#it’s getting ridiculous how predictable I am

[v0id-of-thought]

If you hit me with shallow religious imagery, ambiguous tragedy, and alternate timeline shenanigans, I will fold like a fucking chair.

[corishadowfang]

Alright I'm ready.

[blythesarchives]

Just As You Are. | B.B

summary: He tries his best for Valentine's Day.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Fluff | CW!Bucky x Fem!reader | Cunnilingus | PiV sex | Light dirty talk | Unprotected sex | Slightly insecure Bucky

a/n: I'm not big into Valentine's Day just because it feels very commercialized to me, but I like imagining it with Bucky. This plot changed so many times lmao but I think I am satisfied with how this turned out. If you're allergic to strawberries, just imagine a different fruit. Not beta read. ;; wc: 4.2k

Bucky stood motionless in the bustling store, his steely eyes fixed with a deep frown upon the endless aisle dedicated to Valentine's Day merchandise.

He didn't remember it being so...big back in the day. The sheer volume of products and options left him feeling completely overwhelmed, his mind drifting back to simpler times when a thoughtful bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate were considered more than acceptable tokens of affection for your sweetheart.

Now, he watched as frantic shoppers rushed past him, their arms laden with elaborate bouquets, towers of candy boxes, and enormous stuffed bears that seemed to grow more ridiculously sized with each passing year.

There were some shoppers who took a different approach, selecting items for personalized gift baskets filled with practical things like cozy socks or fragrant bath bombs. That seemed more personalized with his old-fashioned sensibilities, but you weren't particularly fond of long soaks in the tub, making that option feel somehow inadequate.

A wave of insecurity washed over him unexpectedly. Despite knowing that you had never once demonstrated materialistic tendencies or pressured him for presents, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he should be showering you with gifts. Traditional values ingrained in him insisted that as the man in the relationship, this was his role to fulfill. His heart warmed slightly at the mental image of you beaming with delight over an armful of fresh flowers or savoring each piece from a velvet-lined, heart-shaped box of premium, ridiculously expensive chocolates.

Truthfully, he felt completely lost about what would be the perfect gift for you. The confident, charming young man he used to be - the one who could effortlessly capture a lady's attention with just a well-timed smile or clever word - seemed like a stranger from another lifetime. These days, the gazes that would drift to him were filled with suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Defeated and increasingly anxious, Bucky turned away from the crowded store aisle, his mind spinning with uncertainty as he struggled to think of what to get you for this special occasion. As he made his way through the bustling shop, he passed by an enthusiastic florist who was eagerly displaying enormous bouquets of perfectly arranged, vibrant red roses.

The vendor was encouraging every passing customer to purchase one, his sales pitch well-rehearsed and persistent. The sight made Bucky recall a conversation from several months ago, where you had expressed your views on traditional romantic gestures. You explained that while roses were undeniably a sweet and romantic gesture, they felt somewhat predictable and conventional to you. Too ordinary, you had said, preferring instead gifts that showed genuine thought and consideration.

"Sure, roses are beautiful. I think they're a wonderful gift for birthdays or valentine's, whatever. But...I don't know. Everyone gets roses. I would be happy but it would also sort of feel like you didn't really try, since they're so abundant and common. It makes them feel less special. Hopefully that doesn't make me sound snobbish. I'd rather get a more personalized bouquet or...one with my favorite flowers instead." You glanced up at Bucky who was nodding and listening, remembering, for later.

Though the roses were beautiful, their pristine petals catching the store's fluorescent lighting to aid in their deep crimson coloration, Bucky could practically envision the polite but slightly underwhelmed expression that would cross your face if he chose such a common option.

Plus...why were flowers so expensive these days? A dozen roses for almost a hundred dollars? The modern pricing was ridiculous - back in his day, that kind of money could have bought several weeks' worth of groceries. Besides, a lot of the bouquets contained wilted flowers. If he got you a bouquet, each and every flower would be alive and well.

He didn't want to leave without getting you something special, something that would bring a genuine smile to your face. He stood there for several long moments, running his flesh hand through his hair as he considered what kind of gift would truly resonate with you, something that would perfectly balance thoughtfulness with appropriateness while still managing to surprise you.

After spending what felt like hours wandering through the store's aisles and watching other men pick the big red hearts off the shelves without a second thought, he began to carefully examine each heart-shaped box of chocolates, reading every label and ingredient list to ensure he found the exact type of varieties you had mentioned loving. Finally satisfied with a winner, he put it in the basket he grabbed.

Moving through the store, he made his way to the stuffed animal section, where he spent considerable time comparing different plush versions of your favorite animal, wanting to select the one with the perfect expression and the softest fur. That one looked too grumpy, that one looked lopsided, that one wasn’t proportioned right - but he found the perfect one.

Then rather than settling for a pre-arranged bouquet, he thoughtfully handpicked each individual flower, remembering all the times you had pointed out different blooms during your walks together, creating a personalized arrangement that represented all your favorites. Even with the care and attention he put into each gift selection, a nagging feeling of inadequacy crept in - everything he chose, while thoughtful, still felt too ordinary.

Bucky shook his head and paid for the items, ignoring the feeling.

Back at home, he arranged everything perfectly. He individually wrapped each item, positioning them precisely in the basket alongside the plush animal and chocolates. Taking his time with the flowers, he trimmed each stem at exactly the right angle and arranged them in the vase until the composition was just right. When Bucky finally stepped back to assess his work, his heart sank slightly, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

The entire arrangement somehow still didn't feel special or unique enough.

Alpine gracefully leapt onto the counter, her blue eyes focusing intently on the array of gifts laid out. She lowered her head, her pink nose twitching as she investigated each item curiously. "What do you think, girl...good enough?" Bucky asked softly, his fingers running through the ragdoll's silky fur as he gently stroked from her head down along her back.

After her inspection, Alpine cast one final, contemplative glance at the presents. Then, with typical cat-like indifference, she turned away from them, her fluffy tail held high like a banner as she delicately padded across the counter to the edge, and descended to the floor with one smooth leap.

"Bad, huh?" Bucky released a heavy sigh, his eyes lingering on the carefully chosen gifts as waves of uncertainty began to wash over him, his anxiety gradually creeping in and eating away at him.

He didn't have more time to wrestle with his uncertainties as the sound of keys jingling at the front door caught his attention. You made your entrance quicker than he had anticipated, your exhausted form slowly making its way through the doorway after what was clearly an demanding day at work. You kicked off your shoes in a haphazard manner, letting them land wherever they might. The weariness etched across your features told him everything he needed to know about the challenging nature of your workday.

"Hey," Bucky offered in greeting as he made his way over to you in the entryway, his mind racing as he tried to keep you from noticing the carefully prepared gifts just yet. Perhaps if he could buy himself a little more time, he might figure out something better to give you than the basic gifts.

A soft, tired grumble was all you could muster in response, though the gentle warmth in his eyes worked its magic in lifting your spirits considerably. "Hey..." you murmured an actual response, crossing the space between you to wrap your arms around his sturdy frame. He gladly hugged you back, letting you bury yourself against him.

The thought of spending the entire day at home with him had been your secret wish throughout your shift, but responsibilities couldn't be ignored. He had promised to make the evening special, and that thought alone helped you persevere through the long hours of your workday.

Bucky thought fast, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with those intense steel-blue eyes. "How about a hot bath? I can get one ready for you, make it nice and warm - it'll be perfect for those sore muscles of yours...plus, I know you’ve been on your feet all day." He offered gently, his flesh hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. A playful smirk slowly spread across his lips as he added, "I could even feed you some fresh strawberries while you relax..."

"Ugh, that sounds so heavenly right now..." You agreed with a soft, appreciative moan, already imagining the soothing warmth of the water and the sweet taste of cool fruit.

Bucky made his way to the bathroom, wanting to create the perfect relaxing atmosphere for you after your long day. He tested the water temperature with his flesh hand until it reached that ideal warmth you always preferred, then clogged the drain.

While the tub filled, he selected your favorite aromatherapy soap, watching as it created billowing clouds of soft, luxurious bubbles that released that soothing scent you loved so much. He also scattered rose petals across the surface - special ones he had purchased with your other gifts. They would slowly dissolve into the water, but for now they created a nice, romantic display as they rested atop the peaks of foam.

In the bedroom, you gradually shed your work uniform, letting each piece fall away with relief before walking into the bathroom to meet him. He remained unaware of your presence for a moment until he turned, and when he did, he took the chance to admire you. Bucky rose up to his full height and approached you, his hands finding their familiar place on your hips. "You're so beautiful, doll..." he murmured, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, before adding, "Bath's all ready..."

"It looks perfect," you replied in an equally soft and tired tone, carefully stepping into the steaming bath water and sinking down with a contented moan.

God, it felt absolutely amazing - after countless exhausting days of non-stop work, your muscles were crying out for relief. Your back and neck were especially sore from hunching over your desk for hours on end. The perfectly heated water enveloped your body like a warm hug, melting away the tension and aches that had built up over time. The chosen aromatherapy oils filled the air with a soothing blend of lavender and eucalyptus that relaxed you even further.

"Thank you, Bucky... this is... exactly what I needed," you mumbled appreciatively, slowly sinking lower into the luxurious bath until the fragrant bubble clouds rose around your shoulders like a soft blanket.

Bucky's lip quirked up with a gentle, knowing smile as he reached for a plump strawberry from the delicate pink crystal bowl beside the tub. His eyes sparkled with affection as he held the fruit up teasingly, "Of course doll... now open wide~"

"Tease," you said playfully, leaning for the strawberry he held between his fingers. You gladly accepted the offering, letting your lips brush against the plump, red fruit before taking a delicate bite. The sweetness burst across your tongue as you savored each moment, watching his expression intently. Unable to resist the temptation, you gently caught his finger between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the lingering juice - a deliberately cheeky move to provoke a reaction.

Bucky's eyes darkened as he watched you, a knowing smile spreading slowly across his face. His fingers twitched slightly at the sensation of your tongue, and he leaned in closer. "Don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he warned in a low, honeyed voice that made you shiver, even in the steaming water. "You know exactly what'll happen. Besides, it's Valentine's Day..." He reached out to trace your jawline with his thumb, his touch feather-light and promising. "...I'll make it all about you..."

You couldn't resist the temptation that coursed through you, causing you to slowly emerge from the water just enough to delicately capture his hand between your teeth and deliver a playful nip. Your lips ghosted across his wrist and laid a kiss, "I think I wanna see what you mean..."

That's how you ended up on the bed with his face between your legs.

Your swollen, sensitive pussy being devoured by the soldier keeping your legs spread open. His tongue flatly lapped at you before he would encase your delicate clit in his lips and desperately suckle. The alternating movements kept you close enough to the brink of orgasm, but he wouldn't let you finish all the way yet.

"Bucky! Pl-please," you cried out desperately as he suctioned to your throbbing clit once more, his skilled tongue working magic against your sensitive bud. Your trembling hands clung tightly to the twisted sheets below your hips, your knuckles turning white from the intensity of your grip. Your cheeks were deeply flushed as tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

It felt so fucking good - Bucky always dove into you like a starved man who hadn't tasted such sweetness in decades, you were a fruit from Eden and he wouldn’t stop until he has had all of you.

Which was kind of true, until you two had started dating and everything changed. Over time, he gradually gained the confidence he needed, becoming more and more comfortable with engaging in intimate acts. The hesitation that had once held him back melted away completely, and once that newfound bravado took over, he became a passionate and attentive lover who knew exactly how to make you come undone.

Bucky growled against you, tugging you even closer as he kept his face against your folds and lapped at you repeatedly. His eyes would peek at your expression from time to time, but he mostly kept them closed, purely focusing on your taste. So sweet and delectable, you were his favorite thing to lap up and devour. He never wanted to stop. This was his favorite thing ever. Being the source of your pleasure and hearing how you whined and squirmed underneath him.

"Come for me, baby...come on. Give it to me." He muffled against you as his tongue continued to move up and down with his repetitive licks, getting your juices and making sure to run over that swollen bud.

Fuck, you were. You were going to.

You moaned loudly as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, the tense burning sensation gradually building deep in your belly while your legs trembled uncontrollably. Bucky kept a firm hold on your legs, keeping himself buried in your pussy as he continued his feast. Heat radiated outward as you began to feel your nerves come alive, electric sensations traveling from your core and flowing down through your limbs to the tips of your fingers and toes. The pressure continued mounting until finally, everything began slowly blossoming and unwinding into an overwhelming, desperate climax.

