#she would obviously want to be there for them and good for them

[pitlanepeach]

Figure It Out | Chapter One

Max Verstappen x Isla Harrington (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Isla Harrington’s life is upended after a one-night stand with Max Verstappen leaves her a single-mom. Four years later, Max decides that he wants in — and neither of them are ready for what that means.

Warnings — Surprise baby trope, one night stands, co-parenting, grovelling, bullying and harassment, coming of age, angst and fluff.

Notes — We're going allll the way back to 2018! Strap in.

2018

Life didn’t feel real.

It felt like something out of a dream — stitched together from the pages of racing magazines and late-night replays she used to watch in secret under her duvet as a teenager. The engines, the colour, the thrum in her chest that wasn’t nerves but something sharper. Like wonder, only more practical.

Isla stood just outside the media centre, lanyard fluttering against her chest in the breeze, notepad pressed flat against her thigh to stop her hands from shaking.

She hadn’t cried yet.

Not when the email came through weeks ago — the Sky Sports internship offer she never really thought she’d get. Not when she booked her first-ever flight on her own, stuffing her suitcase with more clothes than she could ever possibly need. Not even when she walked into the paddock this morning and was handed a branded pass, with her name spelled right and everything. 

But now, with the sun warming the asphalt and the faint scent of tyres and fuel in the air, she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not really.

Girls like her, the ones who hailed from run-down council flats and were raised by parents who didn’t know how to love the children they’d decided to have — they didn’t end up in places like this. They ended up responsible. Careful. Grateful for temp jobs and small mercies.

Not… doing this.

A voice cut through her thoughts.

“You coming in?”

It was Ted, pointing toward the press conference room with a slightly bemused smile, radio tucked in his hand. She nodded quickly, her mouth dry.

“Nervous?” He asked, walking beside her.

“No. Well — yes,” she admitted. “I just didn’t think it would be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like people are actually going to look at me and expect me to know what I’m doing.” She admitted, her cheeks flushing pink. 

Ted hummed thoughtfully, and then said nothing. Which she appreciated.

Inside, the room was humming — literally and figuratively. Reporters murmured, technicians adjusted cables, and someone handed Isla a list of scheduled driver appearances with three different versions of the same Excel spreadsheet, none of which matched.

By the time the press briefing began, Isla had already re-written her notes twice and found a quiet corner by the back wall. She wasn’t meant to ask anything today, maybe ever. Her job was to just observe. Learn. Make notes. 

So she listened. Not just to what the drivers said, but what they didn’t. She caught the moments when their words didn’t line up with their body language, when tension rippled beneath polite phrases. She tracked patterns, noted phrases, jotted little arrows beside mentions of "strategy" and "frustrating stints."

She was invisible. And that was fine. She was good at being invisible — at watching people closely and knowing exactly when to disappear.

Later, during lunch, Natalie sat beside her and asked, “How are you finding it so far?”

Isla blinked. “Overwhelming. Amazing. I just don’t want to do something wrong.”

Natalie smiled — the kind that made Isla feel seen in a way she wasn’t used to. “You’re not here because we expect you to know everything. You’re here because the big bosses obviously saw potential in you. Let yourself rise to it, okay?”

That night, Isla lay in her hotel bed with the window cracked open. The hum of the circuit still buzzed faintly in her ears. Her notepad was open beside her, full of scribbled thoughts — not just stats and quotes, but moments that caught her attention. A brief smile between two engineers. A driver running his hand along the edge of his front wing like it was something sacred. The way the wind kicked up when the cars tore past, like they could take the world with them.

She didn’t call anyone to tell them about her first day. There was no one waiting by a phone.

But she whispered it anyway. “I did a really good job today.”

And she had.

She really had.

—

The first few weeks of the season blurred together.

Melbourne was too bright, too fast, the weekend over way too soon. Isla forgot her adapter plug, melted her hair straighteners, and spent the first day with her badge on backwards. But she also caught her first real paddock rumour before it hit Twitter; something about the Haas pit stop disaster and a quietly furious team boss who’d nearly broken his radio.

In Bahrain, she kept her head down and her ears open. Vettel took another win. The paddock buzzed with “Ferrari resurgence” whispers and the strange, low simmer of Mercedes unease. She wrote her first segment notes for a feature Natalie was doing. Half of her suggestions made it in. She didn’t say anything about it, didn’t brag or preen, but she smiled the whole way back to her hotel.

By China, she knew which engineer preferred his coffee iced, which producers liked printouts colour-coded, and that if you needed the real story, you had to talk to the tyre technicians. Not the flashy front-facing ones — the gruff old hands who could tell the shape of a weekend by how the rubber fell off the car on Friday.

There were dramas; real ones. The Red Bull crash in Baku made the entire media pen flinch. Verstappen and Ricciardo, teammates colliding at speed, the air after so thick with tension that even the Sky crew kept their voices low. Isla stood behind a monitor that night, typing notes with trembling fingers as Ted tried to piece together a timeline of blame on live TV.

She started sleeping with her notebook beside the bed. Not just for work quotes anymore, but for flashes of dialogue, metaphors that hit her during a race, questions she didn’t have the confidence to ask yet.

She still hadn’t been on camera. That wasn’t part of the plan. But she’d started to earn nods in the paddock, started getting handed spare headsets or asked for help coordinating B-roll clips.

She was still the quiet one. The intern. But she was listening.

And people had started noticing that she remembered things. 

—

Overlapping interviews. Sweat-slicked fireproofs. PR reps hovering just out of frame, brows furrowed, earpieces buzzing. Cameras jostled for position. Booms dipped low, voices overlapped. The late afternoon sun turned everything into glare and heat and movement, like the entire paddock was vibrating with post-race adrenaline.

The media pen was always like this — loud and frantic and fast.

Isla kept her back to the barrier, eyes down, a tiny Sky mic clipped to her collar like it might explode at any moment. She wasn’t meant to be front and centre. Just a placeholder. Natalie had been pulled into a strategy debrief. Ted was somewhere melting into a fold-out chair with a bottle of water. And so Isla stood in, just in case someone needed a warm body holding a mic.

“Incoming,” a voice crackled in her ear. “Ricciardo approaching. If he stops, throw him something. A question.”

She went still. “What kind of question?”

