇻 and then proceeded to talk about you for 7 minutes because really he wanted everyone to know how much he loved you. and truthfully he never knew when to shut up when it came to you, not when you were what’s on his mind most of the time. he’d tell them how you’d met, and how he had been absolutely enamored by you almost instantly. he’d show everyone the matching bracelets you’d made. grinning as he showed off the receipt he’d kept in his wallet from your first date together at a small cafe in town, mentioning how he kept a baby photo of you in the back of his phone too.

𓇻 the first time you’d show up in a video, he’d plan for the both of you to do some crafts together one afternoon. a hobby you’d been trying over the last couple of weeks, and jungkook liked to indulge you. loved to watch you sprawled across the floor of an evening with glue coating your fingers and way too much glitter imbedded in the carpet.

𓇻 he’d have been worried at first. asking you over and over if it was truly okay for you to be on camera, and after your reassured him with a kiss, he’d settle down slightly. though his anxiety had still clung to him, eyes flitting your way throughout the afternoon

𓇻 he could tell how shy you’d been, and had reassured you that really you didn’t even need to address the audience. he’d do all the silly little things you giggled at him for. and all you had to do was sit there and be pretty for him. you’d been a lot quieter than usual; itching to give him a kiss each time he was just so awfully jungkook. eyes like those of galaxies when he got something right, or the happiest smile on his face when you asked him for help

𓇻 the day he did a 24 hour charity stream would be when his audience sees you the most. milling around the house, making sure your boyfriend was fed and watered. maybe even sitting down and reading the chat when he wanted to shower. or answering questions while perched on his lap. he’d want to smother you with even more love when you’d catch his eye— a silent question if you were doing okay, that you answered all the questions correct. and he’d squeeze your thigh in reassurance, head resting over your shoulder as he listened to your voice, humming to let you know he was still listening

𓇻 you’d startle him at 4am, a little pouty that you’d had to fall asleep alone. dragging a chair from the kitchen to sit on as you watch him play a game you’d never seen before.

𓇻 “go back to bed, baby” he’d coo, “you’ll fall asleep sitting up and get a bad back”

𓇻 and maybe after that he’s a lot more open to showing you on camera. filming you on beaches, eating cakes and ice creams from a million different restaurants or dancing around hotel rooms or sitting on the balcony with the sun warming your skin when he takes you on holiday. short films dedicated to you with your favorite songs playing in the background

𓇻 maybe he even makes a playlist on his youtube channel, titled “my love” for every video that he includes you in

𓇻 idk just very much in love boyfriend kook who wants the world to love you almost as much as he does (because in all honesty, no one would ever love you more than he does)

[awkward-walking-potato]

An Easy Fix

It's a cool autumn evening when your car decides to break down in the middle of nowhere. The engine sputters, coughs, and then gives out entirely. You curse under your breath, pulling over to the side of the road. It’s getting dark, and the last thing you want is to be stranded here overnight.

After a few minutes of trying to get the car to start again, you give up. With a sigh, you grab your jacket, step out of the car, and start walking down the road. Not far ahead, you notice a large, looming structure in the distance. As you get closer, you realize it’s an impressive, mansion-like building. There's a sign out front that reads "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

The place seems both welcoming and mysterious, but right now, it’s your best bet. You approach the entrance and ring the bell. After a moment, the door opens, and you’re greeted by a tall, muscular man with red-tinted glasses.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice calm but commanding.

"Yeah, my car broke down a little way back," you explain. "I was hoping someone here could help me out. I didn’t know there was a school in the area."

The man nods, considering your situation for a moment before introducing himself. "I'm Scott Summers. I can take a look at your car. Wait here."

A few minutes later, Scott comes out with a toolbox in hand. You lead him to your car, and he gets to work, carefully inspecting the engine. As he does, you find yourself watching him more than anything else. There's something magnetic about him, the way he moves, the quiet confidence in his actions.

"Looks like a simple fix," he finally says, pulling out a few tools. "You should be back on the road in no time."

"Thank you so much," you reply, genuinely grateful. "I wasn’t sure what I was going to do."

"No problem," Scott responds, glancing up at you. "It's what I do."

As he finishes up, the two of you make small talk. You learn a bit about the school, and he explains that it’s a place for students with unique abilities. The more you talk, the more you feel a connection growing between the two of you. There's an intensity in his gaze, even through those red glasses, that makes your heart race a little faster.

Finally, the car is fixed. You thank him again, but as you’re about to get in and drive off, you hesitate. You don’t want to leave just yet. There's something unspoken lingering in the air between you.

"Listen," he says, his voice a little unsteady. "I know this might sound crazy, but… would you want to come back to the school with me? I could show you around, maybe we could… talk some more?"

You pauses, considering his offer. Then nod slowly. "Yeah,I’d like that."

Back at the school, Scott gives you a brief tour, but it’s clear that neither of you is really focused on the history of the building or the curriculum. The tension between you is almost palpable. When you reach a more secluded area of the mansion, Scott stops walking, turning to face you fully.

"There's something about you," he says quietly, his gaze intense. "Something that… draws me in."