When he pulled away from your folds, his face and dark scruff were thoroughly soaked with your juices. The smug, satisfied bastard slowly licked his lips and began climbing over your shaking body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from your sensitive belly all the way up to the crook of your neck. "Y'r so soft...god, I love every inch of you," he whispered in that husky, desire-laden voice as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

"Bucky..." You whined needily, the desperate tone in your voice betraying just how affected you were, but you couldn't bring yourself to care - you were absolutely burning with desire for him. The delicious scratching sensation of his rough scruff against your skin felt absolutely divine, and you couldn't help but nuzzle your cheek against his strong jaw, seeking more of that friction. Your responsive action drew a knowing smile from Bucky as he pressed his body more firmly against yours, allowing his head to respond to your pressure and reaching his hand down to carefully position himself against you.

"Easy, my beautiful girl...I promise I'll give you everything you want and need. My perfect doll...just lay still for me, just like that...looking so gorgeous spread out underneath me..." He praised in that gentle, soothing voice that you normally adored, but in your current state of desperate arousal, his sweet words only served to turn you on even more. Something about it drove you insane.

When he finally breached you, your body arched off the bed and your hands immediately grabbed onto him, mindful not to claw at his heavily scarred shoulder.

The moan that escaped from between your parted lips was abruptly silenced as he captured your mouth with his own. The lingering taste of your pleasure danced on his tongue as it skillfully glided past your own, delving deeper to thoroughly explore every corner of your mouth. A deep, resonant hum of satisfaction rumbled in the soldier's chest and vibrated against your lips as he pressed into the kiss with mounting intensity, perfectly matching the quickening rhythm of the increasingly passionate snaps his hips made against you.

The gentle slapping that filled the room was drowned out by your cries of unison - the two of you spewing groans and moans of all kinds as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your cervix and coated it with his precum. The gummy walls of your tight cunt continued to squeeze and massage his cock with each little movement you made squirming beneath him and listening to his lower pitched sounds of pleasure.

"Bucky...ah, feels so good...feel so full," you whined and fell back onto the sheets, ignoring the gentle bulge that appeared beneath your skin each time he hilted himself inside you.

"So perfect for me, doll...made for me, made for my cock," he whispered with reverence, his voice thick and heavy. He leaned down, pressing hard, passionate kisses against your neck, which you willingly allowed. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your sensitive skin to him as he skillfully left a trail of bites and gentle purple bruises blooming across your flesh.

Prettier than any of those damned flowers he saw today.

"R'member when I bit all over you... 'round Christmas? I was so lost and confused back then and..nngh...all I knew was you. All I could think about was you. All I ever wanted was you...completely all to myself..." His voice came out rough and broken between desperate grunts as his hips pistoned at an increasingly frantic pace, his movements becoming more urgent with each thrust.

"Ah, yes...I remember it...you were so needy," You gasped breathlessly, a small knowing chuckle escaping your lips as you eagerly took him harder.

"Now look who's being needy...f-feel you squeezing around me so tight..." Bucky hissed through clenched teeth as he pushed even deeper inside you, his thick cock swelling noticeably with his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"Come for me, Buck Buck...I want it inside. Want you to fill me up," You reached up to him, yearning for more, pulling him down closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His silken hair cascaded down like a brilliant curtain, framing his face while he let out pants from slightly parted lips. The cool metal of his hand gripped firmly at the meat of your thigh, his touch both gentle and possessive, chilling the skin beneath it.

Bucky ducked his face down and pressed closer to you, a deep groan tore through his throat as his rapid thrusts finally stilled - you felt his thick member twitching inside you as he coated your pretty velvet walls in his cum. As his orgasm washed over him and made him thrust a few more times for good measure, the overwhelming sensation brought you to yours again.

You both panted, breathing heavily in unison as you relished in the feeling of him still tucked inside you, thick cum oozing out as you let out soft laughs together.

"That was absolutely incredible..." You breathed out in a contented sigh, your voice thick with emotion, "I love you so much..." Your lips tenderly found his in a series of gentle, loving pecks, while your fingers delicately traced patterns across his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin.

"I love you too, babydoll. And actually, I have something special waiting for you in the kitchen..." He began, his eyes flickering towards the doorway. With a knowing smile, you gently guided his face back to yours, your fingers lingering on his jaw.

"Would that happen to be that beautiful arrangement of flowers and those decadent chocolates I spotted sat next to an adorable plushie?"

"Wait, what? How did you -"

"I saw the setup when you were preparing my bath earlier...sweetheart, you really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble. I feel terrible now." You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows, guilt evident in your voice. "Work has been so hectic lately, I didn't even manage to find time to get you anything..."

He drew you even closer into his warm embrace and gently rolled both of you onto your sides. As his softened length slipped free, you nearly whimpered at the loss of connection, you held the pout back for now. "Doll, you should know by now that I don't need fancy gifts or presents. What matters most to me is having you here, sharing these moments together.” He winked playfully before returning to a more serious tone, “You coming home to me is the greatest gift I could ask for. And you know what? The night's still young - we could curl up together and watch a movie, if you'd like..."

You smiled and nodded, letting out a soft chuckle. "That sounds wonderful, but I really think we should freshen up first...things got pretty messy and you made me feel all sticky." You whispered with a playful lilt in your voice, carefully lifting yourself from the tangled sheets. As you made your way towards the bathroom, your hips swayed flirtatiously, each step a teasing invitation. Pausing at the doorway, you glanced over your shoulder with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "C'mon baby...if you're good, I’ll do that thing you always like..."

His reaction was instantaneous.

Like a coiled spring suddenly released, Bucky leapt from the bed with the same sharp reflexes from his military days - every muscle alert and ready. His blue eyes darkened with desire as a roguish grin spread across his face. "Yes ma'am," he responded, voice husky with anticipation. In two swift strides, he crossed the room and swept you up into his strong arms, making you squeal and laugh with surprise, cradling you against his chest as he carried you eagerly toward the shower.

When your feet touched the cool tile of the bathroom floor, Bucky was already eagerly anticipating another passionate moment together, but you gently placed your hands against his firm chest, causing him to pause. Your eyes met his as you spoke softly but earnestly, "And just so you know, everything you got me was absolutely perfect. I love it all so much. You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble - just spending the evening together would have been more than enough for me, but...everything you did get makes me feel so special. The arranged bouquet with all those beautiful flowers, the adorable plushie of my favorite animal, and those delicious chocolates...it's all too much. You are perfect."

Bucky felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him at your heartfelt words, the tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying suddenly melting away. His voice was tender, slightly hesitant as he responded, "O-oh... yeah, of course. I...I really wanted to make tonight special for you in every way possible. I picked all your favorite colors and included those specific flowers you always stop to admire during our walks together...and I made absolutely certain the chocolates only contained ingredients and flavors I know you enjoy...and found you a soft, cuddle buddy to keep you company when I have to be away." He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he added with endearing awkwardness, "Besides Alpine, of course."

"Yeah, whenever she's in one of her affectionate moods and decides it's snuggle time," you added with a gentle, warm chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the corners. He swore his heart beat faster each time he saw those delicate lines. "You are enough, Bucky." You gazed deeply into his eyes, taking in every flicker of emotion that passed through them, before offering him a tender, reassuring smile.

Your hand came up to cup his cheek as you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, feeling the tension slowly melt away from his body as he relaxed against you. Drawing back just enough to meet his gaze again, you whispered to him with absolute conviction so he could feel the words as much as possible.

"You are always enough, and don't you ever doubt that for a second..."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[hellokittykookies]

Tasty - J.JK - Mini (M) —

Pairings : idol! Jk x nepo baby! Reader

Genre : smut, idolverse

Contents/warnings : making out, unprotected sex(yk what to do), nepo baby! Reader, idol! Jk, tasty in busan reference, model! Reader, missionary, fingering if u squint?, oral(fem recieving), pwp

Note : this was kinda rushed. Please don’t expect too much from this. It’s 1:12 am rn huhu i should sleep i have exams💔💔also ive been watching gossip girls all over again. If you find my new characters in my new fics similar to the characters in gg then i probably got inspired. Hdidhudgs i need to sleeppp. scratch that, study actually. Goodluck to me tomorrow, or later…? I’ll be waking up at 4 anyway

Wc : 2k?

As someone new to the modelling industry, I’ll admit, I don’t know much about it. Except for the fact that my mom and dad are both in it, and yeah, maybe their names help. Okay, definitely their names help. They’ve gotten me the brands, the deals, the connections I need. But their advice? Practically useless. I get called ‘nepo baby’ often like it’s some big insult, but honestly? I don’t care.

If I was them, I’d wanna be me too.

this time, I want real advice. Not from my parents, or the people who are just dying to kiss up to me, but from people who actually know what they’re talking about. The real seniors.

The problem?

They’re not exactly the kind of people you can just text for advice. Or… are they?

I’m sitting in the director’s chair during one of my “breaks” (which are so not long enough), watching as he barks orders at the photographers and crew. My phone’s in my hand, and I’m scrolling aimlessly until something catches my eye. It’s a video. An old one. And not just anyone’s video. the exact senior I’ve been thinking about.

Hey, maybe advice isn’t the only thing i’d ask for.

I click on it, my lips curling into a smirk.

“What’s tasty in Busan?” someone asks. I think it’s hoseok? one of the guys in their group. He’s holding a microphone, and Jungkook leans over to whisper something in his ear. Hoseok immediately pulls back, laughing like he’s grossed out. “Jungkookie is weird!” he says dramatically.

Then Jimin jumps in, curious. “What did he say? Tell me too!” He laughs, shaking his head, before leaning into the microphone with this smug little grin. “Everyone… Jungkookie has turned into an adult.”

The camera pans to Jungkook, who’s at his desk, grinning that ridiculous bunny smile of his, looking both shy and pleased with himself.

I can’t help but laugh under my breath. What did he even say? It’s like some inside joke in their fanbase, and honestly, some of the comments on the video are gold. Others?…. Nevermind.

“Okay, Y/N! I think I’ve given you enough of a break,” the director calls out, clapping his hands. “Back to your position, please!”

I roll my eyes, shoving my phone back into my bag as I get up. My four inch heels click sharply against the floor as I walk to the set. It’s exhausting, sure, but if the pictures turn out hot? Worth it.

Still, even after the shoot, that video sticks in my mind.

——

You and your friends, Kayla and Zia, sit at the table, laughing and drinking like it’s the only thing you know how to do. A few hours pass, and predictably, the two of them are completely wasted, while you’re still sitting pretty, your alcohol tolerance saving the night.

“Hey, Y/N and Kay?” Zia slurs out, leaning in way too close and grabbing both your faces in her hands. “Don’t tell Zia I told you guys…” she giggles, already spilling the tea, “but we slept with each other.”

“What??” Kayla suddenly sobers up from the sheer shock, her eyes wide as saucers.

You’re just staring at both of them, blinking in disbelief. “I need more drinks. I don’t have enough brain cells left to process this,” you mutter, grabbing your purse and standing up to head to the bar.

You wobble slightly on your heels? terrible decision for a night like this, but you make it to the counter and sit down on one of the stools, finally giving yourself a moment to breathe.

“Hey, Kook. Truth or dare?” Jimin slurs, clearly a few drinks ahead of Jungkook, who sits there calmly sipping his beer.

“Truth,” Jungkook answers flatly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Ugh, no fun, man.” Jimin groans dramatically, leaning forward.

“Fine. Dare,” Jungkook sighs, tilting his head in annoyance but accepting the challenge anyway.

Jimin smirks, his eyes darting across the bar. Then he spots you, sitting on the stool, ordering drinks, completely unbothered. “I dare you to go up to that girl and buy her a drink.”

Jungkook scoffs, raising an eyebrow. He glances at the table, half the members are already passed out drunk, while Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi look on. With a little smirk, Jungkook sets his drink down and gets up, the air of a challenge written all over him.

“Hey,” a deep voice greets you from beside the bar, nearly making you jump.

You glance up, surprised, and then let your lips curl into a small, amused smirk. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

Jungkook stares at you, confused. “I’m sorry?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Where’s your cool guy act now?” you tease, your voice dripping with playful mockery.

Jungkook bites his lip, staring at you for a second before shaking his head with a low laugh. “Let me buy you a drink,” he offers, signaling to the bartender.

“No need,” you say smoothly, already taking the drink you’d just ordered. You lift it slightly to emphasize your point.

“Well then… your number?” he tries again, his smile soft and genuine…. or at least i hope it’s genuine.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to keep the game going. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon.” you say with a wink before turning on your heel and heading back to your table, leaving him behind.

For the next three weeks, Jungkook came to the same bar, at least twice a week, hoping to bump into you again. He played it cool, but let’s be real, it was obvious.… well this day must be his lucky day then.

A week ago

“Calvin Klein, you say?” you hum, admiring yourself in the mirror as you try on the lingerie you’d just picked up. The fit? Perfect. You smirk at your reflection, loving the way it hugs your curves.

“Yes, ma’am,” the stylist calls from outside the fitting room.

“I’m in,” you say with a final glance at yourself, satisfied.

Back to the present.