“Any question. Doesn’t matter. Just keep him talking — you’re mic’d, we’re live.”

Her fingers tightened around her Sky notebook. Any question?

Then he appeared — and for a second, the pen narrowed, as if the noise paused just slightly for him.

Daniel Ricciardo. Still in his Red Bull race suit, curls damp with sweat, that ever-present grin fixed to his face like it was stitched there. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a cartoon and landed in the real world.

“Hey,” he said, catching sight of her. “You’re new.”

Isla nodded, quickly. “Yeah. I mean — yes.”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Cool. Got anything good to ask? Hit me.”

She froze. She could feel all the standard questions lined up in her mouth like marbles — Talk us through the race. What was the strategy? Was traffic at Turn 10 frustrating?

But she didn’t say any of them.

Because she’d been watching. Closely. Not just the race, but the details — the micro-movements, the flickers of body language, the way a car talks if you know how to listen.

So instead she asked, voice steady and low, “That rear twitch in Sector Two — what was that? Looked like the car wanted to completely let go, but you held it.”

Daniel blinked.

And then something changed. Surprise first, then something warmer — interest. “Oooh, good observation,” he said, visibly impressed. “Yeah. Not totally sure what triggered it — it’s been creeping in late-race for a few weekends now. You get to a certain point, tyres drop, balance shifts… and suddenly the rear’s whispering, I’m on the edge, buddy. I’ve got to make a choice. Back off or trust the car.”

She nodded, instinctively. “So you trusted it.”

“Today? Yeah. Leaned in. Worked out.”

She hesitated — and then, before she could talk herself out of it. “Is it consistent? That late-race rear instability — your engineers have flagged it as an ongoing issue?”

He blinked again. “Uh, yeah. They’ve noticed it. We’ve looked into it. It’s not super dramatic, but it’s there — especially on tracks with more left-hand load. It’s something to manage.”

Her producer’s voice crackled in her ear. “Nice. Real nice. We’re clipping this. Stay with him — if he’s giving you answers like that, keep it rolling.”

But Isla just smiled, a little shy. And she didn’t push, had never wanted to be the kind of journalist who ran a question into the ground.  “Thanks, Daniel,” she said quietly.

He winked. “Good question, kiddo.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by a tangle of cameras and shouting journalists.

Isla exhaled — only then realising she’d been holding her breath. Her heart was hammering. Her palms were damp. 

—

The meeting room smelled like strong coffee, dry-erase markers, and the kind of air-conditioned panic only found in live broadcasting. Isla sat on the edge of a rolling chair, notebook in hand, pulse skipping in her throat.

She hadn’t even known she was invited until that morning. The email had landed in her inbox with a vague subject line — Editorial debrief — and her name, surprisingly, on the attendee list.

Now, the table was crowded with producers, segment editors, and a few of the on-air crew, all mid-chat, casually dissecting cutaways and replay sequences like they weren’t sitting in a pressure-cooker of world feeds and TV ratings.

Then someone clicked the remote, and a muted clip played on the screen at the front of the room: Daniel Ricciardo, grinning. Isla’s voice played softly over the footage. “That rear twitch in Sector Two — what was that?”

Isla blinked. Her stomach dropped.

The producer in the corner — Graham, fifty-something, glasses perched permanently on his forehead — gestured toward the clip like it was a classroom exhibit. “This,” he said, “is what we’re after.”

The room quieted. Isla forgot how to breathe.

“Instinctive, focused, sharp. That’s a real question. That’s not cribbed from a media sheet or parroted off comms. That’s from someone watching the race. Closely. That’s what we need more of in the pen. Not just echo-chamber interviews — insight.”

Someone else chimed in — Ellie, graphics editor, “It’s been clipped and run on social. Engagement’s good. Real fans picked up on it — few even said it was the first genuine, interesting thing they’d heard out of a driver all weekend.”

Isla stared down at her notebook. Her knuckles were white around her pen.

Graham looked at her. “Good instincts. You’ve got a feel for it.”

“I just…” she started, voice thin. “I noticed the rear was twitchy late on. And… I thought if I was watching from home, I’d want to know if that was going to be an issue.”

“And that’s exactly what we want.”

She flushed.

Someone laughed softly and said, “She’s only been with us six weeks. Give her two months and Crofty’ll be looking over his shoulder.”

The room chuckled. Isla smiled — small, but real.

Later, when the meeting wrapped and laptops snapped shut, Natalie passed her by, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “Told you,” she murmured. “You’ve got it. Let yourself rise to it.”

And for the first time, Isla allowed herself to consider it.

Not luck. Not accident. Not a glitch in the system.

Maybe she was meant to be here.

Maybe she could thrive.

—

Every airport felt like its own micro-universe. Every paddock a city with its own rhythms and rules. And every time she pinned her Sky lanyard to her chest and walked through the gates, she felt it again — that pulse beneath the surface of things. That ache to understand, to see.

She didn’t travel with the main broadcast team yet. Too junior. But they'd pulled her in for every race so far that season — sometimes as a runner, sometimes as backup for Ted or Natalie. Every now and then, they even let her hold a microphone and ask a question. She’d earned their trust, after all. 

Monaco was madness. Glitz, yachts, traffic jams in the pit-lane, and tension under every surface. Isla was there when Ricciardo drove a masterclass with a broken MGU-K, holding off Vettel lap after brutal lap. She caught him in the tunnel after podium and he looked like he might cry — not from pain, but from relief. From proving something.

Canada? Vettel's redemption. Isla watched the red cars fly on Saturday, and on Sunday, Seb crossed the line with the number one board mistakenly placed in front of Lewis’ car. A quiet moment of symbolism that didn’t escape the fans. Nor Isla, who scribbled “Ferrari are quietly furious this season. Seb’s playing long game?” in the margins of her notebook.

Then came France. New circuit, new chaos. First-lap collision, safety car drama, and Hamilton back on top. But the paddock talk was elsewhere — rumours of Daniel’s contract, Red Bull’s future, and a quiet buzz about the growing number of clips being shared of a young, observant reporter catching drivers off-guard with her keen, non-generic questions.

Isla was starting to be recognised.

And so it was, one sweltering Saturday afternoon at Paul Ricard, she found herself walking the long gravel path from the media centre toward the drivers’ hospitality units — off-duty, notebook tucked away, wearing a faded t-shirt she’d owned for a couple of years now.