You take a step closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I feel the same way."

Before either of you can say anything else, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his. The kiss is electric, filled with all the pent-up tension from the evening. Scott wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

One thing leads to another, and soon you find yourselves in one of the more private rooms of the mansion. The rest of the world fades away as you lose yourselves in each other, the connection you felt earlier blossoming into something intense, something undeniable.

Afterward, you lie together in the quiet, the only sound your breathing as you both come down from the high of the moment. Scott’s hand gently strokes your hair as you rest against him.

"I guess I owe you more than just a thank you," you murmur, a smile tugging at your lips.

Scott chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I think we’re even."

[neetily]

↳ EVENT 20. M!Alex DOL (Breeding & Jealousy Sex)

— ✧ warnings: Breeding, Fluff, Fluffy, Established Relationship, pregnancy ment, very vague mention of typical DOL trauma — ✧ word count: 4,642 — ✧ genre: smut (18+)

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

After a strong urging for you to take a much needed break in the midst of moving into the old farmhouse, boxes piling up as high as they can possibly fit—honestly, he's got no idea how you could have packed so many items from what sounded like a relatively small room back at the orphanage—he takes the opportunity to sift through your belongings for you. Not in a snooping way! He'd just like to help you as much as possible, seeking your consent before even opening a new box. Once you nod at him though, he gives you a hefty pat on the back to help scurry you away for some relaxation, his voice cheery and loud despite the tiredness that rests in his bones from already helping you lift everything up the stairs. "Don't worry, by the time you're done chilling I'll have most of this done for you!"

And he means it, because he wants to be dependable. Wants so desperately to be someone you can rely on, who you can seek strength and stability from— in all senses of the word. But right now, he means physical strength. Making sure you're settled enough in the kitchen with a nice cool glass of lemonade before he heads back up stairs, eager to get the bulk of the unpacking done tonight so that the farm feels just as much of your space as it is his. Seeking to drench you in as much of married life as possible, even if he's yet to propose. It's just, well... He can't imagine sharing the farm with anyone but you. Pretty little you, God, even just the thought of calling you his wife genuinely fills his chest with butterflies. But a princess needs a throne, and he's eager to situate you on his bed by the time night falls.

Which means doing the dreaded unpacking. Better him than you, he thinks. You can rely on him for whatever, okay? Even something as simple as picking items up and placing them down; he'd do just about anything for you.

"All right," He lets out a loud sigh, tightening the belt looped around his ratty old trousers to show the room itself he means business. Ain't no one, and no thing, gonna stand in the way of the love of his life enjoying her time in the farmhouse, even the messy room created by your overabundance of things. "Time to get to work."

And he's quick with it too, all those days training in the barn, tending the fields, carrying and counting inventory; it's all lead up to this moment. Unknowingly training to move his love into his room, the shared space quickly becoming more and more your own with how much he pulls from the boxes, the thought of which causes his chest to tighten with adoration. A dumb smile plastered on his face as he finds and looks through a small photo album. He's not sure if he was the intended audience, but he takes the private opportunity regardless. Wouldn't you? A secret glimpse into your life before him, soft little aww's and quiet little laughs shared only between himself and the precious versions of you in the album. It's nice getting to see this side of you, learning all about what sort of memories you hold close enough to your heart to add to the book. His thumb smooths over a couple of really endearing photos of you— particularly when you were younger. He can only hope to be added to your collection some day in the future, his cheeks heating up at the mere thought.

Carefully, he places the book into your bedside cabinet for safe keeping. Intending on talking to you about all of the pictures later on tonight, whether they embarrass you or not. You were a cute kid, too. In the meantime though, he keeps sifting through your boxes to find and place more sentimental items.

And, oh! There's another album. A bit bigger, and a whole lot fuller than the other one. Giddy with excitement to explore more of you, he tenderly picks it up to flip through. Except, what he doesn't expect is the contents of this album, thought it'd be difficult to describe his feelings as anything resembling disappointment.

"Oh, wow." He gasps to himself, marvelling at the professional quality of the images in this album; almost as if you had them done at a studio or the likes. His curiosity piqued, he continues to flip. One after the other, his skin slowly prickling with heat the further he progresses.

With each new page, another item of clothing seems to disappear from your body. A sickly feeling bubbling away in his tummy, like a car crash. It feels bad to continue looking, like he's found something he really shouldn't have, but he just can't stop. A shake in his hands present as he turns page after page, his heart sinking at the sight of you eventually stark naked in photographic form. An evidence trail of your life before him, God, fuck, he knows he shouldn't be feeling so sick to his stomach but he can't fucking help it.

You're just so pretty in the photos, posing perfectly, like a practiced model would. Fuck, you should have told him you had these photos done, even if only to satiate his own perverted curiosity. Cock tenting in his tight jeans, regret mixing with the jealousy in his tummy from tightening his belt earlier. The more he stares, and the more he flips, the bigger his bulge grows. Not just because of how pretty you look, but because he's envious. Red with selfish resentment— not at you, God, never would he be mad at you for something like this. But at everyone else? Fuck, of course he's upset! Angered at the mere idea of anyone else seeing you look so pretty and exposed, and more than likely not appreciating you for how precious you are. Sick with worry over whether you had intended on him seeing the pictures or not, and then even more troubled at the prospect of these images being the product of coercion; he's not forgotten about all of those horrible stories you told him of your life before the farm, his heart hurting for you even now as he recalls the shared tears late at night.