You sit in the chair on set, scrolling aimlessly on your phone when one of the stylists walks up to you. “Are you aware you’re shooting with a partner today?” she asks casually.

“Uh… no?” You raise an eyebrow, confused.

“Jeon Jungkook, Ms. He’s your partner for this shoot. Did your agent not tell you?”

You blink. “I think…?” You give her a weak smile, but she just rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath as she walks away, loud enough for you to catch.

“Doesn’t even have to try to get the brands, and she doesn’t even know who she’s working with,” the stylist grumbles.

You roll your eyes.

Irrelevant words from an irrelevant person.

Satisfied, you adjust your posture as someone calls you to get into position.

“Well, looks like it’s your lucky day, Jeon,” you whisper into Jungkook’s ear as the two of you move into position for the first shot.

———

“Think you wanna tell me the answer to the ‘what’s tasty in Busan’ question?” I teased, cocking an eyebrow at Jungkook as he kept kissing along my neck, his lips warm and soft but slightly distracted.

He froze for a moment, then leaned back just enough to look at me with a crooked grin. “Omygod, you saw that?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

I shrugged, biting my lip to hide my smirk. “You said it so confidently in that video, like you had it all figured out. So? What’s tasty in there, Jeon Jungkook?”

He burst out laughing, his head falling into the crook of my neck as his shoulders shook. “Oh my god, did you actually see that? That was so embarrassing,” he mumbled between his laughs, his ears turning red as he tried to compose himself.

I grinned wider, running my fingers through his dark hair. “Of course, I saw it. It’s the joke of your fans. So wanna tell me?, or better…. Show me?”

Jungkook raised his head, his laughter fading into a playful glare. “Alright,” he said, his voice lower now, a teasing edge to it. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” I shot back, sticking my tongue out at him.

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as his hands slid down to my waist. “You wanna know what’s my answer?” he asked, his tone shifting as his grip tightened slightly, pulling me closer.

I blinked up at him, suddenly aware of the heat in his eyes, the way his lips curved into a sly smirk. “Uh… yeah?”

Jungkook leaned in, his nose brushing against mine as he whispered, “I’ll show you instead.”

Before I could process his words, his lips were on mine, soft but firm, moving with a confidence that made my head spin. His hands slid down to grip the backs of my thighs, and with one smooth motion, he lifted me off the floor like I weighed nothing.

“Jungkook!” I squealed, wrapping my arms around his neck as my legs instinctively locked around his waist. “What are you-”

He cut me off with another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue brushing against mine in a way that made me forget whatever I was about to say. “Still wanna know the answer?” he murmured against my lips, his voice dripping with mischief.

“You’re all questions, are you gonna show or tell me?” I muttered, though the breathlessness in my voice ruined the effect.

He just grinned, carrying me to the bed and laying me down gently, his body hovering over mine. “Oh i will,” he said, his hands already sliding up my thighs, pushing up the hem of my skirt. “But do you think you deserve it?

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep up my usual sass even as heat pooled in my stomach. “Im pretty sure i do”

Jungkook’s smirk deepened, and he leaned down to press a kiss just below my jaw, his hands sliding higher up my thighs. “That’s right baby, you do.”

The teasing tone in his voice made my heart race, and when his lips found mine again, any thought of arguing vanished completely.

Jungkook’s lips moved from mine to trail down my neck, his kisses lazy but purposeful, his teeth grazing my skin just enough to make me shiver. His hands were everywhere. firm on my thighs, sliding higher as he pushed my legs apart.

“You’re already quiet,” he teased against my skin, his voice warm and teasing, sending a jolt of heat straight through me. “What happened to all that attitude?”

“I still have it,” I shot back, though my voice was already breathless.

He chuckled, his lips moving lower, pressing kisses down my collarbone and along the curve of my chest. “We’ll see how long that lasts,” he said, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

“Don’t act so cocky,” I said, but the challenge fell flat as he yanked my shirt up and off in one quick motion, leaving me exposed in my lace bra. His eyes flicked down, darkening as his tongue swept across his bottom lip.

“You were saying?” he murmured, his hands sliding under me to unclasp my bra before I could even protest. The garment joined my shirt on the floor, and I swallowed hard as his gaze drank me in.

“You’re staring,” I muttered, trying to sound unaffected, but my body betrayed me as my skin burned under his gaze.

“Of course I’m staring,” he said, his voice low and warm. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

My retort died on my lips as he leaned down, his mouth closing over one of my nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud while his hand teased the other. A soft moan escaped me before I could stop it, and I felt his smirk against my skin.

“Still got something to say?” he asked, his voice muffled as he moved to give the same attention to the other side.

I glared down at him, tugging lightly at his hair. “Shut up.”

He laughed softly, lifting his head to look at me. “Make me,” he teased, his hands sliding down to my hips as he tugged at the waistband of my skirt.

I arched an eyebrow, determined not to let him have the upper hand. “What if I don’t want to?”

Jungkook tilted his head, his smirk widening “Then I guess i better take the lead, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with challenge.

He grips my thighs before he yanks my skirt down with one swift motion, his eyes dropping to the soaked lace between my legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, “you’re already dripping, Y/N.”

Before I could snap back, he hooked his fingers into the sides of my panties and dragged them down, tossing them aside like they didn’t matter. His hands spread my thighs wide, and before i knew it, his mouth was on me

The first swipe of his tongue sent my back arching off the bed, a gasp tearing from my lips. He didn’t tease, instead he went straight for my clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it with maddening precision.

“Jungkook,” I moaned, my hands flying to his hair, tugging at the soft strands as his mouth worked me over.

He groaned against me, the vibration making my legs shake. His tongue slid lower, teasing my entrance before he pushed it inside, fucking me with it while his nose pressed against my clit.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, my hips bucking against his face, but he just tightened his grip on my thighs, holding me down as he ate me like a man starving.

Every flick, every suck, every moan he let out against me drove me closer to the edge. “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his lips glistening as he pulled back for a second before diving right back in.

My thighs started to tremble, the tension in my stomach coiling tighter and tighter. “I’m gonna- fuck, Jungkook, don’t stop!” I whimpered, my voice breaking as he sucked my clit hard and slid two fingers into me, curling them perfectly to hit that spot that made me see stars.

“Come for me,” he growled against me, his fingers pounding into me as his mouth stayed relentless on my clit. That was all it took. I shattered, my body shaking as my orgasm crashed over me, his name spilling from my lips in a breathless scream.

He didn’t stop until I was a trembling mess beneath him, my body twitching with aftershocks. When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were slick, and the look in his eyes was pure sin.

“You good?” he asked, smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

I glared at him, still breathless. “Shut up and fuck me.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he said, already tugging his pants down.

He then kicks off his jeans and boxers in one quick motion, his cock springing free and standing thick and hard. The sight alone made my mouth water, but he wasn’t giving me time to admire it. He was already climbing back over me, one hand gripping my thigh to hook it around his waist as the other lined himself up at my entrance.

“Ready?” he muttered, his voice low and strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing his jaw and pulling him down for a messy, heated kiss. “Do I look like I want to wait?” I bit back.

That was all the permission he needed. With one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside me to the hilt, stretching me so perfectly that all I could do was gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine as he stayed there for a moment, letting me adjust. “You’re so tight.”

“Then move,” I breathed out, arching my hips against him, already desperate for more.

Jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk, but he didn’t tease this time. His hips pulled back, and then he drove forward again, setting a deep, steady rhythm that had me clawing at his back, moaning with every snap of his hips.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growled, his voice rough as his hands gripped my thighs, holding me in place as he fucked into me harder, deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

My body was on fire, every thrust sending a wave of pleasure crashing through me. “Jungkook,” I whimpered, barely able to get the word out as he hit that perfect spot inside me over and over again.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his pace quickening, his teeth scraping against my neck as he kissed and nipped at my skin. “Let me hear you.”

“Jungkook!” I moaned, louder this time, my voice breaking as I felt myself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his hand sliding down between us to rub at my clit, the added stimulation sending me into a frenzy. “You gonna come for me again?”

“Yes- omygod!! fuck, yes,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as my entire body tensed, the pressure building until it exploded, my orgasm crashing over me so hard I saw stars.

Jungkook groaned as I clenched around him, his hips faltering for a second before he buried himself deep, his pace turning rough and erratic. “Fuck, baby, I’m close,” he growled, his voice strained as he chased his own release.

“Come inside me,” I whispered, wrapping my legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper. “I want to feel you.”

That was all it took. With a low, guttural moan, Jungkook’s hips slammed against mine one last time, his body tensing as he spilled into me, filling me with heat. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

“Guess that answers the question,” he finally muttered, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

I frowned up at him. “What question?”

“What you asked me,” he said, smirking as he kissed me again, his lips slow and soft now, as if he didn’t just wrecked me.

“Idiot,” I muttered against his mouth, but I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me.

The next day.

the comments from my new post….. was surely what i expected.

“Is she a whore?”

“That nepo baby once again”

“New boy of the month?”

“Im leaving this fandom”

Surely i did make alot of fans mad, but what can i say? It was indeed tasty

[st4ytiny]

A sickly romance in the air

Warnings: Tooth rotting

AN: YUNHOOO YUNHOOOOOO ONE CHANCE BEFORE I DIE PLEASE

In highschool, all your girl-friends had partners, they went on dates, had a prom date, a sweet boyfriend or a cute girlfriend calling them up after hanging out together. It made you sick to your stomach. Not out of jealousy but because you just couldn't imagine being in a relationship. Not at all. Maybe you weren't made for love?

Everytime your parents or a friend would ask you'd just say "I’m focused on school" or "I am comfortable being single”. You were confident about it. That was until you saw this guy at the local aquarium. He was there so often you could almost predict every time right. So naturally you ��coincidentally’ were there. Then you started going to the museums, thrift markeds, downtown cafes and you saw him everywhere. Were you following him or him following you? 

It continued all spring until one day, 1st of June actually. He came up to you and introduced himself. He was taller up close than in the distance and you smiled at him as he reached out a hand. “I’m Jeong Yun-ho” His voice was kind and smooth. You take his hand and introduce yourself as well. “I’m (Name) (Last-name). I’ve seen you around town.”

As you shook his hand, there was an unexpected warmth in his touch, a sense of ease that made you feel like you’d known him far longer than you actually had. You weren’t sure why, but something about his presence made the air between you feel lighter, like you didn’t have to be so guarded or closed off anymore.

He gave a small chuckle, almost as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. "I guess I have a habit of popping up everywhere, huh?" He said it with a teasing smile, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. You felt a slight blush creep up your neck and you quickly looked away, trying to brush it off. "It’s kind of strange, actually, I somehow always run into you." you admitted, your voice quiet but light. 

"Maybe it’s fate," he said with a grin, the way his eyes twinkled making it clear he wasn’t being too serious. "But you seem like you’ve got an eye for spotting me. Are you stalking me?" You let out a laugh, the idea of you stalking someone feeling ridiculous, but somehow, it didn’t seem offensive coming from him. He had a way of making everything seem so effortless, so playful.

"Not stalking," you replied, your smile widening a little. "I think we have a few things in common actually. The aquarium, thrifting, cute cafes… yeah I could go on” His grin softened into something more sincere, and he gave a slight nod. "Fair enough. Why are you here so often?" he chuckled, his attention going back to the sharks swimming around the aquarium. It was easy to get lost in his gaze, his voice carrying a calmness you hadn’t expected from someone you’d just met. While he admired the fish, you admired him. He looked back at you and you quickly moved your gaze to the fish as well. You shrugged a little, unsure of what to say. "I just... I like the peace here. People overwhelm me.. What about you?”

"Yeah, I totally get that." He leaned back slightly, still looking at you with that same quiet intensity. "I think it’s the whole place—like, how everything moves in its own time, without rushing, you know?" You nod in agreement. There was something about his words that made everything feel suddenly deeper than it should’ve been. You had expected this interaction to be brief, a quick exchange of pleasantries, but now you found yourself drawn into his conversation, the chemistry palpable.

"So, do you come here often?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. He raised an eyebrow playfully. "I mean, we’ve seen each other a few times now, right?"

You smirked at the playful teasing in his voice. "Touché." He took a step back, his hands in his pockets, as though considering something. "How about we grab a coffee sometime? I feel like we’re destined to keep bumping into each other anyway. Might as well make it less... coincidental." The invitation was so casual, yet it sent a small flutter through your chest. You’d never been the type to go out of your way for anyone, let alone a guy you had randomly run into so many times. But something about his presence made you reconsider your boundaries.

"Sure," you replied, trying to sound as casual as he was. "I’d like that." A smile stretched across his face, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear. It felt like a new chapter was about to begin, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for it—but the idea of it excited you more than you’d ever admit. "Great," he said, a slight grin playing on his lips. "Can I text you?" he asks as he shakes his phone and you giggle as you type it in quickly. “I’ll see you around” You smiled and as he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another random encounter. There was something more to it, something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it felt right. Maybe you weren’t made for love after all. Maybe love was finding you in the most unexpected places.