MV33.

The lion on the back was hand-drawn, slightly cracked from too many washes. But she loved it. Loved him, the driver. Always had. It was a devastatingly poorly kept secret that the journalist who wasn’t supposed to play favourites very much did so behind closed doors. 

She was halfway down the path, sunglasses low on her nose, when two voices drifted from ahead. Laughter, familiar and bright.

Daniel Ricciardo. And Max Verstappen.

They were walking toward her — fresh from a meeting or maybe lunch, wearing team polos and mirrored shades. Max’s expression unreadable. Daniel’s more relaxed.

She moved to step aside. Disappear into the shadows, as usual. But Daniel caught her first.

“Hey! I know you,” he grinned, pointing playfully. “You got me good in Spain. I got a right walloping from Christian for making our stability issues public.”

Isla flushed. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I just asked about what I saw. Sorry.”

Daniel’s eyes sparkled. “Nah. Don’t be sorry. That’s why it was good.” Then his gaze dropped slightly, grin widening. “Shit — cool shirt!”

She froze.

Looked down.

Cursed under her breath.

Max Verstappen’s number stared back up at her in faded navy ink. And next to her, Max himself had stilled.

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. 

She mumbled something incoherent — “Thanks, sorry, long day, gotta—” — and practically bolted past them, heat crawling up her neck.

What she didn’t see was the way Max’s eyes tracked her retreat. Quiet. Slow. Sharp.

She didn’t see the slight twitch of his jaw. The flicker of something in his expression that wasn’t quite recognition — not yet — but something heavier.

He didn’t say a word.

But he’d seen the lion.

He’d seen her.

And from that moment on, he would keep seeing her.

Everywhere.

—

The heat in the media pen felt heavier than usual. Sweat clung under Isla’s collar, her mic battery pack digging into her lower back as she jostled for a clear spot behind the Red Bull line. Her notes were already smudged from stress — Max had just won the race in front of a sea of Dutch fans and the energy was insane.

She wasn’t meant to ask anything. Again. Just shadow, observe, stay out of the frame.

Ted was ahead of her, waving his mic in the scrum. Isla stayed two steps back, heart thudding in rhythm with the engines still cooling in parc fermé.

Then Max stepped in.

Still half-wrapped in the Dutch flag, hair damp with sweat, grinning that crooked grin that didn’t look real until you saw it up close. His PR handler guided him toward the waiting cluster of broadcasters, and the Sky crew leaned forward, prepping to go live.

But Max didn’t stop where he was meant to.

He scanned the line once — quickly, then again, more slowly.

His gaze snagged on her.

Isla froze.

Max’s mouth curved — a flash of amusement, or maybe recognition. And then he said, to the entire waiting press pack, “I’ll only answer if it’s her asking.”

A pause.

Blinking confusion.

Ted half-turned. “Who?”

Max lifted a finger — pointed, almost lazily, directly at Isla. “Her.”

Isla swear she died a little on the inside.

The Sky producer’s voice barked in her earpiece. “Jesus Christ, Isla, go! Ask him something! You’re live in twenty seconds—go! Go!”

She lurched forward like a wind-up toy, arm snapping up with the mic, eyes wide and horrified. Max was watching her like she was a puzzle he’d already started solving.

She opened her mouth.

No sound came out.

Max tilted his head. “That wasn’t a question.”

Her face flamed. “Right. Um.” She dropped her eyes to her notes, which were absolutely useless, full of scribbles and half-thoughts. “Uh. You—your start was really strong. You covered Kimi into Turn 1. Was that premeditated or reactive?”

Max’s grin softened. “Both.”

“I—what?”

He shrugged. “Premeditated to be reactive. I figured if I could get track position early, the race would come to me. And it did.”

She blinked.

“Want to ask another?” he prompted, voice lower now.

Her mouth opened — and without thinking, she blurted, “What’s it like hearing a hundred thousand people chanting your name?”

Max’s brows lifted, just slightly. And for a beat, he didn’t smile. He just looked at her.

Then, slowly, he said, “Loud. But nice. It reminds me to keep giving them something to shout about.”

The PR handler gestured for him to move along. Max handed her one last glance, another chance to ask something. 

Nothing came out of her mouth. 

She just… stared at him. 

And then he was gone, like always — swallowed up by the next pen, the next camera, the next mic.

Isla stood in the silence he left behind, red-faced, mic still raised like an idiot. Natalie appeared behind her, all wide eyes and flailing hands.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I think I blacked out,” Isla muttered, still staring into space.

“You didn’t cry. Or drop the mic. So that’s a win.”

“But I—I just—I feel like an idiot.” 

Natalie squeezed her arm. “Max is like that sometimes. Don’t let him get to you.” 

“Yeah.” She whispered. Staring at the back of his head as he leaned in close to a Dutch reporters microphone and laughed. 

—

The paddock had thinned out after the media frenzy. Most of the drivers were either back in debriefs or already heading out, but Isla wasn’t looking for any of them.

She was looking for Max.

And she found him — just outside the Red Bull motorhome, fresh out of a team meeting, towel slung around his neck, shirt changed but still crumpled from the race. He was leaning against a table, drinking from a bottle of water like he didn’t have a care in the world.

He saw her before she even said a word.

“Ah,” he said, grin blooming instantly. “I was wondering when you’d come yell at me.”

“I’m not—” Isla stopped. Huffed. “Okay, yes. I am. What the hell was that?”

He blinked innocently. “What was what?”

“In the media pen.” She stopped a few feet from him, crossing her arms, trying to channel some kind of moral authority. “You can’t just single someone out like that on live broadcast—”

“Why not?”

“Because—because it put me on the spot! I wasn’t ready, and I had no questions, and my voice cracked—”

“It did. Little bit,” Max said helpfully. “But it was cute.”

“Max!”

His grin only widened.

“I’m trying to be angry at you,” Isla snapped.

“You don’t seem very angry,” he said, tilting his head.

“I am! I’m—furious.”

“You’ve gone pink.”

She made an indignant noise. “That’s sunburn.”

“It’s not.”

“Stop smiling.”

“Make me.”

That made her pause.