He feels a lot of things, really. Jealousy mixing with lust mixing with worry mixing with fear. He's so... So in love with you that he just wants to make sure you're okay, yeah. That's all. Tossing the album to the side unlike how delicately he treated the previous photos, and swiftly undoing his belt buckle, adjusting his half hard cock up to rest at his waistband for now. Hard on aside, he stomps down the old creaky stairs with his cheeks ablaze, tunnelling straight to the kitchen where your pretty face is illuminated by the golden hour sun.

Shit, he's immediately out of breath. The sight of you tilting your head back at him so curiously like that is so cute, and for a moment he forgets all about his worries in favour of simply watching you, looking at you with hearts in his eyes as if you were the sun itself. You've got no idea—no matter how often he tries to show you—just how much he loves you. How a single glance from you is all it takes to have his cock twitching in his pants out of sheer love, greedy with how much he desires you, to make you feel okay, to place a balm over those old wounds you've shared with him by pulling you into a tight unprompted hug.

"A-Alex—! What's gotten into you?" You giggle all cute and shit as you gently wrap your arms around his neck in reciprocation and it's probably his most favourite sound in the whole wide world. So soft and light, a reminder that there is good yet on this awful Earth.

He takes a moment before replying. Keeping his hips away from your tummy in fear of ruining the soft moment with his unfortunately hardening cock; he just loves you a whole lot, okay? Too busy tightening his arms around you, squeezing your body against his own, arching over you to inadvertently press your head right against his chest. "I uh... Found your lil modelling portfolio upstairs and—" Well, there isn't an and. Or, there is, but there are too many of them. Various questions swirling in his occupied mind, he can't decide which one to settle on first, leaving dead air between two bodies that he resolves simply by inhaling your scent. A soothing balm to his anxious mind.

You're the first to actually break the silence. "Oh, I see... They're nice pics, right?"

"Too fuckin' right they are," He laughs above you, squeezing you once more before letting go, only so that he can easily lift you up in the air and place you gently down on the kitchen counter; the sun hitting your face in such a sweet fashion that he's almost pouty about it. "So fuckin' pretty, God... Can't believe yer all mine now." He huffs, knitting his brows together out of unadulterated frustration for how attractive he finds you. It's a bit of a nuisance, especially as his cock presses heavy against the edge of the counter, made worse only by the way your legs innately hook around his waist like he was home, pulling him closer so that he's in reach to lightly rub his nose against yours.

The way you're acting almost unbothered in response to his prompting just about calms his racing mind and heart completely, a large hand coming around to wrap securely at your back, the other playing with stray strands of your hair between his thumb and forefinger. It's difficult to ignore just how hard he's getting, not only from the close proximity he's sharing with you right now, but because he feels this primal urge to prove his worth. A deeply buried nature of his to be on top, secure his position by your side by any means possible. Dumb caveman brain convinced he has to show you exactly that with his cock, which he'll get to, he just has to completely settle the score first.

"Were they... Y'know, consensual?" He whispers, afraid that if he were to ask any louder then the worst could come true. His grip on you is equally as careful, unwanting to damage you during such a vulnerable conversation.

And the brief pause you offer him before replying, simply blinking at his intense gaze, fills him with even more worry. Though it's easily and promptly forgotten about the moment you open your pretty lips again. "Oh, yeah! I just needed a bit of extra cash and— Alex... I hope you aren't upset about them?"

No, fuck, he didn't mean to worry you in return! Doing his best to rectify his misgivings by offering you a quick peck on the lips, worsening his already swollen and twitchy cock that just begs for release, now that he knows that you weren't at all tricked into revealing your pretty body. Your comfort is his top priority, first and foremost. Cock be damned.

"No it's— I don't mind, I get it." He swiftly reassures you, making a point to rub soothing circles against your lower back. The world is a scary place, and he'd never shame you for whatever you had to do to survive, y'know? "It's just... I mean, I dunno, fuck," He sighs, frustrated with his inability to verbalise his feelings accurately, all his wants and wishes getting tangled up due to the lack of blood circulating his brain. S'your fault, he muses to himself. If his cock wasn't so hard, he's sure he'd be able to articulate exactly why he's feeling so conflicted right now, pressing his erection against the counter edge to seek some release.

He exhales, and he tries again.

"Y'should take some just fr'me next time. Can't believe the whole town got t'see ya like that before me." All huffy and pouty sounding, resting his forehead against your own when you laugh sweetly at him again. He knows he's acting childish, but when it comes to you, he can't seem to help himself from acting so petulantly. Doesn't the universe understand who you belong to?

A low hum breathed against his lips pulls him back from his indulgent thoughts, your tone genuine and sincere when you regard him. "... Are you jealous, Alex?"