Songs I listened to: Falling Behind - Laufey, Fairy of shampoo - TXT, 134240 - BTS

[deadrobinthoughts]

† student life : damian.

⋆˙⟡ "I will have you know," he said slowly, voice edged with warning, "that I am debating several ways to break your fingers right now."

⋆˙⟡ request: can i request headcannons of damian in a high school or even college scenario? like study habits, how he would balance being robin and being some regular student (who is also the son of bruce wayne), and maybe some sprinkle of reader in there! ↦ kalico note: ngl, i am not happy with the scenario.

↦ perfectionist study habits: damian approaches schoolwork the same way he approaches training. precise, efficient, disciplined. he doesn’t just study - he masters. if a subject doesn’t immediately make sense, he will obsessively dissect it until it does. there is no "good enough" in his vocabulary.

↦ balances robin and academia with military-level precision: damian doesn’t believe in traditional sleep schedules. he will attend school, patrol at night, train at dawn, and still maintain a 4.0 gpa. ( weighted scale would be 5.0 ) he survives on power naps and sheer will. if he’s tired, he doesn’t show it. (except when he sits too still in class and accidentally dozes off - only for exactly three minutes before waking up completely alert.)

↦ barely social, selective with peers: damian does not blend in. he doesn’t waste time with gossip or trivial conversation. people respect him, fear him, or don’t know what to do with him. he only interacts with a handful of people (and even then, begrudgingly). teachers love him because he’s brilliant, but his zero-tolerance attitude for nonsense makes him intimidating as hell to classmates.

↦ gets dragged into student council or advanced placement clubs against his will: some poor, ambitious student will inevitably try to recruit him for clubs because “wayne, you’re already top of the class. you’d be an asset.” damian doesn’t care, doesn’t have time, refuses immediately - but somehow, he still gets involved.

↦ competitive as hell in sports (but finds them boring): schools require physical education, and damian is miserable. not because it’s hard - because it’s too easy. he plays soccer like a professional, treats track like an assassin’s speed test, and finishes the mile run before anyone else has hit the halfway mark. he doesn’t understand why people struggle with basic endurance.

↦ absolutely loathes group projects: he will not tolerate incompetence. he takes control immediately, assigns roles, and does 90% of the work himself because he cannot trust people to meet his standards. if someone doesn’t pull their weight? they’re dead to him. (you are the only exception - because you’re the only one whose work he respects.)

↦ carries a sketchbook everywhere: it’s not for class. his notes are immaculate, but his personal sketchbook is always with him. it’s a mix of battle stances, case analyses, and drawings of animals (and you). if a lecture gets boring, he’ll tune it out and start sketching without looking.

↦ ridiculously good at languages (to an annoying degree): damian is fluent in more languages than the entire teaching staff combined. he corrects his spanish teacher’s grammar, argues with his latin professor, and casually reads classic novels in their original french for fun.

↦ has no concept of casual fashion: his outfits are either full private-school academia chic or tactical combat-ready. if he’s not in uniform, it’s dark, fitted clothing that lets him move easily, no excess fabric, no unnecessary accessories. if you pick out an outfit for him, he will wear it (but pretend to be indifferent).

↦ the library is his sanctuary: if damian needs space, he disappears into the library. it’s quiet, structured, predictable. he’ll sit in the most secluded corner, sketching or researching, entirely undisturbed - until you find him, sit across from him, and just exist in the same space without asking for anything.

↦ dating you is the one compromise he allows himself: damian is not good at balance. everything in his life has always been all or nothing, black or white, battle or surrender. but you? you are the exception. he never planned for a relationship, never saw the practicality in it. but the moment he realized he loved you, he adapted, because he would not give you up. he makes time for you without fail. no matter how busy, how exhausted, how full his plate is - if you need him, he is there. even if it’s just to sit in silence.

↦ the weight of being the wayne heir: the expectations on his shoulders are suffocating. his lineage is a double-edged sword - born of assassins, raised by a vigilante, heir to a legacy that is both revered and feared. he is always walking the line between two worlds. sometimes, it shows - in the way he grips his pen too tightly, in the way his gaze turns distant, in the way he hesitates before making a decision, as if every move he makes must be perfect. he does not speak of it, but you see it. and when the weight grows too heavy, when it sits in his chest like something unshakable, he lets himself fold into you, lets your touch remind him that he is not just an heir - he is damian, and he is yours.

----- [ i pulled this out of thin air. ]

damian was focused. too focused.

it had been hours. he hadn’t so much as shifted in his seat, his posture still impossibly straight, his expression sharp with unwavering concentration. his fingers gripped his pen with surgical precision, gliding over the page in quick, calculated movements. his breathing was even, controlled. he had shut out the world entirely.

which meant, of course, that jon had been watching him for the last twenty minutes, bored out of his mind.

jon was sprawled upside down on the couch, legs hooked over the backrest, tossing a small stress ball into the air just to have something to do. every few throws, his gaze flicked to you, waiting for you to say something.

when you didn’t, he groaned, rolling onto his stomach. “is he human?”

you sighed. “depends on the day.”

jon snorted, his fingers twitching impatiently before he finally blurted, “dude. take a break.”

"no."

"that wasn’t a request."

"i am not stopping simply because you lack the same mental fortitude."

jon rolled his eyes dramatically, flopping onto his back once more with a heavy sigh. you weren’t much better - your head tilted, arms crossed, already plotting.

then jon sat up straight. his brows lifted slightly as he turned to you, his expression lighting up in that mischievous way that always meant trouble.

he didn’t have to say anything. you already knew.

because while damian had been studying, a fair had been setting up in smallville. a big one.

the kind with fried food and ferris wheels and games that were probably rigged. the kind that neither of you would ever, ever be able to convince damian to willingly step foot into.

unless you skipped the asking part.

you met jon’s gaze, raising an eyebrow.

jon grinned.

and before damian could so much as question the sudden shift in atmosphere, jon moved.

in a blur of motion, damian’s chair was yanked back, slid across the floor so fast it barely made a sound. his pen hit the desk, skidding to the side as the world lurched.

damian’s fingers flexed instinctively, bracing against the armrests. he didn’t startle - not outwardly, at least - but he did let out a slow, warning exhale.

"jonathan."

"you need a break," jon repeated, grinning as he rested his arms on the back of damian’s chair, keeping him from rolling back toward the desk.

damian glared.

"you are aware that i am currently calculating several ways to break your fingers, correct?"

jon beamed.

you laughed, moving to lean against the desk, tilting your head at damian with mock innocence. “come on, angel. just one hour.”

damian’s gaze flickered to you, narrowing slightly.

jon wiggled his eyebrows. “yeah, c’mon, "angel".”

you smacked jon’s arm.

damian closed his eyes briefly, as if reconsidering every life choice that led him to this moment. then, after a long pause, he exhaled through his nose, fingers curling over the armrests.

"if i agree to this… ‘break,’" he said carefully, "will you both cease whatever nonsense you are plotting?"

"sure." jon was way too quick with that answer.

damian’s brows furrowed just slightly. he knew better.

and yet - before he could pry further, before he could even start to argue;

jon grinned.

"great!"

and suddenly; they were airborne.

the world shifted in an instant - one second damian was still seated, still on the ground, and the next, he was being carried straight into the sky. the wind rushed past, the study desk, the books, the cityscape all shrinking beneath them, the air crisp and open and far too fast for damian to protest.

you let out a breathless laugh as jon secured his hold on both of you, a cocky grin stretched across his face. “smallville fair, here we come!”

damian inhaled very, very slowly.

"i despise you both."

jon laughed, looping through the air like a show-off. “no, you don’t.”

damian exhaled sharply, eyes flicking toward the horizon, toward the distant lights of the fair glowing just ahead.

he didn’t argue.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Tactics

Pairing: hockey!sirius x reader (established relationship) (wc: 1.4k)

Cw: reader is slightly bratty, SMUT, MDNI 18+ ONLY, brat!reader, degradation (slight), p in v penetration (unprotected but he does pull out), hair pulling, fluffy ending. I think that’s it but lmk if I missed anything

You’re riding Sirius’ every last nerve as you stomp around the house with a pout in full effect. It’s not so much that you can’t be upset, it’s that you’re doing it for his attention and he’s not giving you the satisfaction.

He’s busy this weekend, which you’d known, but so what if you feel a bit needy and want him to pay you some mind.

God damn Sirius for turning you into this.

He’s going over strategies for the game in a few days, his hockey coach drilling all sorts of tactics into his head as enforcer and all that.

You sigh for the tenth time and Sirius bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying anything.

“Siri, can’t you take a break? We can pop into the Christmas market before it gets too busy.”

He rolls his eyes, you’d been to the Christmas market two hours before and gotten everything you’d wanted.

Sirius knows your tricks, which is how he accurately predicts that due to his lack of response you’d flip yourself on the settee next to him and drop your head into his lap.

“Sirius.”

He looks down at you, grey eyes nearly blue. “Poppet, we spoke about this. After tomorrow I’m all yours.”

He pats your cheek and goes back to his iPad reading through the opposing team’s strategy and trying to see potential lineups and who he can best agitate tomorrow night.

You huff again, “You never have time for me.”

You know you’re being petulant and whiny but it’s not your fault.

Sirius has been gone nearly two weeks and he’s off again tomorrow with a week off. It’s that week off that has your body thrumming with excitement and nerves and Sirius looks good.

He always has but all the training and the games have toned him ridiculously.

Hence your attitude not being your fault.

“That’s not true.” Sirius frowns at your words.

“It is true. You’ve hardly called,” not true- Remus was telling him he’s just as bad as James was while they were away, not that Sirius cared. “And when you’re home you’re always on your iPad.”

You’re starting to push his buttons; your words are exaggerations and you both know it.

“Poppet, just give me till tomorrow.” His words have a bit of bite to them and it sets your mood in cement.

“Oh yeah? And then tomorrow night after your big win and you’ve busted up your nose again, I’ll have to tend to you and then you’ll want to go see your friends and go to the pub, and-“ your rant is cut short by Sirius gabbing your jaw and applying just enough pressure that your cheeks swish and you gasp a little.

“You’re itching for a row and I’m not having one with you. Cut it out.” His grey eyes narrow, watching as yours widen like saucers. When he releases your face with a quick peck your resolve doubles.

“Or what? You barely even have time right now for a kiss.”

Sirius chuckles and sets his iPad to the side. His hands are strong and firm where they pull you to sit in his lap and face him.

“Is this the hill you want to die on, poppet?” Your shoulders rise just as Sirius shakes his head. “Think about what you’re gonna say, baby.”

You’ve thought about it and it’ll get you exactly what you want. Sirius can almost taste the words before they’re out of your mouth.

“Am I wrong? This is the most attention I’ve had from you since you came back from Coventry.”

It’s the snark in your tone that has your boyfriend’s hand sliding round your neck, a gentle hold but a hold nonetheless.

“Such a smart girl but you just can’t help trouble, can you?”

You shrug and that solidifies the type of night you’re about to have.

Sirius’ hand tightens around your neck, his lips pressed beside your ear. “You’re such a fucking brat,” his lips create a trail from your earlobe to your collarbone, bites and kisses interchanged and left over on your skin till he reaches your lips.

“Kiss me.” You grumble as he brushes his nose against yours but never meets your mouth.

“I shouldn’t even give you one. Don’t deserve a kiss.” He bites the hinge of your jaw just as you’re about to complain.

“Siri.” You get out, rocking your hips into his as his other hand dips beneath your shirt.

“No you don’t get to decide how tonight’s going poppet,” he kisses just between the valley of your breasts before taking off your shirt. “You could’ve if you’d waited. But you’re just so impatient, just so needy. Just so depraved.” Sirius licks a stripe up your chest on the last word.

Goosebumps immediately erupt on your chest and stomach.

His other hand releases your neck, sitting further back into his spot as you rock your hips faster.

“Please touch me.”

Sirius grins, wicked and impish. “Now you have manners, go figure.” He doesn’t move a hand to help you and in your frustration you bang a fist against his chest.

His grin is gone but you don’t see what takes its place because Sirius has you leaning over the back of the settee and your shorts around your ankles.

“Silly needy thing.” He mutters, the slap he delivers to your bare bottom echoing through your quiet apartment. “Can’t mind your tongue at all can you, poppet?”

He’s goading you now, wanting to see how far you’re willing to go.

“It’s not like you don’t like it.” Your words end in a sharp gasp, your hands clutching the back of the settee tightly.

“Can’t help yourself at all today,” you hear him shuffling behind you, his sweatpants falling around his ankles. You feel the head of his cock and lean forward a little more, a much more severe arch to your back.

“Please don’t tease.”