Max’s eyes gleamed, heat and mischief rolled into something deceptively calm. “I liked your questions. You actually watch the race. Most reporters just glance at the podium sheet and ask about strategy. Boring.”

“I was… flailing! You embarrassed me.”

“No I didn’t.” 

Isla faltered — just a beat. Then she tried again. “You don’t get to throw me into the deep end just because you’re bored of answering the same questions.”

“I didn’t throw you,” he said. “You jumped.”

She stared at him.

He pushed off the table and stepped closer, just enough to feel tall in the way that annoyed her — like he knew he could rattle her just by existing. “I’ll give you warning next time,” he said, voice lower now, more real. “But I meant it. I like your questions.”

“…Why?”

His mouth curved again, slower this time. “Because you don’t ever ask what I expect. And I like surprises.”

She hated how that made her stomach flip.

And she really hated how she turned to leave — cheeks hot, jaw tight — only for him to call after her, “See you in Silverstone, Lion Girl.”

She didn’t turn around. But she walked faster. Because if she stayed another second, she might’ve smiled back.

And that would’ve been disastrous.

[nerdycheol]

Terms of Sabotage || Y.J.H

pairings: yoon jeonghan x f!reader

genre/warnings: fake dating, college au, fluff, light angst, multimedia format

wc: 3.5k

summary: What starts as a petty plan to provoke your situationship quickly spirals when Jeonghan decides he has his own agenda. He’s charming, persuasive, and far too good at playing the part—but he doesn’t stop there. Suddenly, he’s helping with little schemes, showing up uninvited (but never unwelcome), and somehow ends up making himself at home in your life—and on your couch.

part of Rent-A-Boyfriend series

big thankyou to supi (@supi-wupi) for beta- reading <33

once again thankyou for 500 followers 🥺i’m honestly so grateful for every like, comment, ask, reblog. this little series started as a fun idea and now it’s become something so special to me. this is my first attempt at smau so bear with me. love you all sm!! 🫶 hope you like it :))

dividers by @cafekitsune

rent a boyfriend taglist | permanent taglist

do you ever look at someone and want to push their head deep into the flames of hell? 

that’s exactly what you are feeling right now. you are not an evil person. but how would someone feel when they see a random girl getting touchy with their boyfriend. well not exactly your boyfriend …yet. 

you are sitting in the corner of a bar, with your half-finished margarita in front of you. this was supposed to be a fun night out. you, your friends, and minjun. 

your friends are sitting around you gossiping about the ‘it’ couple who just broke up because the dude cheated on the girl with her best friend—gay best friend. very juicy, yes. normally you would have enjoyed it but right now all you could focus on is boring holes onto the girl who was with minjun– flirting. 

you would be wondering who this minjun is —is he your boyfriend, your friend, your crush. all of the above, technically. minjun is your situationship. you have the same major and have a few shared clubs. that’s how you know him. 

the first time you saw minjun was on orientation day. he rushed into the auditorium, breathless, scanning for a seat—then chose the one beside you.

annoyingly handsome. sharp jawline, soft lips, bouncy hair falling just right. clear skin, flushed cheeks. and somehow, he looked even better sweaty and panting.

maybe that’s when you fell for him.

you didn’t talk to him right away. you just… quietly sat behind him in every lecture, zoning out while staring at his stupidly perfect face. you even joined the same clubs as him. stalker-ish? yeah. but maybe it was for good.

eventually, minjun noticed you. he started talking to you. you became friends.

and after one too many drinks on a night out, you ended up sleeping together.

the next morning, he asked if you wanted to try the whole friends-with-benefits thing.

you said yes—obviously.

because you were stupid enough to think it’d turn into something more.

but all your hopes crash down whenever you see someone flirt with him—what’s worse is that he willingly lets them. tonight is one like that. 

giselle, who has been taking note of your expression the whole night nudges you and nods at you asking what happened to which you just shake your head and turn your gaze back to the couple.

giselle lets out a sigh, “you know it’s high time you stop thinking about him and start thinking about you.”

“but i,” you stir your drink with the red straw. “i just like him so much, but he just does not even seem to care about me until he wants to get his dick wet.”

“then make him jealous,” she shrugs. “that seems to be the most proven way to get a guy's attention.”

make him jealous. easier said than done.

how are you supposed to make someone jealous, when you don’t have someone to make him jealous with.

but the k-drama gods somewhat seems to be on your side today. you’re just trying to watch your k-drama in peace on a sketchy website, and suddenly this weird ad pops up.

Rent-a-boyfriend!

at first it seems really sketchy, but curiosity gets the best of you and you click on the ad which redirects you to a new site. the site does not look as sketchy as the ad, you think.

Boyfriend for Hire – Fake It Till You Feel It, the title said. below, you see a slideshow of a few men—highlighted ‘our best’. your eyes pause on one particular slide. 

Yoon Jeonghan.

you scroll down and see reviews: 

“(5/5) Booked him to make my ex jealous—ended up jealous of myself. How is he THIS good at fake eye contact?? I still think about the way he said my name.” ~@overitbutnotreally

“(5/5) He remembered my coffee order after one call. Held my hand like he meant it. My friends still ask about him. I had to pretend I broke it off just to save face.” ~@girlwhocriedfeelings

“(4/5) Flawless acting. Too flawless. Caught feelings. Would sue if I wasn’t also lowkey in love. Docked one star for emotional damage.” ~@chaoticrevengearc

that good? you definitely gotta check it out.

you don’t know how this is supposed to work but you hit on the confirm order button and just hope your money does not go in some scammer’s hands.

_

you look at the message for a good 10 minutes. you didn’t know it would actually work. you shake the thoughts out of your head before typing out a reply.

_

you are 15 minutes late. by the time you reach the cafe you were sure if he would have left. when you reached the cafe, not to lie, you were quite surprised to see him not gone, even more that he looks exactly like the pictures—beautiful. his hair’s a little messy—brown, shoulder-length, soft waves that look like he ran a hand through them on the way here. he’s in a plain white tee layered under a charcoal jacket, one arm draped over the back of the chair, the other around his half melted iced coffee.

“sorry,” you apologize meekly as you stand in front of him.

jeonghan looks up and says your name to confirm your identity. you nod once, reaching out your hand to shake his then slide into the seat across from him. 

you don’t say anything for sometime which forces him to speak out. 