His back straightens at your accurate assumption. "Sure am! You got no idea, babe," playful paws tug at your top, an indication of want, or need? He settles on the latter, given how hard his cock throbs for you when you smile gently back at him, like you understand his plight. "Wanna show everyone that yer mine now. S'at okay?"

"Course it is, whatever you'd like."

With your blessing, he decides to immediately indulge. Maybe a little too much to your liking, keeping his idea of claim a secret for now as he eagerly paws at you. Not out of a genuine attempt to withhold information, but rather, he's far too focused on the pretty girl right in front of him to even think about spilling all of his thoughts. Too busy unbuttoning his pants and swiftly throwing his shirt to the side, prompting your legs to reattach to his hips once he's helped you undress your lower half too.

But when you move to take off your shirt too, he stops you. Tense fist wrapped a bit too tightly around your wrist in his utter urgency to stop you.

"Keep it on. Y'look so nice right now, the way the sun is hittin' ya?" He wolf whistles, a boyish smirk plastered on his face when you shy away from his affections, instinctively closing the remaining gap between two bodies only to feel his already drooling tip press between your folds. Accidentally, at first. And then more purposefully when you don't pull away, his ego stroked tremendously when you cling to his neck once again, seeking comfort in the form of his upright, clenched, toned body; just how he likes. Rely on me, he begs of you with a slow push of his hips forward, gasping openly at how sweet you sound when his tip rocks lightly against your clit. Need me, he implores when he settles his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, grasping on to it for dear life as he resolves to a simple back and forth. Slow enough to relieve some of the built up tension in his body, to ease the ache of jealousy coursing through him, aiding his lewd actions; but also slow enough to tease you. To get your nails digging into his back out of sheer desperation to see how far he can go, how jealous can he get?

You'll see. Fuck, you'll see soon enough, cause he's so hard. Can you feel how he throbs against your puffy clit? Dripping jealousy from his tip, fat beads of precum trailing down your pretty little slit as a confession of love. See how much I spill for you? he asks with every hump, pace increasing minimally with every thrust. A promise for more, his mind full of nothing but love for you. Or, maybe horny love suits better. A man dumb with it, peering down at you with a half lidded gaze and drooling all over your cunt with affection. From his point of view, he can see down your shirt too. Salivating at the sight of your hidden tits, raising one hand up just to play with em. A light squeeze here, a full grab there.

"What, um... What are you planning on— Oh—" His tip catches on your hole, effectively shutting you up for a second or two as he continues to rock against you. Not inside yet, just taunting you from above, teasing his fat tip in circles around your hole until you finish your words.

He only wishes the world was here with him to witness how easily you fall apart on his cock. How well he treats you, cooing down at you with only the utmost amount of love and affection. Doting on you like he's never been in love before, pecking your forehead as a reminder to continue in spite of the cock between your legs and the hand on your tits.

You gulp before replying, and he takes it as thanks for making you feel so good. Good enough to distract you from your train of though, even if only momentarily. "What are you planning on doing, Alex?"

To show the world who you belong to? Well, he thinks to himself. There's really only one way to completely claim you, isn't there? A knowing smirk making its way to his lips, quickly turned into an open mouthed moan at the way you angle your hips against his tip; a silent plea for more. And who is he to deny his future wife anything that she wants? Helping you into position with big strong hands, keeping you pinned on top of the counter and dipping his hips down, only pushing them up and forward when he's sure he's got your attention on him for the big reveal. "Just—" He pushes forward a little more, sinking into the feeling of your cunt accepting his tip by dropping his forehead to your shoulder, moving the groping hand on your tit to the small of your back to help pull you closer to him, to meet his hips. "Gonna knock y'up, 'kay? That way," He stops mid sentence again, spurred on to hold his breath by the extra tight squeeze of your cunt upon hearing his words; pretty pussy likes that idea, doesn't she? Stretching you out with his words, cock pulsing against your squishy insides with the promise of breeding you so full that there's no way anyone would not know that you were taken. That the pretty girl they must have seen all over town, pictured on billboards, magazines, wherever the fuck your images were used, is not single, but a loving, gorgeous, beloved mother. Pinned down to his used kitchen counter, panting heavily against his bare chest, angling her hips towards him until he finally gives her all of his cock and she's flush to his own body. That's who you are, aren't you?

"That way, nobody will touch y'ever again." He finally finishes his sentence now that he's buried balls deep into your little cunt, humming lowly to himself from how soft and warm it is inside of you, how your walls thrum along his length with pleasure. Pretty girl, you're always so good to him, you'll let him show his love for you in the most permanent way possible, won't you? A little breeding, just a smidge, really. Heavy breeder balls taut between his legs as he warms his cock inside of you, inhaling sharp and deep through his nose due to how annoyingly good it feels to just rest his cock inside your cunt. Little hole twitching around him, insides squirming as if begging for him to continue.