Sirius snickers, moving his tip between your folds before slipping in and then back out.

“This what you needed?” He asks, wrapping a hand in your hair and pulling so that your chin is tipped upwards.

“Yes yes!” Your words preface him slamming right into you, your nails gripping the sofa as Sirius sets a brutal pace.

“Fucking brat,” he grunts, the hand in your hair wound tight and the one of your waist slips to your thigh and pulls it up.

The angle shift sends him deeper into you and tears spring to your eyes.

“Sirius.” You croak, turning your chin a little to see him but the tears cloud your vision. “Oh god, right there.”

He smirks, leaning down and crowding your space but never pressing his lips to yours.

“Terrible at asking for what you want so you just have to poke and get a rise out of me hm?”

You nod, “You never fuck me like this if I ask.”

Sirius chuckles, nipping at your cheek. “Liar.” His words are punctuated with a sharp thrust and a choking gasp from you.

It doesn’t take long before Sirius has you keening and crying as he fucks you, his hand sneaking from your thigh to your clit and you shake against Sirius’ chest.

“There,” you whine, your hands on his wrist to get him to apply more pressure. “I’m close.”

Sirius does, your back bowing as you come around him. He isn’t far behind you but just as he’s about to reach his own orgasm he pulls out and thick white ropes of him cover your lower back, just above your ass.

You fall into Sirius as he catches his breath, chin resting on his slick chest. “Can I have a kiss now?”

He smiles, pushing back some of the wet strands of hair that have stuck to your face. “Course doll.”

He peppers them all over your cheeks before slotting your lips together, the kiss far more tender than he’d been just a couple seconds earlier.

“C’mon, let’s go get in the shower.” He whispers against your lips, using his discarded shirt to clean up your back.

“Then we can watch Christmas movies?”

Sirius sighs, kissing your forehead. A tinge of guilt piercing his heart. “I’ll be in the room with you but I really do have to finish going through the tactics, poppet.”

You shrug, far more amenable to the idea now. “S’long as we can cuddle.”

“I can do that, baby.”

[jamminvroomvroom]

777.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando has a wild week in vegas

on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol

posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡🤍

inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic

warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit

5k words

lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.

the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.

it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.

they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember. 


everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.

everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.

he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.

by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.

a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.

suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.

lando couldn’t look away from you.

you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.

from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.

things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.

but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.

his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.

internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.

“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.

lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.

“you’re on.”

he lost.

every. single. game.

numbers were never lando’s thing.

it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.

the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.

he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.

it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.

the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.

“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.

he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.

it seemed he’d finally met his match.

you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.

your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.

slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.

happy fucking birthday.

lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.

you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.

“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.

lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.

he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.

lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.

and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.

when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.

you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.

lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.

lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.

fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.

you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.

he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.

and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.

lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.

with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.

your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.

he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.

lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.

apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.

lando remembered everything.

the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.

your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.

the way you gave as good as you got.

he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.

warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.

lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.

is this how he made people feel?

waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.

he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?

hope breeds eternal misery.

his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.

lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.

just like he usually was.

it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.

when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.

-

“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.

lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.

“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.

“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”

“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.

“bullshit.”

“woke up alone.”

“oh.”

“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.

“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”

“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”

lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.

he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.

the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.

carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.

lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.

there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.

just who were you?

lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.

you fucking winked.

he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.

but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.

had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?

every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.

the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.

lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.

okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.

he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.

lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.

fate had other plans.

lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.

“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.

as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.

“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.

what the actual fuck were you doing here?

lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?

“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.

lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.

“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”

“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.

well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.

“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.

“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”

“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.

“maybe i’ll see you next year.”

lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.

this would be the drive of his fucking life.

lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.

media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.

he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.

a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.

sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.

lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.

kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”

-

hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.

lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.

he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.

all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.

lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.

you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.

lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.

the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.

lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.

he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.

you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.

lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.

the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.

“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.

lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.

“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.

“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.

“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.

“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.

lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.

the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.

when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.

“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.

“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”

“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.

-

inbox me your thoughts bc aaaaaaaa 😨😨

-

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[izzih22]

Hiii can you do one where Paige has so much energy and is bouncing off the walls but azzi gets her to calm down by like scratching her back so they can watch a movie or something

Too Many Athletes, Not Enough Chill

Notes: kinda like this one

The movie had been playing for twenty minutes.

Azzi had picked it out—something soft and sweet, the kind of rom-com where everyone had glowing skin and predictable problems and happy endings. All she wanted was to relax, wrapped in her favorite blanket with her favorite person, and just be.

Unfortunately, Paige Bueckers and KK Arnold had other plans.

“No, no—get off me! You’re cheating!” KK shouted, half-laughing, half-panicked as Paige had her in a headlock on the living room floor.

“You said you could beat me in a wrestling match!” Paige countered triumphantly, her legs tangled with KK’s as they rolled dangerously close to the coffee table.

“That was hypothetical!”

“You challenged me! You don’t hypothetically challenge an athlete!”

Azzi didn’t even flinch anymore. She was curled up on the couch with Ice Brady and Jana El Alfy, the three of them watching the mess unfold like tired mothers of particularly energetic toddlers.

“Should we… stop them?” Jana asked, eyebrows raised as Paige shrieked when KK tried to flip her over.

Ice didn’t look away from her phone. “They’ll run out of steam eventually. Let them tire each other out.”

Azzi sighed, rubbing at her temple as KK accidentally kicked a pillow across the room. “I’m never getting a peaceful movie night, am I?”

“Not with those two in the same room,” Ice said. “You knew what this was when you invited them.”

Azzi watched as Paige finally got the upper hand and pinned KK to the carpet, both of them breathless and grinning like idiots.

“Tap out!” Paige shouted, triumphant.

“Never!” KK yelled back.

Azzi had had enough.

“Paige.” Her voice was calm, but firm. Paige’s head whipped toward her immediately.

“Yes, baby?” she said, like she hadn’t just been body-slamming their teammate two feet from the TV.

“Come here.”

Paige blinked, then gave KK one last shove before crawling toward the couch on her hands and knees like a sulky golden retriever.

KK flopped dramatically onto the floor, arms spread. “I’m suing.”

“You started it,” Ice called down from her spot.

“You all saw her tackle me!”

Paige climbed up onto the couch beside Azzi, still catching her breath. Her hair was a mess and there was a faint rug burn on her elbow.

“You’re literally too much,” Azzi muttered, though she was already tugging Paige into her lap, rearranging the blanket over both of them.

Paige grinned. “But you love me.”

Azzi gave her a look, one that said barely, but she was already scratching gently at Paige’s back, soft fingers dragging over the cotton of her hoodie. Paige immediately sagged against her, arms wrapped around Azzi’s waist like she’d never let go.

“Mmm,” Paige mumbled. “That’s the stuff.”

“I swear you have an off switch,” Ice muttered. “And it’s named Azzi.”

“Facts,” KK groaned from the floor. “Y’all make me sick.”

“You just lost,” Paige fired back without opening her eyes.

Ice rolled her eyes. “Can we finally watch the movie now?”

Azzi didn’t answer. She was too focused on the way Paige’s breathing slowed, her eyes drooping as she melted into Azzi’s touch. It was ridiculous how fast she calmed down when Azzi had her arms around her. Like some part of Paige that was always on—loud and fast and performing—just powered down in her presence.

Jana got up to turn off the lights, shooting Azzi a grateful smile. “Thank you for your service.”

Azzi just smiled softly and kissed the top of Paige’s head. “I got her.”

And for the rest of the movie, Paige stayed curled against her like a sleepy kid, fingers curled into the hem of Azzi’s hoodie. The chaos of earlier felt far away—just another moment in their loud, messy, but somehow perfect little world.

Even KK fell asleep before the credits rolled.

[airybcby]

hii i was wondering if i could have kaiser 🍰 for 'More Than A Married Couple, But Not Lovers' event thank you!

Of course!! You didn't pick a trope, so i picked one for you, hope you don't mind!

a michael kaiser apple slice :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° the lingering question kept me up

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event :)

♡ content — michael kaiser x gn! reader, gn! reader, rivals-to-lovers, arrogany and rude kaiser, hot headed! reader, reader calls kaiser a prince once, bickering, fighting, set in a high school setting

♡ synopsis — every girl wanted to get paired with michael kaiser, except you. and isn't it just your luck that that's exactly what ends up happening.

If there were a ranking of people you’d least want to be paired with in a fake marriage simulation, Michael Kaiser would sit comfortably at the top.

The smug, arrogant soccer star had been a thorn in your side since the day he transferred to the academy. He wasn’t just good—he was incredible—and he knew it, lording his talent over everyone with a devil-may-care attitude and a smirk that could ignite arguments in seconds.

So, naturally, when your name was called alongside his for the month-long program, your first reaction was disbelief.

“This must be a nightmare,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at the instructor, even if they didn't care how you felt

“Nightmares are just dreams, sweetheart,” Kaiser said, flashing you his trademark grin.

The first week was nothing short of a disaster.

Kaiser treated the simulation like a game he was determined to win, turning every task into an opportunity to assert dominance.

“You call this cooking?” he teased, poking at the pasta you’d made for dinner.

“Maybe I’d try harder if my husband didn’t lounge around like a spoiled prince,” you shot back, slamming your fork down.

“Ah, but I am a spoiled prince,” he said with a dramatic bow. “And you’re lucky to be married to royalty.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they hurt. It wasn’t just his constant teasing—it was the way he seemed to glide through life without effort, as if nothing could touch him.

But what infuriated you most was how easily he charmed everyone else. While you were busy struggling through the tasks, Kaiser had your classmates laughing, the instructors nodding in approval, and even the simulation’s pretend landlord eating out of his hand.

Things changed during the second week.

The task was to build a piece of furniture together—a deceptively simple project designed to test communication skills. Predictably, the two of you argued the entire time.

“Kaiser, you’re putting the screws in the wrong way.”

“No, I’m putting them in the efficient way. You’re just slow.”

“Efficient? You mean completely wrong?”

An hour later, the bookshelf you’d been building collapsed in a heap of wood and screws. You sank to the floor, burying your face in your hands. “This is hopeless.”

“Hey,” Kaiser said, his voice softer than usual. “It’s not that bad.”

You looked up, surprised to find him crouched beside you. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something almost… sincere.

“You’re good at this stuff,” he admitted. “I’ll follow your lead this time.”

The words caught you off guard. For the first time, it felt like he was taking you seriously, not just treating this as another game to win.

Working together after that was easier. He still teased you, of course—this was Kaiser—but there was less bite to it, and you found yourself smiling despite your best efforts.

By the third week, something had shifted between you.

Kaiser, as it turned out, wasn’t just good at soccer. He was good at listening, too. When you vented about the program’s ridiculous expectations, he didn’t interrupt with a sarcastic comment or brush you off. Instead, he sat beside you, offering thoughtful advice and the occasional joke to lighten the mood.

“You’re not as insufferable as I thought,” you admitted one evening, after finishing the day’s tasks.

“High praise,” he said with a laugh. “I could say the same about you.”

It wasn’t long before the teasing turned into something softer, more playful. The line between rivalry and something else began to blur, and you found yourself looking forward to his smirks, his quips, even the way he always managed to steal the last slice of pizza.

The final week of the simulation brought the ultimate test: a mock anniversary dinner, complete with speeches about what you’d learned from your “partner.”

You’d planned to keep your speech simple—something polite but detached. But as you stood in front of the class, looking at Kaiser’s confident smirk, the words you’d prepared evaporated.

“I thought this simulation would be a nightmare,” you began, earning a few laughs. “And, at first, it was. But somewhere along the way, I realized… maybe it wasn’t all bad. Kaiser might be arrogant and impossible, but he’s also… surprising. He’s thoughtful when he wants to be, and he pushes me to be better, even when it drives me crazy. So, I guess… I’m glad it was him.”

You sat down, your face burning, and avoided looking at him.

When it was his turn to speak, he stood with his usual flair, hands in his pockets and a cocky grin on his face.

“I could say a lot of things about my lovely partner,” he began, shooting you a wink. “But the truth is, they're smarter, stronger, and more stubborn than anyone I’ve ever met. And if I had to do this again, I’d choose them every time.”

Your breath caught, and for once, his grin didn’t feel like an act.

The simulation ended with the two of you earning the highest score in the class, but it was the goodbye that stayed with you.

“You know,” Kaiser said as he helped you pack up the last of your things, “we make a good team.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you teased, but your voice was softer than usual.

He stepped closer, his usual confidence tempered with something quieter. “Maybe we don’t have to stop being a team.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… let’s find out what happens next,” he said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile.

For once, you didn’t have a comeback. Instead, you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Okay.”