“so… what are you looking for?”

“huh?” you look at him startled by the sudden conversation. 

“i mean you booked me, so i assume you have a motive—making your ex jealous, flexing in front of your friends. in case i’m wrong.”

“the first one.” you respond. “to make my situationship jealous… not ex.”

your voice dips at the end, his presence pressing at the edges of your nerves.

jeonghan nods. 

“so do you have any picture of them? for reference i mean. i can’t just go around making random people jealous, if you know what i mean.” he winks.

you don’t know what he means, still you take out your phone and show him a picture of minjun.

“what’s his name?”

“minjun,” you reply.

jeonghan takes one last sip of his coffee before slapping his hands on his thigh and getting up. 

“so, we’ll start tomorrow? dress pretty. we have somewhere to go.” 

You blink. “Somewhere?”

He leans down just a bit, enough for his voice to drop low—like this is some kind of secret.

“Can’t make someone jealous if they don’t see us.”

And with that, he flashes you a devastating smile, slips his coat over one shoulder, and heads for the door like this is just another day on the job.

You watch him leave, still holding your coffee, not entirely sure what you just signed up for. But your heart’s beating a little too fast.

And your phone pings a second later.

—

to make up for yesterday, you got ready early. 

now you’re standing outside the cafe, pretending to scroll through your phone while double-checking your reflection in the window for the third time.

jeonghan reaches the cafe two minutes after you. when he sees you he lets out a low whistle. 

“ooh, not bad!” he comments, eyeing you head to toe. for some reason the comment offends you a bit, but you don’t show it.

“shall we?” you say, not waiting for his reply before walking into the cafe.

—

jeonghan is not as weird as he seems. even though his little attempts at flirting did not exactly impress you, but he is not that bad either. the “date” went better than expected. 

jeonghan would make silly jokes, compliment you—a lot, even make an effort to learn your preferences. 

“so what is the deal between you and this, minjun guy” he asks.

you remain silent for a while, thinking what to say and what not. “we both go to the same college, same friend circle. things happened and we became friends-with-benefits. but…”

“you started liking him and he does not, so you are trying to make him jealous to invoke feelings in him. am i right or am i right?” 

the way he caught onto things so quickly baffled you. 

receiving no reply from you, he just nods. out of the blue asks you to open your phone and take pictures of him. a few turns into way too many—different angles, slight head tilts, half-smiles. he barely even blinks, adjusting his posture like he’s done this before (he probably has).

Finally, he lets out a satisfied hum and hands your phone back. “Post one. This should keep things interesting for a while.”

you raise a brow. “You’re kind of obsessed with yourself.”

he grins. “no, just committed to the role.”

_

jeonghan offered to drop you home—even though, as it turned out, he didn’t have a car. So the two of you ended up taking the bus.

somewhere between stops and shared earbuds, you played 20 Questions. you get to know he almost became an idol once, before he quit.

jeonghan was… fun. Easy to talk to. mysterious in a way that made you curious instead of cautious.

on the walk from the bus stop, it started to rain—a full downpour.  you both ran the rest of the way to your place, soaked and breathless. it only felt right to invite him in.

He was dripping wet, taxis weren’t showing up, and honestly… you didn’t really want him to leave just yet.

you're in the living room, carefully setting down two cups of green tea on the teapoy. he walks in a moment later–towel slung around his neck, hair still damp and curling at the ends. he settles on the couch without waiting to be told. 

you sit at the opposite end, legs tucked under you, trying not to watch the steam curl from his tea. Or the way he keeps glancing over at you, eyes half-lidded, hair still damp where it touches the nape of his neck. the rest of the night just went by, you talked and laughed. the night stretched on as the rain tapped gently against the windows. warm tea turned cold. his laugh lingered in the room. and somehow, without meaning to, he started to feel familiar. and when it was time for him to go back, you hugged.

—

minjun had viewed your story. almost everyone did. your dms were filled with “who is he”, “why didn’t you tell me about him”, “does he go to our college??”

the following week when you walked into the campus, giselle was already waiting. 

she links her arm with yours the second you step into the courtyard, “you have three seconds to explain or I’m spreading my own rumors.” 

you tell her everything—from the sketchy website to last night on the couch. she gasps after almost every sentence, each one louder than the other.

when you settle into your seats, minjun walks in. you are apprehensive of his reaction to the story. you sit up straighter every time he walks closer. but minjun just looks at you before walking away, sitting three rows away from you. 

a quiet disappointment settles in your chest.

the rest of the lecture you don’t look back nor do you listen to what the professor is saying. 

_

when jeonghan hears this, he doesn’t look surprised. 

“he’ll come around.” that’s all he says.

_

jeonghan comes up with more plans. cooking dates, movie dates, “accidentally” running into minjun when on a date. 

you were pretty sure he was enjoying the drama more than the mission. he even had a color-coded schedule. 

_

date 2: cooking date

the kitchen smells like burnt garlic or whatever jeonghan drops on the stove. you’re not sure what it is—you’re too busy laughing.

jeonghan holds the wooden spatula like a mic, licking a streak of tomato sauce off the edge. “chef’s privilege,” he says.

“you didn’t even cook!” you swat him away with a dishtowel. jeonghan just shrugs.

eventually, after the smoke alarm chirps once (just once—thankfully), you both surrender and order takeout.

the stove’s a mess. your hands are stained with something red. you’re sitting on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets, passing a bottle of wine between you. there are half-chopped onions on the counter. a single mushroom rolled under the fridge. jeonghan raises his glass, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“we might be the only ones who can burn pasta,” you laugh while having a sip of the wine. jeonghan chuckles.

“to our Michelin-star relationship,” he says, you laugh and clink your glass against his.

_

date 3: movie date

about a week later, jeonghan asks you to come see a movie with him. he shows up with three flavours of popcorn and a slushie that’s the size of your head.

the seats were terrible. jeonghan claims it to be a part of authentic experience.

he talks through the trailers. Comments on the font choices. Tries to predict the plot three minutes into the movie loud enough to get a few shushes.

“That guy’s definitely the villain.”

“He just offered someone a tissue," you retort.

“Exactly. Emotional manipulation.”

he steals your drink halfway through and makes a show of using your straw. “Indirect kiss. Wow. You move fast.”