And so he does; slowly. A lazy draw of his hips back, a gentle push of them forward again, really making you feel every single inch his cock has to offer your perfect angel cunt. A sigh escapes him in return, partly due to how in love he is just rocking into you like this, how completely adorable you look when shivering on the countertop before him, the feeling of your thighs shaking around his fit waist coaxing more precum out to coat your insides sticky. But also, sighing because he's so happy. For once, a lazy afternoon is spent nicely. "Pretty little things like you have t'be knocked up, y'see," He elaborates, flashing you a signature smile to allude to his joking intent. Though, his smile is quickly wiped off his face and replaced with a more serious furrow of his brows when you pout so prettily up at him, bottom lip quivering from how fat his cock is; splitting you in two, is he?

"Otherwise—" He thrusts, hard. A full length fuck inside of your tiny little hole so that you're forced to accommodate his size, the resulting high pitched whine you let out from the unfair entry leaves him more than a little breathless. Gasping for air, wanting so badly to prove himself not just to you, but to the whole fucking world that he's worth you. He's worth all of your love and attention, above all and anyone else. And that starts by impregnating you, right? I mean, it makes sense in his lust addled mind right now, looking down between your legs only to get hypnotised by the sight of his big cock disappearing into such a little space over and over again. "Others might get the wrong idea, right? That yer free, and I wont let that happen t'ya ever again. Promise, fuck— Keep, keep squeezin' me like that 'n I won't last long, babe."

Your hands scratch and tug on his skin, grasping for any semblance of stability as he pounds you into the counter, fast fucks that have your body rocking back and forth with him. "Can't—" You whine pitifully, but you sound oh so cute when you can't help but express enjoyment for his rough fucking, both hands planted firmly on your ass to lift you mid air a little, allowing him an easier leverage to fuck you as fast as he wants to now. "Can't help it, Alex— Ah! You feel so good—" Absolute need present in his touch given your ego stroking words, how greedy he is with fistfuls of your ass, desperately leaning closer to you just so that he can shove his tongue into your open moaning mouth and suckle on your tongue. Dripping saliva for you to swallow as much as he sucks all of yours down his throat. Greedy with his thrusts, hammering his hips into you at such a speed that he even feels a little dizzy with it, but he can't seem to stop himself from humping forward again and again when your angel cunt sucks his cock off so well, fuck.

You've ruined him, truthfully. His heart happy at the thought of being not only your husband, but the father of your future child. Knowing that you think he's an acceptable enough partner to care for your child turns him on so much, it's a little silly. Has him moaning loud against your lips and drooling precum about as much as he drools over your tits. Sloppy with his kiss and his fucks, his hips stuttering into you when you pull away from his face just to pull his body closer.

Can you feel how hard his heart beats for you when you snuggle your face against his chest? Feel the tacky sweat coating his skin, the amount of effort he's putting into pounding you in the kitchen is proof of how much he loves you, y'know? Perhaps a bit too possessively so, seeing as when he lifts you higher to instead place you gently down onto the much more suitable cock height table, he's still fucking into you with each step he makes towards the old thing, like he can't even fathom the thought of giving you a slight break from his heavy balls slapping against your ass with the promise of seed.

But you look so cute under him like that, his hands at either side of you mussed up hair, taking in the sight of your heaving chest with an almost pained expression himself. It only takes a single look down at your hole, a ring of cream marking his cock as if it were your own claim, for him to start thumbing away at your pretty neglected clit. So glossy and shiny for him, the feeling of your slick gushing out with every frantic fuck he gives your hole causing his head to be thrown back momentarily; he can't keep his eyes off of you for too long.

"Gonna be such a good mom, I jus' know it." He slurs above you, voice strained from how fast he fucks, barely able to catch his breath enough in time to dote on you some more. "Even better wife, if y'ask me—" A smile breaks out on his face, borne out of how well your tight little cunt attempts to milk him already, as if asking: please!

But, to show just how serious he is about reminding the town of who you belong to, he indulges you first. Flicks his thumb over your swollen clit with purpose, still yet fucking into you, but with imprecise thrusts. Too fixated on how your back seems to arch every time his thumb circles your clit, aided by the copious amounts of slick you drip onto his cock. Dipping his hand down to collect some more before returning back to your sensitive spot, pressing down a little more firmly until he feels that tell tale quiver of your insides.

Still hammering his hips into you, helping you remain in place as his thrusts threaten to fuck you off the table, loud with how hard his body smacks against your own, he encourages you. "C'mon," He leers at you, sending you a lopsided smirk at the way you writhe and wail for release. You're so close, he can tell. "Go an' cum on my cock, it's okay."

And to show just how much you accept his affections, to reply with yes, you've proven yourself worthy, he watches with dirty intent and narrow eyes as you do exactly that. Convulsing around his fat cock to beg for his seed, your hands on his own to coax his orgasm out, the tender domestic nature of your touch as you cream his cock goes right through him, straight down to his taut balls before he even has a chance to warn you of how close he is. Simply folding in on himself, pressing his toned chest against your smaller body as he rocks his hips into you with milking purpose. Moaning a cry of your name, pressing his lips against your cheeks, neck, lips, fuck; wherever he can reach, really. Babbling nonsense praise at you as he idly fucks himself empty into your abused hole, bullying his fat load as deep as possible in hopes of impregnating you on the first fuck.