And as he walked you to the door, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Michael Kaiser wasn’t so bad after all.

i love a good rivals to lovers

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[giuseppe-yuki]

if you saw me reply to this ask with some unintelligible notes no you didn't (i accidentally pressed post instead of save, panicked, and deleted the ask 😀) luckily i saved a picture of it so crisis averted 🫡

anyways, this is such an adorable concept!

my take down below :)

picture credits from pinterest :)

franco colapinto x orange cat shapeshifter!reader

problem: rain- also known as a cat's biggest fear. as an orange cat!shapeshifter, it only made sense that the fear transferred to your human self too. big fat droplets of water coming from the sky that soaked your entire body, making you cold and miserable? appalling. the loud thundering of the droplets on the ground and the grumbling of thunder in your sensitive ears? overwhelming.

solution: just don't go outside! unfortunately, that just created another problem: as a formula 1 driver, it was kind of necessary that your boyfriend just had to go outside into the wet montreal weather. something about james vowles...media day...meeting...blah blah blah. it was all a bunch of mumbo jumbo in your head anyways.

so there you sat, unbudging, on the plush williams' blue couch of franco's driver room, bundled under at least three blankets while your boyfriend looked upon you, arms crossed.

"come on!" franco groans, trying to pull you off the couch with his extraordinarily strong arms. "let's go! i'm going to be late, and my pr manager is gonna be mad!"

you roll your eyes. did this boy not listen to your 20 minute rant prior about how you were gonna pass away if one single raindrop touched your skin?

"franco," you say pointedly, " like i said before, go without me! i am not about to be leaving this room to be miserable and wet in this canada weather."

"i'll get you an umbrella," franco offers helpfully.

you purse your lips. "wellll.... i already looked and couldn't find one in your driver's room."

that was kind of ridiculous honestly, because how williams managed to not store a single umbrella in the million dollar buildings in rainy montreal, no less, you would never understand. your boyfriend lets out an audible 'hmph' before throwing himself next to you on the couch and attempting to stick his cold feet into the warm bundle of blankets surrounding you. he looked unlikely to get up anytime soon. "what are you doing mister?" you question, trying pushing franco off the couch. "you gotta go!" scooting all the way to the other end of the couch so you can't reach him, he crosses his arms. "well, if you're not going, i'm not either." you let out a incredulous laugh. "baby, this is your literal job- if you don't do it you're gonna get fired!" to this, he just sniffs dismissively and turns his head away from you in a dismissive manner as if he was a little kid.

"no."

a minute of silence passes, with franco pouting on the one side of the couch, trying to ignore your eyes while you stare at your boyfriend with an eyebrow raised. you predict that he will give in the next 30 seconds, like he always does under your glare. the rain still thunders outside, a wet pitter-patter that promises only grief.

you can't ever predict what comes out of his mouth next, though.

"get in my shirt," your boyfriend demands.

your mouth drops open in disbelief.

"excuse me?" you ask slowly, enunciating each syllable. "you wanna repeat that for me?"

now, your boyfriend sometimes said some out-of-pocket stuff by this was a whole new weird.

franco's cheeks turn a dusty pink almost immediately, and he waves his arms in an effort to disperse the situation.

"no! i meant- not my shirt, my jacket- like i mean for you to get in-"

"franco, that's kind of freaky of you to say right now," you say quietly.

he slaps a hand over his rapidly reddening face and mutters, "imeantthatyoushouldturninyourcatformandgetinmyjacketsowecangotogether."

"ohhhh," you respond, realization dawning you. "you want me to climb into your jacket?"

franco nods quickly, relief evident on his features.

"yes, yes, yes, so you don't get wet and i can keep you nice and toasty," he supplies, looking at you for approval.

you squint your eyes at him, thinking, before slowly nodding.

"fine."

he practically beams at you before pushing himself off the couch. reaching up, he starts slowly unzips his jacket just a smidgen suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

god, this man was so unserious.

"franco," you snap, "hurry up and unzip your jacket so i can hop in! you're literally about to be half an hour late to wherever you're supposed to be going!"

your boyfriend huffs in annoyance before unzipping the rest of his jacket and thrusting his arms out for you to jump into.

you shift into your cat form and don't waste a second before leaping into his arms.

you can practically feel the raindrops on franco's raincoat as your boyfriend strolls through the paddock on the way to williams garage. admittedly, it feels quite calming curled up inside his coat, franco's body warmth and faint cologne just about lulling you to sleep. even the usual loud roar of the rain on the roofs of the buildings are muffled by the obstruction around you. your eyes are about to close when suddenly, somebody slaps franco on the back, jolting both him and you.

"franco!" a voice says with a tinge of amusement. "did you eat too much pizza at the hospitality or what?"

using your claws, you climb your way up franco's shirt from underneath his coat, and pop your head out of his collar. it leads to a few droplets of water sliding into your fluffy fur, but you dismiss it, more curious who was doing out in the rain as well.

none other than alex albon stands there, looking real dry under a large umbrella that is now held over franco's head as well. it is proudly labelled "williams racing" in blue lettering. his "pet" cockatiel sits proudly on his shoulder, bouncing up and down in hello when she sees you in franco's collar.

alex laughs when he spots you too.

"ah, i see, just your girlfriend in your coat!" he says, giving you wave.

you give him a loud meow and bare your canines in a smile.

alex smiles back at you kindly.

"so anyways, where ya'll going on this fine day in montreal, canada?" he asks, tilting his head, as if franco wasn't looking like a soggy biscuit with his drenched clothes and the weather didn't look like it was two seconds away from becoming a hurricane.

franco gestures vaguely towards the garages.

"the garages- didn't james tell us to go there like half an hour ago?"

alex laughs. "you're joking right? he didn't send anything out, cause how are you supposed to look at car performance in this weather?"

the both of you recognize the truth in alex's words at the same time. and when the flash of realization and embarassment crosses franco's face, you make sure take a deep breath, because if you don't, you are sure you would have mauled your boyfriend for bringing you all the way out in a storm for nothing.

note: largely unedited ;-;

[luveline]

𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you have to find new ways to communicate when a cold leaves you voiceless. miguel is less than happy —featuring grumpy miguel and his cheerful spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 2.3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel's hackles hike as you appear. You have an obsession with toying with him and he's in the middle of something more important than your whims and wants.

"Don't start," he warns, barely looking at you. 

You point at yourself as if to say, Who, me? Grinning, you pull your arms behind your torso tightly, your shoulders harsh slopes where they'd usually be lax with calm. Your spider suit strains against the movement, shining with a subtle shimmer as you twirl your way into his side. You blink up at him, mock-innocent. 

"What did I just say?" he asks. 

He's expecting a charming rebuttal he doesn't get. You're awfully charismatic; Miguel often thinks you've manufactured a devilish siren call that yanks him in like a fish on a line no matter how hard he tries to split his lip and flee.

You're pretty, sure, but it isn't your looks that endear you to him. You have this way of speaking that's effortlessly carefree, despite the frankly ridiculous depth of the well that is your fondness for the world. It shouldn't make sense, and it does: you're happy because you love the world. When you speak to him, annoy him, praise him and degrade him in the same breath, Miguel thinks you might love him, too. 

You're silent. Miguel takes it as a blessing and finishes analysing the footage playing in front of him. He finishes as quickly as he can, and he's not a dick, he says, "Thank you." Then, with an unimpressed eyebrow raise, "Where have you been?" 

You come to see him so often he kind of forgot you didn't have to. He's taken you for granted, he knows, and after three days of not seeing you he should be happier. He should've asked you about it as soon as you appeared. 

You shrug and point at his screen. He can practically see the question mark in your eyes. 

"That's nothing. What, you're not speaking to me now?" he asks. 

Paper creaks in your hand as you pull a sketchbook from your pocket. Small, lilac, you flip to the first page and show him the scrawled message there with a rueful smile. 

Miguel's expecting a cartoon version of himself, but instead you've written three words. 

I have laryngitis. 

Miguel's gaze flickers between you and your book, assessing the claim with scepticism. "Why would you have that? You're practically impervious to disease." 

You flip to the next page. 

Superbug from Earth-87222 defeated my enhanced healing.

One of your Peter Parker friends lives there. He isn't jealous (because he knows that particular Peter doesn't like girls). "And you can't talk?" he asks. 

The next page. I can't talk.

You tuck the book to your chest. Lips parted, you attempt to speak, but all that comes out is hot air and a cruel croaking scratch that makes his chest ache. 

"Don't hurt yourself," he says, softer than he'd been speaking beforehand. He can't decide whether to glare at you or pull you in for a hug. If he hugs you, you might attach yourself to him like that thing from Alien. He glares. "You could've told me." 

You gesture to your throat. I can't speak. 

"That you were sick, you know how to type. You bother me every day for weeks and then one day you stop showing up, and you don't answer your watch, what am I supposed to think?" 

You stare up at him dreamily. He swears you get off on being scolded half the time. 

Miguel takes your wrist into his hand and turns your wristband forward to showcase the screen. "You see this? You see when my prompt comes up? You could take ten seconds and hit me back." 

Again, you open your small sketchbook, turning to a fourth page. You've predicted him well.

I didn't want to worry you. Don't be mad, handsome, you'll get more wrinkles. 

"Tu sabes todo," he fumes. You know everything. "If you're so smart, you can help me recalibrate the pocket dimension storage." 

You flip a page. It's finally a drawing rather than a knowing line, your familiar artistry obvious in your weighted linework and rushed shading. It's Miguel, his expression one he isn't sure you would've actually seen to reference as well as you have, lovingly concerned with a speech bubble coming from beside his softly rendered hair. Get well soon, cariño. 

He scoffs. "You seem fine to me." 

In truth, you don't seem fine. Now he knows, he can see evidence of your days away. Your lips are chapped under the balm you've applied, your hair dishevelled (though it's often unruly, in line with your personality). You wince when you breathe too hard. Miguel lowers the platform and sets you up next to him on a workbench in the back of the laboratory beside him for purely professional purposes. He has to make sure you're doing the calibration correctly, that's all. 

He can't quite explain away the tea he gets for you from the cafeteria, nor the research he does on the way back to you, Lyla at his shoulder saying, "You're such a softie." 

You find you don't need the sketchbook to communicate. Miguel places your tea down and your smile alone is thanks enough. It's pure reverential delight. He doesn't really deserve it, so he pretends he doesn't see. 

When you need help with a recalibration, you take his wrist gently. You don't even need to point at the screen, the subtle uptilt of your brows enough clue.

"Here, you're almost there," he murmurs under his breath, distracted by the complicated code you've been editing in the corner of the screen. "Oh, is this what you do when I'm not looking?" 

You tug his elbow. 

"No? You're not messing around?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "You think I'm stupid." 

Your fingers tighten. Miguel clicks a couple of things to finish the calibration. He looks at you from over his shoulder. Your face is near. It radiates heat. He bites the tip of his gloved finger and yanks it off clean to press the back of his naked hand to your forehead. 

"You're warm," he says, patting carefully downward. Your skin is as hot as he'd worried. 

Miguel drops his hand without rush, the side of his pinky tracing down your cheek. "Maybe you shouldn't be here." 

You shake your head vehemently. There's something in it he doesn't understand, an uncharacteristic shyness. He supposes he'd feel the same if he were sick like this, but you have no reason to be ashamed of a bad cold.

"Enough calibration, then. Take it easy." 

You do not take it easy. Your first port of call is to request to share his screen. He grants you permission and rescinds it soon after, irked when the majority of his monitor becomes wallpapered by digital post it note drawings of him looking cranky and of you in a crown, a ship's captain's hat, standing on the moon. He sets them each back to the perimeter of his window and tries to work. Trust you to find ways to bother him without teasing aloud. 

He thinks that… but then, his hands falter over the keyboard. You aren't a bother. You irritate him but he kind of likes it, most of the time. He turns his head just enough to see your face, blue and white light kissing your skin. You glow. 

Miguel thinks about how he used to do this alone. Lyla on his shoulder when she felt like it but usually tinkering in the quiet, trying to stop the end of the world, the pressure akin to how Atlas himself must have felt, knees locked and arms braced above his head to stop the Earth falling into the black abyss. Miguel doesn't always know what he's being punished for (or, he didn't). He doesn't know why this ended up on his plate, but the panic of doing it alone ebbs every day. With you by his side, unshakeable if not unfailing, it feels less like a death sentence and more like a problem that needs solving. He can't save everyone, but he can try. He can't stomach the agony of his life if he thinks about the past; you make it easy to stay present. 

Who would he rather have here than you? Out of everyone living that he knows, you're the only person he could stand to sit with for this long. 

It's not the same without your voice. Your murmurings, your kind doting, your put upon and less-so confusion. He misses it more than he can say in that moment, worse when you feel his eyes and turn to face him with a soft smile. 

Everything okay? you ask without asking. 

You don't need to speak. He can see it on your face. 