You hit him. He laughed.

jeonghan insists on walking you back after the movie.

“They should’ve kissed and detonated the building together,” he says, as if that was a normal takeaway.

you stare. “That’s what you got from that movie?”

“Explosive romance. Iconic.”

at your door, he lingered.“hey! i’ll text you about our next date.”

_

jeonghan would text you almost everyday now—with silly things, a pic of pigeons romancing and captions ~you and him one day;), silly memes, and at times his photos captioned ~aren’t you glad i’m your boyfriend ;p

_

you don’t understand why shops insist on changing layouts every week. your favourite choco cereal used to sit comfortably in the middle row. but now? top shelf.

you curse your ancestors for giving you such a tragically short height. 

after a few unsuccessful jumps and increasingly dramatic stretches, you start to consider giving up entirely. but like some saviour a hand reaches from behind taking the box and hands it to you.

as you lift your head to thank the person, you are met with a smirking jeonghan.

“what are you doing here?” you whisper-shout.

“what do you mean? now i can’t even go shopping in my neighbourhood?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

you just shake your head and start walking away with your cart. 

“seriously though,” he says, glancing into your basket, “this is your grocery list? you planning to live off cereal and frozen dumplings?”

“it’s called survival.”

“it’s called malnutrition.” he starts tossing in things from the shelf. “here. you need greens. fiber.”

before you can argue, a voice interrupts.

“oh! you two look so cute together.”

you turn. it’s an older woman from your neighborhood. 

“young love is so sweet,” she says, smiling between you and jeonghan.

you open your mouth to correct her, but–

“we try,” jeonghan says, sliding his arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you freeze.

“she makes me eat spinach, and i make her watch bad action movies. it works.”

you blink up at him.

he’s not even looking at you—he’s too busy smiling politely at the woman like he didn’t just say that with his whole chest.

she chuckles and gives you a little nod of approval before walking off.

you elbow him the second she’s gone.

“what was that?”

“i don’t know,” he says, casually picking up your cereal box again. “publicity. practice. fun.” then, grinning–

“you blushed, by the way.”

“did not.”

“did too.”

date 4: movie date 2.0

jeonghan plans another date. he just asks you to choose your favourite movie and put a few pillows on the couch.

it’s 8pm when he comes to your house, with 2 packets of potato chips, burgers, and a mcflurry.

“for you,” he says, nudging the ice cream toward you first. “because you’ve been insufferable lately and i thought sugar might help.”

you take it anyway. “you’re so annoying.”

“but charming,” he adds, walking in like he lives there. “you forgot to say charming.”

you both settle yourselves on the couch and start to eat. 

the movie starts. you try to focus—but it’s hard when he’s next to you, talking to the screen, reacting way too dramatically, offering you fries without looking. 

you don’t like how comfortable this feels, how easy this feels.

when he goes back he hugs you, you don’t.

_

you are at your locker when minjun comes at you.

“you said you were not dating.” he barks.

“what?” you ask confused.

“that dude. is he your boyfriend? you weren’t dating anyone like—two days ago.”

“yeah, it just happened! also, why do you care?” you ask, arms crossing instinctively. “we had a pact, remember? when either of us found someone we actually liked, this–”

you motion between you and him, “-would end.”

he goes quiet.

giselle, who has been a witness to everything you, speaks. “do you want us to give you a minute? i can pretend to look at gum or something.”

you almost snort. but your eyes don’t leave minjun.“you made it clear you didn’t want anything serious,” you say. “and i found someone who does.”

you don’t wait to hear his reply and leave with giselle.

_

you’re sitting with jeonghan on a bench at the park, legs barely brushing, the wind playing with your hair.

“the plan’s working,” you say, laughing lightly. “minjun texted me. says he wants to work things out.”

you glance over at him. “you’re free now.”

he doesn’t laugh.

a beat passes before he speaks. “how are we going to end things?” he asks, eyes still on the sky. “he thinks we’re dating.”

you pause. “we hang out at a bar on weekends,” you say slowly. “we could go, make it a show. fight. break up in front of him.”

jeonghan just nods.

_

the bar is packed—dim lights, loud music, chatter buzzing all around you.

you and jeonghan sit in the corner booth, just close enough for it to look intimate. you can feel the weight of minjun’s gaze from across the room. he’s watching.

jeonghan leans in, voice low. “you sure about this?”

you nod, even though your chest feels tight. “let’s make it ugly.”

he exhales, then straightens in his seat. and just loud enough, “you’re unbelievable, you know that?” he snaps.

you blink, caught off guard by how sharp his voice actually is.

“what?” you whisper.

“you dragged me into this whole mess, and now you’re backing out like none of it mattered.”

you raise your eyebrows. “backing out?”

“don’t act like you don’t know,” he says, louder now. a few heads turn.

“you’ve been weird since he texted you. what, you want to run back to him?”

“don’t do this,” you say, voice softer now. “not here.”

he stands. “you want to go back to a guy who never chose you the first time? be my guest.”

you flinch.

he looks down at you one last time, then turns and walks out without another word.

your heart pounds. the booth feels too big now. too quiet.

a moment later, minjun slips into jeonghan’s seat.

“so… that was intense.”

you don’t respond.

he leans in.

“look,” he begins, softer now. “i mean it. i want to try again. properly, this time. if you’ll let me.”

you look at him. his face, his hands, the way he’s looking at you like he means it.

and then you think about jeonghan.

the grocery store. the movie nights. the way he holds your wrist instead of your hand when you're anxious. how none of it ever felt fake.

you shake your head. “i’m sorry.”

before he can say anything else, you get up and run.

_

you catch him just outside the bar, half a block away. he’s walking fast, like he doesn’t want to give himself time to think.

“jeonghan!”

he stops, turns, surprised.

“why are you here?” he asks. “where’s minjun?”

you jog the last few steps to reach him, out of breath. “i said no.”

“what?”

“to him. he asked me to come back. i said no.”

he blinks. “oh.”

you look at him. the stupid hair falling into his eyes. the way his jacket’s slightly off his shoulder. the face you’ve been seeing almost every day, for all the wrong reasons—and somehow, now, all you can think is i want more time with you.

“you,” you say. quietly.