Though, now that he's gaining a bit more clarity to be able to think about the ramifications of that, having to fuck you several times until his seed takes root doesn't sound too bad, actually. Breathing heavily against your face when he holds himself up to take in the sight of how ruined his future wife looks when full of cum. To the brim too, some of it seeping out around his cock from how fat he still is, still giving you miniscule little humps as he comes down from such a powerful high.

"You uh— I mean, fuck," He laughs above you, the dumb dopey smile you flash him has him a little awestruck, if he's honest. His fingertips just itching to squish your chubby little cheeks for eternity so that he can always place kisses upon such a cute expression. "I meant it, jus' so y'know. Wanna make ya a mommy."

"I know, Alex."

Three words. Quite simple, really. But they're all it takes for him to know that he's found his future wife for real, and that he need not worry about the town ever again. And as such, neither will you. Not while he's still by your side.

[someone-wrote-here21]

Giyuu relationship headcanons

My headcanons for what it might be like for a relationship with Giyuu.

Posted on ao3 in my Demon Slayer Oneshots/Headcannons book!

Requests are always open/welcomed!

Enjoy :)

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•Giyuu is a very quiet, private person so its no surprise that he isn't a big fan of PDA.

•How ever, he will hold your hand when you go out together and sometimes give you quick pecks on your lips, cheek or forehead when he knows no one is looking.

•But when you're alone together in the comfort of your home its a whole different story.

•He loves to have some sort of physical contact with you most of the time. Sitting down reading reading a book? His heads in your lap with you petting his hair. Cooking a meal for the both of you? He's either helping or he's hugging you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder.

• I bet sometimes if it's a slow morning or if he is really tired after a long day? Giyuu would let you do his hair. I think he'd really love just the sensation of have your hands run through his hair, even if he doesn't say it. It helps him relax and calm him down, especially if he gets in his own head with worries.

• If you're a civilian, every night he'll stop by your house after his patrol of his prefecture just to make sure that you're alright.

• If you're hashira like him then he trusts in your abilities as a demon slayer to protect yourself, but will still worry since he doesn't want to loose you to demons like he's lost others in the past.

• I don't see him as someone who says verbally that he loves you a lot. I think most of the time he will show it with his actions rather than words. But if you really want or need to hear him say it or if he feels that his actions aren't enough, he will tell you out loud.

• I think for a confession it would be spontaneous. I feel like he'd be very anxious to tell you, especially since everyone that he has been close to in the past has died, but I think he would confess one day on accident.

• It'll happen either one night when you are patching him up from one of his missions or when you two are out walking or something. The light would just hit your face with such elegance and beauty that he would just blank out for a minute in awe, all his worries flying out the window and just say, "I love you...." quietly but but with no hesitation.

• He'd then get so embarrassed later but also kinda relieved he got it off of his chest and that you feel the same way. (please tell him you feel the same way, it'd break his heart if you didn't T-T)

[sav-not-tav]

Okay but what about Rolan having a crush on Tav but he wants to figure out if they would ever be interested in him so he cast a spell to make him look like someone else to dig up information (I think he would embarrassedly as the companion and they would be on board)

But, turns out Tav clocked it was Rolan by things that he does and decides to mess with him. (Tav likes him but he should be messed with for being sneaky)

Thoughts?

Oh, anon. This popped up on my phone while I was in the mountains and did not have enough signal to respond—so I have been stewing on it nonstop since then.

asdhbfzgld I love this. Rolan is definitely the type to try to be sneaky about his feelings and use magic to get his way. I also think he'd be so tunnel-visioned with his goal that he'd forget to ask the right questions or learn even the tiniest bits of context, such as if the companion he transforms into is already in a relationship ;)

I was so excited to answer this one! Ugh, what a cute prompt. This one got long.

Rolan’s nerves are on edge. After the fall of the Netherbrain, the city had been wrought with chaos, and he has not seen Tav since before the final battle. Now, a tenday later, the "Heroes of the Gate" have decided to celebrate their victory at the Elfsong Tavern. Rolan only knows due to Lakrissa sharing the details of the impending event with Lia. Though he feels a pang of disappointment at not receiving an invite, it seems the perfect opportunity for him to finally learn if Tav harbors any feelings for him. His crush has lingered since the events at Last Light Inn, only growing after they dealt with Lorroakan. He simply can’t bear the uncertainty any longer.

After an awkward conversation with Gale, who was surprisingly supportive, Rolan began working on tweaks to the Disguise Self spell. After many days of nonstop effort, Rolan finally successfully adjusts the spell to allow him control over how the transformation looks. The familiar form of Gale takes over his own in the mirror, and he practices Gale’s mannerisms, determined to pull off the deception.

Entering the bustling tavern, Rolan spots Tav by the bar. Taking a deep breath, he approaches with what he hopes is Gale’s calm, thoughtful demeanor. “Tav, may I have a word?”

Tav looks up with a friendly smile. “Of course, Gale. What’s on your mind?”