Miguel gets up from his bench to tower over you. Without giving it too much thought, he bends down, wrapping his right arm behind your shoulders, the left loose over your front, and kisses your forehead with the barest of pressures. It's hardly a kiss at all, and it makes no noise. More like he's resting his lips there, his nose at your hairline, breathing in. His hand rubs an up and down of its own accord into your upper arm, the soft fat of it melding under his touch. 

Your head dips back invitingly. You're like butter in the sun at his touch, a slow melting. 

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll deny it," he says quietly. 

You snort. You give his arm a pat and reach over it to grab your sketchbook. Miguel straightens but doesn't remove his arms, watching as you flick to the right page. 

I can't talk, the page says. You beam at him.

"I see," Miguel says. "You think it's funny because you couldn't tell if you wanted to." 

Your answering hum comes with the feeling of your fingers latching onto his elbow. Exactly. 

Well, fuck it. If you can't tell anyone, Miguel might as well send it. He leans down to grab you up into his hold, a squeezing hug that says everything he wanted to tell you while you were gone, his worry for you and his annoyance at your lack of communication. You don't need audible words to tell him things, and Miguel doesn't need words either. Hopefully his arms around you and his nose digging too rough into your temple says how he feels plainly. 

"I figured you got sick of taking orders," he confesses. You got sick of me. "When you didn't come back." 

You refuse to act small —Miguel doesn't want you to—, standing despite the weight he'd been resting on you, turning in the circle of his arms to look up into his eyes. It's too much, Miguel doesn't want your face this close to his, not with the rawness of his feelings aching a trail up between each of his rib bones, one by one. He clenches his jaw. 

Your hand climbs to his ear. He stays very still. As the initiator he should be forgiving, but your fingers touch his ear and he contemplates sinking his teeth into your hand. You stroke hair away from his face with a dramatised expression that says it's in the way, pesky stuff, though the final fond tuck of it behind the shell of his ear is impossible to deny.

Your thumb rubs his earlobe. 

"Are you having fun?" he asks dryly.

Your nod is sincere. Enthusiastic, you start to ease your fingertips into the thick tresses of his hair. 

Miguel grabs your wrist in an iron grip. 

"Enough." 

He guesses more than knows what your pout means —that isn't fair. 

"Life isn't fair," he says, pressing your forearm to your chest, an action fraught with apology. It's ridiculous how much can be said without words. He'd like for you to get your voice back solely to end this confusing misery. Well, not solely… Miguel misses the sound of it, distinct as your lopsided smiles and unconventional hand movements. "You can file a complaint just as soon as you get your voice back, how's that?" 

You roll your eyes and sit back down on your bench. Miguel takes a lap around the laboratory to calm down, returning to a new program blinking on computer his taskbar to be opened. 

He doesn't give you the satisfaction of looking your way as he opens it. 

"Miguel!" The program chirps, in a voice jarringly close to yours but not nearly as sophisticated as the majority of language intelligence he uses in his own coding. "I was waiting for you, handsome! Where have you been? Now you're back, I have a very special song to sing for you. Sing along if you know this one! Alright… Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer! You take one down, pass it around, ninety nine bottles of beer…"

Miguel realises he can't mute or close the program shortly thereafter. Vocaloid you counts down to sixty one bottles of beer by the time he resigns to turning off his computer altogether, a headache twinging angrily behind his eyes. 

Maybe he could use a break from your voice after all. 

You giggle breathlessly at him as he drops his face into his hands. 

"Drink your tea," he orders, words muffled by his palms.

He doesn't look up. There's the sound of a big sip. Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He's kidding himself —the sooner you get your voice back, the better. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

[billiesbabygirleilish]

Hi! I have a mom!Billie request. I was thinking Billie’s daughter (teen) takes money out of Billie’s purse and sneaks out of the house to go to a party, and Billie finds out when paparazzi photos/videos come out the next day.

Sneaking Out

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The insistent buzzing of her phone dragged Billie out of a rare, blissful sleep. She groaned, fumbled for the device on her nightstand, and squinted at the screen. A barrage of notifications from Twitter, Instagram, and, predictably, TMZ. 

“Ugh,” she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It was usually something ridiculous, a misinterpreted gesture on stage or a manufactured feud. But this time, the thumbnail accompanying the alert on TMZ stopped her cold. 

It was her daughter, sixteen-year-old Riley.

Riley, looking a little unsteady on her feet, was laughing with a group of teenagers outside a house pulsating with music. The house was unmistakably the infamous "Rager Residence," notorious for its unsupervised parties and free-flowing alcohol.

Billie's heart clenched. She tapped the link, the video playing automatically. Riley was wearing a dress Billie had never seen before, one that showed way too much skin for her tastes. She heard snippets of Riley’s laughter, punctuated by the thumping bass of the music. A hand, presumably belonging to one of Riley’s friends, offered her a red Solo cup. The video cut off there.

Billie felt a cold anger bubbling up inside her. She knew Riley wanted to experience things, to have a normal teenage life, but sneaking out and going to a party like this? It was a blatant disregard for the rules, for her safety, and for the trust she thought they shared.

She shot out of bed, adrenaline coursing through her. She stormed into Riley’s room, pulling back the curtains, letting the harsh California sun flood the space. Riley, curled up under a mountain of blankets, groaned and burrowed deeper.

“Riley! Get up!” Billie's voice was sharp, a mother's fury barely contained.

Riley jolted awake, her eyes widening as she saw her mother standing over her, phone clutched in her hand. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

Billie tossed the phone onto Riley’s bed. “Explain this.”

Riley grabbed the phone, her eyes scanning the screen. Her face paled. "Oh my god..."

"Yeah, ‘oh my god,’" Billie echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Care to explain what you were doing at the Rager Residence last night? And where you got that dress?"

Riley mumbled, “I…I just wanted to have some fun.”

"Fun? Riley, you snuck out! You went to a party known for underaged drinking! Do you even know how worried I was when I realized you weren’t in your bed this morning? I was about to call the police!" Billie ran a hand through her hair, trying to calm herself. But the anger kept surging.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I really am. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Riley’s voice was small, laced with guilt.

Billie pointed. "You took money from my purse, didn't you?"

Riley's eyes darted away. "I... I needed it for an Uber."

The confession was like a punch to the gut. Billie prided herself on being open with Riley. She worked hard to provide for her, to make sure she didn't want for anything. This felt like a deep betrayal.

Billie let out a long, shaky breath. "Okay. We’re going to have a talk. A long talk. First, you’re grounded. No phone, no going out, no seeing friends. Second, you’re going to apologize to me for lying, for stealing, and for putting yourself in a dangerous situation. And third, you’re going to explain to me why you felt the need to do this, why you couldn't just talk to me."

Riley’s eyes welled with tears. “I just wanted to be normal, Mom. Everyone else gets to go to parties, everyone else gets to have fun. I felt like I was missing out.”

Billie softened slightly. She understood the pressure, the need to fit in. She had been there herself, long before the fame and the crazy life. But that didn't excuse Riley's actions.

"I get it," Billie said, her voice calmer now. "I really do. But sneaking out, stealing, and putting your safety at risk isn't the way to do it. We can find ways for you to have fun, to hang out with your friends. But you need to be honest with me. You need to trust me."

She sat down on the edge of Riley's bed, taking her daughter's hand. 

"I love you, Riley. More than anything. And that's why I need you to be safe. That's why I have rules. It's not to punish you, it's to protect you. Please, just talk to me next time."

Riley squeezed her mother’s hand, tears streaming down her face. “I will, Mom. I promise.”

Billie pulled Riley into a hug, burying her face in her daughter’s hair. The anger hadn't completely dissipated, but it was laced with a deep sadness. She knew this was just the beginning of a long, difficult conversation. But she was determined to navigate it with Riley, to help her understand the consequences of her actions and to rebuild the trust that had been broken. Because at the end of the day, she was still just a mom, trying to protect her daughter in a world that was already too crazy.

[lilangelbud]

Could you pls pls pls do little bro domming his big sis? Not blackmail but sis is a natural sub who is always horny and who immediately starts listening to him as soon as she realizes how well he gets her off??

Love your writing 💖

She was lying on her bedroom floor, her body splayed out like a starfish, when he walked in. She didn’t even bother to cover herself, though her oversized sweatshirt barely covered her thighs and her panties were in plain view. She was scrolling through her phone, her lips pursed in that way she always did when she was bored, and he knew. He always knew.

“You’re pacing again,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His voice was calm, almost amused, but there was something underneath it—something that made her stomach tighten in a way she wasn’t ready to admit.

She glanced up, her brow furrowing. “What?”

“You’re bored. And when you’re bored, you get…” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. “Restless.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she went back to her phone. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But he was already moving, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. The soft click of the latch made her head snap up again, her heart skipping a beat. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room in a few deliberate strides, his movements slow and calculated. She felt her breath hitch as he knelt beside her, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You’re not good at hiding it, you know, sis,” he said, his voice low, almost a purr. “The way you fidget when you’re thinking too much. The way you bite your lip when you’re trying to decide how to fill the time.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered there, tracing the line of her jaw before trailing down to her neck.

She shivered. “Stop it.”

“No.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “You’re not going to pretend this isn’t exactly what you want. You’re not going to lie to me.”

Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling faster now. She wanted to look away, to break the intensity of his gaze, but she couldn’t. She was pinned there, frozen under the weight of his confidence.

“I…” she started, but he cut her off.

“You want me to make you feel something. You want me to take control because you can’t stand the idea of being in charge of your own thoughts for one more second.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Am I wrong, sis?”

She felt her body respond before her mind could catch up, a warmth spreading through her that made her legs tremble. “No,” she breathed, the word barely audible.

He pulled back just enough to look at her again, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Good.”

Before she could react, he was on her, his hands gripping her wrists and pinning them above her head. She gasped, her body arching instinctively against his, and he let out a low chuckle.

“You’re so predictable,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck. She felt her skin heat under his touch, her pulse quickening as he nipped at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“Stop teasing, lil bro” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. “Or what? You’ll make me?”

She hesitated, her mind racing, but there was no bite to her words. No real challenge. Because he was right. He always was. She wanted this. She needed it.

“I…” She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping. “I can’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice softening just enough to make her heart ache. He released her wrists, but before she could move, his hands were on her hips, pulling her closer. “Let me take care of you.”

She nodded, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he began to move. His hands slid under her sweatshirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her stomach, and she felt her body shudder in response.

“You’re so tense,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her collarbone. “When was the last time you let yourself relax?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her mind was too focused on the way his touch was lighting her up from the inside, the way his voice was making her feel things she hadn’t let herself feel in far too long.

“Tell me,” he insisted, his fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties.

She gasped, her hips bucking instinctively against his hand. “I don’t know.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, and she felt her cheeks flush. “Liar,” he said, his fingers sliding lower. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

She let out a whimper as his fingers found her heat, her body arching against his as he began to stroke her. He was slow, deliberate, his movements teasing and maddening, and she felt her mind begin to unravel.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck. “Let go.”

She tried to hold on, to keep some semblance of control, but it was impossible. His touch was too much, too perfect, and she felt herself spiraling toward the edge.

“Please, bro” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“What do you want?” he asked, his fingers still moving, still driving her closer to the edge.

“I…” She swallowed hard, her mind racing. “I want you to make me come.”

He smiled, his lips brushing against her ear. “Good girl.”

His fingers moved faster, the pressure building until she felt herself shatter, her body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. He held her through it, his breath warm against her skin, and when she finally came down, she felt boneless, her body limp against the floor.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite place. “Better?”

She nodded, her breathing still uneven. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Because this is just the beginning.”

She felt her heart skip a beat, her body responding to the promise in his words even before her mind could catch up. “What do you mean?”

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against hers as he whispered, “You’re mine now.”

And before she could respond, he kissed her, his hands moving to claim her all over again.

Tip me

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) IV

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya, they have history (iykyk), angst no comfort, not proofread

Note: final part!

Part 3

—

(You) About Alhaitham: Other ways

Avoiding him is easier said than done.

I tell myself I’m just too busy—too caught up in work, too preoccupied to engage. But I know better. This isn’t about work. It’s about him. It’s about the way he looks at me, the way he always seems to be two steps ahead, the way I feel like I’m losing control of something I never meant to start in the first place.

So I take a different approach. I keep my responses short, my tone indifferent. I take the long way around Akademiya halls, conveniently slip out of rooms the moment he enters.

But knowing Alhaitham… I doubt he’ll let me go that easily.

(Alhaitham) About you: Other ways

Avoidance is a predictable tactic—one that requires effort. Which begs the question: why go through all that trouble for something they claim is insignificant? If they think distance will put an end to this, they clearly haven’t thought it through.

(You) About Alhaitham: Persistence

You would think he’d give up by now, but he hasn’t. I’m giving him a clear answer, aren’t I? He mentioned that if I found him insignificant or something, I would’ve gotten rid of him by now; so here I am—getting rid of him. Yet he still mingles around me like a fruit fly!