“i want you.”

for a second, he just stands there. “are you saying this because–”

“no,” you say. “i’m saying this because every part of pretending with you felt more real than anything i ever had with him.”

he smiles, small and real. “good.”

he steps closer.

“because i like you too.”

and then, finally, he reaches for your hand. he leans in, and his lips find yours—soft, easy, like he’s been waiting to do it.

taglist: @sanaxo-o @mylovesstuffs @itsclda @choco-scoups @woncheeks @woncheecks @chanranghaeys @https-seishu

@booseoksoonfighting @floraoleander @chariseiswriting @yawjows @daisymbin @bookprincessstuff @star-wingz

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@x-sweethoney-x @sarabencze @genkeu @reiofsuns2001 @onlyjungchan

[fanfic-ya-know]

Juno

Pairing: Bob Floyd x pilot!Reader 

+platonic!Dagger Squad (mostly Phoenix)

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: not beta read, reader is afab, reader’s callsign is Hollywood, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy, friends to lovers, smut under the cut (but the whole thing is pretty sexually charged, Minors DNI) - teasing, use of pet names (good girl, honey, sweetheart), slight praise kink, breast play, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (pls be safe irl), cockwarming, creampie, description of bodily fluids, multiple orgasms

AN: This was initially inspired by The Plan, which played a huge role in re-igniting my Bob Floyd obsession, and I took heavy inspiration from the lyrics of Sabrina Carpenter’s Juno, obviously. I fear I need Bob in a way that is concerning to feminism, and that is pretty well spelled out in this fic. Also, here’s the article I used to reference the Juno positions. 

And I know everyone writes Bob as a munch (which, don’t get me wrong, I totally agree), but maybe I'll explore that more next time tho? IDK

ANYWAY this is pretty filthy, but I’m realizing idk how to wrap up the smut part… please let me know what you think of it!!!

You’d been on North Island just long enough to settle in. You and Natasha had decided to move in together off-base and found an apartment that suited you. The Dagger Squad continued to prove that you were the best of the best, getting deployed on more missions after the first that brought you all together. The team really started to feel like a family, scheduling beach days, movie nights, and outings to The Hard Deck regularly between missions. You started to love all of them - even Hangman, despite being a huge dick, had grown on you - but there was one person who spent more time on your mind than the rest. Bob.

It happened by accident. Sure, you always thought he was cute, but at first, it was in that ‘smartest guy in your physics class’ kind of way. Then, something shifted. After weeks of training together, going on missions, and spending almost all of your downtime with each other, you realized just how down bad you were. Nat knew it too, and at first, you were a little embarrassed when she teased you about it, but eventually, it was nice to have someone to talk to about your crush.

When Bob would come over to watch a movie at your apartment, just the three of you, Nat would make sure you sat between them. She would take up as much of the couch as possible without looking suspicious, forcing you to squeeze into the middle seat, slightly pressing into Bob’s side. About halfway through the film, he would settle further into the cushions and lazily drape his arm around the back of the couch. Of course, you perceived this as merely him getting comfortable, but later, Nat assured you it was his subtle way of making a move, testing the waters.

It went on like this for a while. Small brushes that could be read as completely platonic turned to lingering touches that you couldn’t help but lean into. Still, nothing came of it. Nat continuously reassured you that Bob felt the same way you did, but that he was just shy and respectful. That left you sitting in a booth at The Hard Deck, shamelessly ogling Bob as he played pool with Fanboy, Payback, and Rooster.

“Why don’t you make the first move?” Nat asked, breaking you out of your trance.

“I don’t know,” you groaned. “I guess I’m scared of rejection.” That earned you a stern look, given that she repeatedly told you there was no way he would reject you. “And what if I, like, damage his ego?”

“Oh sure,” she said, rolling her eyes, “because Bob is known for his fragile masculinity.”

You buried your face in your hands in frustration. You didn’t know why this was so hard for you. Before, you could easily flirt with guys, but something about Bob Floyd shut down that part of your brain. 

You let out another frustrated groan. “I don’t want him to get the wrong impression,” you explained, head still in your hands. “This isn’t just some hookup to me, but what if he thinks I’m just trying to get in his pants?”

“Whose pants are you getting into, Hollywood?” 

You knew that cocky tone without having to look up at him. Still, you lifted your head to see Jake’s smug expression. You’d earned your callsign for multiple reasons: you were a huge movie buff, but you also had a reputation for being overdramatic, a trait you were living up to in this moment. Your gaze shifted involuntarily, giving you away. Jake’s eyes followed your line of sight before he slid into the booth beside Nat, forcing her to scoot further in.

“Oh man,” he laughed incredulously, “not Baby On Board.” He leaned across the table toward you. “You know he’s probably a virgin, right? You’d have to teach him what to do.”

“I don’t know,” Nat cut in with a chuckle, leaning in too, “Have you seen the way he goes through a manual? He’s thorough.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Jake said, turning to look at her. “You women don’t come with manuals. Lord knows that’d make things a hell of a lot easier.”

Phoenix smacked his arm, and Hangman sat back into the cushion of the booth, clutching his arm where she had hit him. Before you could say anything to defend yourself or Bob, another voice interrupted.

“Well, I bet he’s secretly a freak.” Javy popped up behind you, causing you to jump. You swore under your breath as you clutched your chest from the near heart attack he gave you. Javy looked down at you with a smirk, then turned back to the rest of the table. “I don’t trust anyone who’s that put together.”

“Whatever,” you said finally with an exasperated sigh, “it doesn’t matter. Nothing’s gonna happen anyway.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Jake said with a mischievous grin. He had that look he got whenever he got an idea, and your stomach churned at the thought of him meddling in your love life. Before you could say anything in protest, Hangman and Coyote were gone.

That’s when everything went off the rails. It seemed like the whole team was in on it - constantly teasing you, making not-so-subtle innuendos, and getting you and Bob into compromising positions.

The next time you found yourself at The Hard Deck, you were shooting some pool, bent over the table to line up your shot. Rooster was shouting at Bob from the bar, forcing Bob to walk backwards to catch all of what he was saying. Bradley ended his sentence just in time so that when Bob turned around, he ran right into you. His hands caught on your hips as he accidentally pressed against you. You had just sunk the ball you had been aiming for, so you shot up in surprise. Bob’s grip tightened as you leaned into him involuntarily, trying to keep you steady.