Sat in a private booth in the corner of the Elfsong, he manages polite conversation, dodging questions about the other companions he has had no way of answering. Tav asks about Tara’s whereabouts and Shadowheart’s health, and Rolan deflects with vague comments and nods, trying to maintain Gale’s composed exterior. After a believable amount of small talk, Rolan starts with subtle probing.

“That Rolan was a great help at the final battle. Have you spoken with him at all since then? I do wonder if we'll see him this evening.”

Tav’s responses are thoughtful, but their lips hold a playful twitch at the corners. “Rolan? Oh, yes. Very helpful." They lean in slightly, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Hmm. Maybe he’ll turn up eventually... he’s been quite busy, I'm sure.”

Rolan feels a growing unease, sensing they know something is off but not letting on. The way Tav’s gaze lingers on him makes his pulse quicken. Just as he is about to steer the conversation back to safer ground, suddenly too nervous to go through with his plans, Tav’s demeanor shifts.

“Gale, you seem different tonight. Nervous, almost. More... attentive.” Tav’s voice takes on a teasing lilt, their eyes narrowing playfully. “You wouldn’t happen to be hiding something, would you?”

Rolan’s heart pounds and he finds himself unable to summon a response. He simply laughs off the accusation, folding his arms across his chest defensively. Then Tav starts flirting outright. They lean closer, their smile turning mischievous. “You know, Gale, if you keep showing me this extra attention... I might begin to think you have a crush on me.”

Rolan’s mind races as his heart pounds. “A crush? Of course not,” he stammers nervously, feeling his cheeks burn.

Tav’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Oh, no? A shame, then...” They pout teasingly, their playful demeanor making Rolan’s stomach ache. As they reach under the booth and place a hand atop his knee, he feels suddenly both giddy and sick.

The teasing and flirtatious comments directed at "Gale" make Rolan's heart sink. Is Tav interested in Gale? How has he not realized that after all this time? He tries to keep his composure, but his discomfort grows with each passing second. Tav’s laughter, though light and pleasant, feels like a dagger twisting in his chest.