Do I really want him gone? Oh, of course I do! I could finally go back to minding my own business, and he can do the same. It’s for the best.

(Alhaitham) About you: Persistence

I do it for the sake of the experiment—which now includes a new variable: me. As unbecoming as it may seem, I find myself affected by their behavior. I still haven’t found a solid reason for that—why they’re avoiding me; but I have found a senseless supposition why my emotions are influenced by it.

According to Kaveh, my attention has been titled in their direction lately, and he teased that I had feelings for them. How ridiculous.

This is an experiment—analyzing their reactions, testing their limits. And yet… their absence is noticeable. Their avoidance, intentional.

If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be thinking about it. If they truly wanted distance, they would’ve said so instead of running around all day trying hard to keep me at arm’s length.

Hmph. I’ll adjust my approach. See how long they can keep running.

(You) About Alhaitham: Honest opinions

We have a history that I partly regret. If I could do it all over again… I don’t know if I would. It was a good experience, but if that’s the reason why he keeps pursuing me, I would have to decline. I have so much to lose now—my job, my peers’ respect, my dignity. I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve grown, changed, become more cautious. And yet, every time I think I have it all under control, he does something that rattles me. A look, a comment, a gesture that makes it impossible to forget the past—and somehow pulls me back into something I thought I’d left behind.

I’m not sure if I can trust him. He’s too calculating, too deliberate in his actions. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely interested or just trying to prove a point. Either way, I know better than to fall for whatever game he’s playing.

(Alhaitham) About you: Honest opinions

They occupy more of my thoughts than I care to admit. Not in any sentimental way, of course. It’s simply that their behavior is… intriguing. Inconsistent. At odds with the image they project. They claim disinterest, yet every reaction—every calculated silence or clipped remark—suggests otherwise.

And perhaps what unsettles me most is how easily they affect me. I’ve never cared to seek out another’s company. Yet I’ve found myself adjusting my schedule, taking detours through certain halls, lingering in conversations just a little longer. All for what? To observe? To test a theory?

Kaveh seems to think this is “obvious”—that I’m interested. Emotionally. Romantically. Irrational. I dismissed him, of course… but the thought stayed with me longer than it should have.

If this were truly about research, I wouldn’t feel this frustration when they avoid me. I wouldn’t notice the absence in the room before I even look.

…No, this isn’t research anymore.

But I haven’t decided what it is either.

(You) Character story: What can’t become

After classes, the Akademiya courtyard shimmered under the late afternoon sun, golden light bleeding over the marble and spilling between the arches. Laughter echoed in faint bursts, students scattering in clumps—papers in hand, minds half-elsewhere. You slipped past the gates with quick, practiced steps, hoping to disappear before—

“Hey… hey!”

You flinched.

His voice was unmistakable—calm yet commanding, always too close even when it came from behind.

“You know,” Alhaitham called out, “avoiding me won’t make this situation any easier. It won’t resolve anything either.”

You stopped halfway down the steps and turned, arms folding instinctively across your chest. “Really?” The word left your mouth sharper than you intended—more telling. “And what is this ‘situation’ exactly?”

Alhaitham closed the distance between you with his usual measured ease, his gaze steady, unreadable. “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he said. “I’ve seen the way you react—even the slightest brush of our shoulders. The way your eyes brighten with every snarky remark we exchange—”

You rolled your eyes, the gesture sharp enough to cut the tension for half a breath. You turned again, walking off, heart pounding faster than your feet would allow.

He followed, undeterred. Of course he did.

“You’re only delaying what we both know is bound to happen.”

You spun around before he could take another step, breath pushing past your lips in a rush of frustration. “‘Both,’ ‘our,’ ‘us’—Archons above, Alhaitham! What even are we?! You talk about us like we’re some academic constant—as if you already solved the equation, and I’m just catching up. But I don’t even know what this is! What you want.”

You paused, the next words freezing on your tongue. You would not—could not—bring up that night. Not now. Not when the memory of his breath ghosting against your skin still lingered like a sunburn you couldn’t soothe.

His voice came softer this time. “I’ve never claimed to be simple,” he said. “But I’ve never lied either. You felt it too, didn’t you?”

Your stomach twisted.

You hated how easy it was for his words to find the sore parts of you. You hated even more how much truth you found in them.

“That’s exactly the problem,” you said, voice quieter now, raw at the edges. “You know what you’re doing—how easily you get under my skin. You corner me in crowded halls, you leave me thinking about words you didn’t even say… and then you walk off like none of it matters.”

He stayed silent. That silence—never awkward with him—was somehow worse than any rebuttal.

You took a breath, letting your shoulders fall slightly. “And the Akademiya?” you continued. “They see it—the glances, the whispers. Even the other professors have started asking questions.”

Alhaitham frowned, a faint crease between his brows. “That’s absurd—”

“Maybe for you,” you cut in, “but for me, perception is everything. I don’t have your title or your immunity. One wrong assumption, and I’m no longer the professor who earned their place—I’m just a rumor with a name.”

The weight of it all settled between you—words spoken not in anger, but necessity. The breeze passed again, brushing between you like a boundary neither of you could step over.

Alhaitham looked at you then—not with irritation, not even disappointment, but something quieter. Contained. Perhaps even regret.

“…Then what do you want me to do?” he asked, voice barely above the breeze. “Pretend none of it was real? That I didn’t feel something when I looked at you?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, forcing the ache back down. His words lodged themselves deeper than you wanted them to.

“I want you to understand,” you said, carefully. “This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about what I have to protect.”

A pause. You looked up and met his eyes—clear, unwavering, resolved.

“I can’t risk everything for something that might not survive the scrutiny. My reputation, my work… I’ve fought too hard to be seen for my mind, not whispered about for who I might be seen with. Even if that someone is you.”

For the first time, Alhaitham looked away. His jaw tightened slightly. The silence between you wasn’t cruel—it simply was. Like gravity or time. Unforgiving, but fair.

He nodded once. No protest. No plea. Just a flicker of something behind his eyes—acknowledgement, perhaps. Or acceptance.

“I won’t stand in your way,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

You let out a breath that trembled at the edges, the ache blooming somewhere deep beneath your ribs.

“…Thank you,” you said, voice steady at last. “For not making it harder than it already is.”

You turned before he could say anything else. The sun dipped beneath the buildings as you walked away, shadows spilling across the marble in your wake. Behind you, Alhaitham stayed where he was—still, composed, watching.

He didn’t call after you.

Not this time.

(Alhaitham) Character story: What won’t become

Alhaitham had never been fond of hypotheticals.

They were inefficient—rooted in speculation, mired in abstraction. What-ifs served little use in the real world, where causality and consequence reigned. A scholar deals in truth, not fantasy.

And yet, lately, he found himself entertaining one particular what-if more than he’d like to admit.

What if they hadn’t walked away?

He can still recall the look in their eyes—clear, unflinching, and devastatingly resolute. They had chosen themselves. And Alhaitham, for all his conviction, could do nothing but step aside.

Perhaps that’s why he respected them so deeply.

They were precise in their logic, unwavering in their principles. Not unlike him. But where he wielded detachment as armor, they wielded choice. They understood sacrifice—and made it anyway.

He remembers their words as clearly as any scholarly quote.

“This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about what I have to protect.”

There had been no malice in their voice, only truth. It was never a question of affection—of course they had felt it. That tension, the friction of minds colliding like flint, the conversations that lingered long after the echo faded. No one else challenged him quite like they did. No one else made silence feel that loud.

Still, affection alone was never going to be enough. Not when the Akademiya, with all its scrutiny and hierarchy, watched them more closely than it ever watched him.

They were right.

He was the Scribe. Acting Grand Sage, even. He could afford to be indifferent to perception. But they? A young professor, barely past their appointment, climbing uphill in a world built to doubt them.

Their choice made sense.

And so, he said nothing. Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask them to stay. What good would persuasion do, when they had already done the calculus themselves?

Alhaitham never believed in fate. But he believed in outcomes—inevitable, weighted, measurable. And this? This was an outcome both of them saw coming from the moment things began to blur.

He still sees them sometimes. In lectures. Passing through the colonnades. Sitting alone in the House of Daena, pen tapping lightly against a page. The world spins as it always does.

They do not look away.

Neither does he.

And that is the truth of what won’t become: not a tragedy, not a regret.

Just a possibility… acknowledged and left behind.

(You) About Alhaitham II

He never asked me to stay, and I suppose I should thank him for that. It made walking away cleaner—easier, even. But sometimes I wonder… if he had just said one thing differently. If I had turned back just once…

Still, I made my choice. And I’ll live with it, even if part of me still hears his voice when the halls go quiet.

(Alhaitham) About you II

They made the right choice. Personal feelings should never outweigh one’s principles—especially in a place like the Akademiya. I respect that… deeply. Though, if I find myself walking a little slower near their classes… it’s purely coincidental. Obviously.

Or so I keep telling myself.

—the end—

[cinnamonest]

ah to be a girl that was dating modern!scara for some time bc she thought he was a mysterious uwu discord mod type, only to find out he’s just an incel who acts like he hates you even tho still fucking you and everything.. he doesn’t do much aside it, though. so after some time, you break up with him. or, well, tried to! it’s not like you have a right to break up with him after willingly deciding to date him, right?

happy new year, by the way! 🎉

Oh and he’s so awful as it is, literally the peak of trashy, toxic boyfriends.

Always dumping labor off on you because he knows you'll take care of whatever task it is eventually anyway, subtly guilt-tripping you all the time, always saying little things to make you insecure about this or that (just to be sure you don't get any ideas, or think anyone else would ever want you).

The sort of boyfriend that is careful about the steps he takes — God forbid he come across as insecure or desperate — but is manipulative and wears your psyche down nonetheless.

There’s a constant, but well-pulled-off effort to always ensure you feel that you’re the one that cares more, that you’re the one that’s more invested, that he’s the one who could easily pull away from you and be just fine, that you need him more than he needs you.

But this situation is particularly bad because he's just so deluded about it.

It's one of those relationships where, one day out of the blue, you halt mid-task and suddenly find yourself asking — why am I doing this to myself?

You realize you became so accustomed to it all so easily, it was just gradual enough that you never really noticed how miserable you are, until one day you just do.

So you do it. You summon up the courage to look him in the eye and say you're done.

And what you get in return is essentially a non-reaction. Rolled eyes and a long sigh of exasperation, some muttered comment about how you're being overdramatic.

He was prepared for this kind of thing, see. Females are known to do this. They don't actually mean they're breaking up with you. It's a test. They just do that sort of thing. A test designed to scare the guy and make him apologize for some mistake and get attention and doting and stuff. Very manipulative of them (but what's new).

But he's not the sort of weak loser that falls for that stuff, he knows what you're doing. So he shrugs it off, doesn't even turn around, says something about how you've threatened to leave several times now.

Then you say you mean it.

You get a sigh and a ‘yeah, sure,’ and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from lashing out about how that uncaring attitude is part of why you’re doing this to begin with.

And you storm out the door, not bothering to even glance back.

Which is surprising — didn't think you'd actually do it, but your petulance knows no bounds, apparently. Still, this is also predictable, a common form of aforementioned testing, a humiliation ritual of sorts intended to make him suck up to you.

So he gives you a few hours, but you don't send the expected text saying you're sorry and that you overreacted and please please just forget it and move on and all the other stuff you're supposed to say.

And the sun sets, and you're not back.

Oh, so you're being spiteful. Trying to make him think you “mean it” by going silent, and thereby trying to out-wait him. You think if you keep this up, he'll be the first one to break, to give in and try to get you back. This whole thing is designed for you to feel some kind of power at his expense. Well, you're wrong.

And then another day passes.

God. Unbelievable.

You're actually doing this out of pure spite, just stubbornly waiting for him to come get you.

…And here he is, now doing exactly that, like an idiot, so he mutters to himself as he finally leaves to go get you. Not that he's giving in to what you want, it's just that this is getting ridiculous and his patience for your antics has run out.

Still, he tells himself this isn't so bad, because you were probably looking forward to some sick satisfaction from getting him to beg to know where you are. Little do you know he prepared for this sort of situation, that's why there's a tracker in your purse and on your phone and in your car and such. You're not going to get any groveling out of him.

You're so manipulative. You're really lucky he puts up with you and tolerates such toxic behavior.

Likewise, he's not about to beg for you either — he knows the game you're playing, that all your pleading and fighting back and ‘I meant it!’-s are part of the schtick. Just accept that you're not going to get the entirety of what you want. You'll get the part where he takes you back like you wanted, but he has too much self-respect to plead with you. You'll just skip to the part where you come home — you're so stubborn, not getting what you want will undoubtedly make you dig your heels in and squeal and all that, but it's really no big deal. Being so childish about it is a choice that just reflects badly on you.