Feeling misunderstood and heartbroken, Rolan makes an excuse and leaves the Elfsong Tavern early. “I just remembered I have something to attend to. Please, excuse me.” He hurries out, his heart heavy with disappointment and confusion, convinced he has misread everything and that Tav’s affections lay elsewhere. He quickly finds himself back at Ramazith's Tower, head hung low as he dispels the transformation and makes his way to the wine cellar.

~~~

Tav arrives at the Elfsong Tavern, ready to celebrate their hard-fought victory alongside their companions. The atmosphere is lively, filled with laughter and music. As they make their way through the bustling crowd, Tav notices Shadowheart arriving with someone unfamiliar. Tav finds it odd, considering Shadowheart and Gale had become close at the end of their journey. Even though they aren’t publicly "together" yet, it seems strange for the cleric to show up with someone else.

As Tav approaches to greet them, Shadowheart’s behavior is even stranger. She avoids eye contact and offers short, evasive answers when asked for an introduction to the new man. This piques Tav’s curiosity even more.

Just as Tav gives up and leaves to get a drink, Gale appears, greeting them with a casual, “Tav, may I have a word?”

Tav turns, surprised to see him looking so content, given the unfamiliar man Shadowheart has arrived with. “Of course, Gale. What’s on your mind?”

They move to a private booth in the corner, and Tav can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Gale is evading their questions about Tara, and when they subtly probe about Shadowheart, he avoids the topic. Gale then begins asking odd questions, particularly about Rolan, of all people.

Tav’s responses are thoughtful, but they can’t hide their amusement. They know Gale well enough to sense that something is different. They watch closely as he picks at the hem of his tunic, bounces a leg nervously under the table, and chews on his lip. He displays clear signs of distress, nervous ticks Gale had never once shown on the road.

“Gale, you seem different tonight. Nervous, almost. More... attentive.” Tav’s voice takes on a teasing lilt, their eyes narrowing playfully. “You wouldn’t happen to be hiding something, would you?”

Tav watches as he laughs nervously, folding his arms across his chest. The discomfort is palpable. Deciding to push further, Tav leans closer, their smile turning mischievous. “You know, Gale, if you keep showing me this extra attention... I might begin to think you have a crush on me.”

Seeing “Gale” stammer and blush confirms Tav’s suspicions. “A crush? Of course not,” he manages nervously. Tav glances across the tavern, catching a glimpse of Shadowheart and her "new" beau laughing happily at the bar. Their body language is quite familiar as they lean into each other, and Tav realizes the same could be said of the man opposite them, just in a different way.

Tav and Gale had already been down this road, once. They'd agreed very early on that they were better only as friends, and as the rest of Tav's companions seemed to pair up and find love elsewhere, Tav had been left as the odd one out. Others, such as one particular Master of Ramazith's Tower, would not know this, however. The nervous movements and slight lisp that Tav has failed to notice until now give him away. They decide to play into this knowledge, seeing just how flustered "Gale" could get.

Tav’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Oh, no? A shame, then...” They pout teasingly, enjoying his flushed reaction. As they reach under the booth and place a hand atop his knee, feeling him squirm, they feel a mix of giddiness and amusement at how easy it is to unravel the façade.

The act seems to have worked too well. He looks genuinely pained, and his discomfort visibly grows with each passing second. Tav’s playful teasing and laughter, meant to be light-hearted, seem to cut deeper than intended.

When “Gale” abruptly makes an excuse and leaves the Elfsong Tavern early, Tav feels a pang of guilt. They watch him hurry out, his posture defeated and his heart clearly heavy. Tav realizes they might have pushed too far. Determined to set things right, they decide to follow him.

Soon, they arrive at Ramazith’s Tower through the portal in Sorcerous Sundries. They are met by Rolan in the foyer, a bottle of Arabellan Dry in hand. The spell has dropped, and Rolan is back in his normal form, but he is still wearing the same clothes from the tavern. The sight of him, looking so dejected, tugs at Tav’s heart.

"Rolan," Tav says gently, approaching him. “I knew it was you.”

Rolan looks up, stunned. “The whole time?”

“Well, not the whole time.” Tav smiles softly. “But I figured it out pretty quickly. Gale and Shadowheart are... a bit of a thing.”

"Ah. He... did not share that with me." Rolan sighs, his face holding a mix of relief and embarrassment. He sucks in a deep breath before steadying himself, seeming resolute. “I just... Tav, I have not been able to stop thinking of you. Since Last Light, and then Lorroakan, you have plagued my thoughts. After... everything. I needed to know if you felt anything for me.”

Tav steps closer, their expression tender. “I’ve liked you for a while. You could have just asked.”

Rolan blinks, processing their words. “You mean... all this time, you...?”

Tav nods, a gentle smile playing on their lips. “Yes, Rolan. All this time. You didn’t need to go through all this trouble.”

Rolan’s posture relaxes, the tension visibly leaving his body. He takes a tentative step closer, his eyes searching Tav’s, seeming to look for any sign of hesitation. Tav offers none, and he lets out a breath so shuddery it wracks his shoulders.

“I’m sorry for being so foolish,” he murmurs, his voice trembling slightly. “I just didn’t know how to approach you.”

Tav’s smile widens. “Well, now you know.” They close the remaining distance between them, their hand gently cupping Rolan’s cheek. “And next time, just be yourself.”

[murderedbyhomework]

There's a saying somewhere on the cn fandom that 如果角姐是戀愛腦，李相夷便是師兄腦 (if jiao liqiao is love brain, Li Xiangyi was shixiong brain) and like it's so true tho. Like we as a random do not talk about just how much Li Xiangyi/Li Lianhua loved his shixiong, even outside the obvious "spending his remaining 10 years with the one goal of finding his shixiong's remains and immediately giving up on fighting against death after finding sgd to the extent where dfs had to bring out the big guns to get llh to continue living for a while".

There's way too many stuff I could talk about but I'll briefly talk about Wenjing. As depicted in canon, Wenjing was sgd's 18th birthday present for lxy, made from Yun Metal (not that lxy knew it at the time). The name of the sword itself says a lot about lxy's love for his shixiong. Wenjing (刎頸）refers to the phrase 刎頸之交, aka "a friendship/relationship one would slit their throat for, referring to friendships where one would willingly and gladly lay down their life for the other". Li Xiangyi is the one who names this sword, and he directly references this phrase when naming the sword. One could say wenjing was a symbol of just how much sgd meant to lxy.

So how much does wenjing mean to Li Xiangyi/Li Lianhua? Going off canon, lxy was a bit of a peacock, and he liked to show off things he deemed impressive, yet for things that were actually really important to him, such as his love for cheap candy, he kept close to his chest. So what about Wenjing? It's a beautiful sword, and very well made, but Li Xiangyi never showed it off to anyone and kept it extremely private, because in his opinion, sgd's gift was something he wanted to keep just for himself. As top of the Jianghu, a lot of him was shown to the public and under public scrutiny, everything about him placed on the spotlight, placed on a pedestal, yet lxy was possessive enough over this sword to keep it to himself, like a secret only his shixiong and himself would know.

And then there's lxy always keeping wenjing on him even during his years as llh. As lxy, he had shaoshi as a sword already, and he didn't need another sword on him, not really, because he's proven that even disarmed he's not defenseless, but he kept wenjing on him anyway, because it was probably a symbol of his shixiong's love for him. And as llh, he would continue keeping the sword on him, despite being a wandering doctor who supposedly knew no martial arts and would be too poor to have such a beautiful sword.

And finally, llh chose to destroy shaoshi instead of using it to end himself (it's canon he literally said to shaoshi "using you to end me is rather inappropriate"), but despite wenjing later being revealed as, in fact, a sign of sgd's betrayal and hate of llh, llh never destroyed that it. He did throw it into a cliff face so no one could ever reach it again (low key excalibur situation hmn), but in my mind, it wasn't ever an action of hate against sgd, not a rejection of his gift, but rather llh throwing wenjing away from himself before he could actually get really mad and destroy this gift from his shixiong. He might have left wenjing behind when he went off to die, but we all know Llh's love language is abandonment.