“S-Sorry, Hollywood,” he mumbled into your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

“It’s okay, Bobby,” you said with a sweet smile, turning your head slightly to look at him. Your noses almost brushed from the movement. “You wanna let me go, so I can finish kicking Hangman’s ass?”

Bob’s eyes widened at the realization that he was still holding you flush against him, and he let go immediately. He walked away sheepishly and hid in the corner for the rest of the night.

Back on base, the guys were relentless. Sex jokes had never been out of the question before, but this seemed like a whole other level. And lunch conversations were only about sex these days. 

Jake and Javy started talking about their favorite positions, even pulling Mickey and Reuben into the discussion. The group traded stories, and you could see Bob’s face getting redder without even really being involved. Jake must’ve noticed too, because he turned to the WSO, asking for his input.

“M-Me?” Bob asked shyly. None of the other guys spoke up, just waiting to see what Bob might say. He glanced at you to find your gaze already fixed on him, deeply invested. He looked back down at his food with that flustered smile he got sometimes. “I don’t know…”

“A nice guy like you?” Jake cut in, his tone mocking. “I’ll bet you're happy just to be in missionary.”

“So what if I am?” he snapped. Bob’s sudden intensity caught everyone off guard. His accent came out a little thicker, and his eyes flicked to yours again. It was so quick, you almost didn’t catch the heat behind them - almost. His jaw ticked nearly imperceptibly, and he looked back at Hangman. “What’s so wrong with that?” he asked a little softer, but his tone was still stern, defensive. No one said anything, just glancing around the table until Bradley eventually said something to lighten the mood.

For your next day off, you all had a trip to the beach planned. It was the same as always - you and Phoenix tanned while you waited for all of the guys to show up, everyone spent a little bit of time in the water, and then you ended up playing some football. To your surprise, when it came time to pick teams, Hangman called your name. Nevertheless, you were in it to win.

The game went on for a while, and you were having a good time. You’d completely let your guard down, just enjoying the company of your friends. But you were also fiercely competitive, and there was no way you were going to lose this game. Hangman had control of the ball, and you went long, fully unaware of Bob’s presence behind you. Hangman waited for just the right moment to throw you the ball, overshooting just slightly. You jumped to successfully catch it, but failed to consider how you would come back down to Earth. 

Lucky for you, Bob was right there to brace your fall. His arms wrapped around your torso from behind, and the two of you came tumbling to the ground.

You sat up quickly, ball still in your grasp, as the rest of your team cheered in victory over your catch. 

That’s when you noticed your position. Bob hadn’t moved beneath you, still laying flat on the wet sand. Your knees were planted on either side of his hips, leaving you sat perfectly against his crotch. You couldn’t see Bob’s face, but you knew it had to be very red - both from the sun and the predicament he was in. You shifted slightly against him, trying to figure out the best way to get up, and that proved to be a huge mistake.

“Stop moving,” Bob rasped, his voice cracking slightly as he sat up behind you. His hand held you still, but it was too late. You already felt him twitch against you, and god dammit he was big.

You glanced back at him, and his eyes were already set on yours. He gave you a pleading look, one that told you that he wanted nothing more than for you to keep going, but not right now. You were, after all, still on a very public beach with all of your friends. You nodded at him, signaling that you understood.

Bob lifted you off of his lap with ease, helping you stand. You quickly rushed back over to the group, jumping and cheering in celebration. The whole squad joined in, distracting them enough to allow Bob a little privacy to adjust himself in his shorts as he stood.

Just a few hours later, you stood in your bathroom, still wrapped in your towel from having showered. You were blow-drying your hair, so you didn’t hear Bob knock on the front door of your apartment. But Nat did.

She called out, telling him to come in. When he did, Bob found the common area of the apartment empty, so he made himself comfortable on your couch.

You finished drying your hair and reached for your water bottle, feeling lightheaded from the heat of the bathroom. Empty. You groaned and opened the door, immediately feeling better at the rush of cool air that hit you. It also made you wrap your towel tighter around your body.

You padded your way down the hallway towards the kitchen, seeking cold water. That’s when you saw Bob.

“Jesus Christ!” you shouted, clutching your chest. “Bob, what are you doing?”

He looked up at you from his place on the couch, eyes widening at the sight of you in nothing but a towel. You followed his eyes, realizing just how exposed you were, and you blushed under his gaze.

“I-I-“ his brain was shutting down. Sure, he had seen you in a bikini, which was technically less clothing, but this was different. This was more vulnerable. “Shit – I-I’m sorry – Phoenix said – so I – I didn’t mean-“

You couldn’t help but laugh. Bob’s face was so red, and his eyes were so wide, it was just too adorable. The giggle that escaped your lips stopped his babbling. He just looked at you for a second before releasing a small laugh of his own.

“I just gotta get some water, and then I’ll put some clothes on,” you told him. “And then we can watch a movie, kay?”

Bob nodded at you, and you saw the way his throat moved as he swallowed, still affected by your lack of coverage. Turning away from him, continuing your path to the kitchen, you didn’t see the way his eyes followed you, full of burning desire. After getting your water, you passed through the living room again, mumbling a quick “be right back” to Bob.

Back in your room, you tried not to panic. This was just Bob – here for another movie night. Completely normal. You threw on some pjs – a loose pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt that was worn at the edges and almost completely covered the shorts – and checked yourself in the mirror one last time. You were glad you opted to dry your hair, taming it rather than leaving it to air dry, there was nothing in your teeth, and your skin looked good from your shower. You looked clean and comfortable. You put on some lip balm from your bedside table and reemerged from your room.

Bob was exactly where you left him, lounging on your couch, now clicking through a streaming service idly, waiting for you to tell him what movie to put on. You were always in charge of that, mostly because Nat didn’t care, and Bob’s extent of film expertise was really just Star Wars – but Bob also liked watching the movies you picked. It made him feel like he was seeing another side of you, learning something new about who you were.

“No Phoenix yet?” you asked, pulling his attention away from the screen.

“Nah, she’s still in her room,” he replied.

“Weird,” you said as you plopped down next to him, your thigh brushing the soft material of his light grey sweatpants as you tucked your legs to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce on the couch. You tried not to think too much about the contact.

Moments later, Nat’s door swung open behind you. You turned to look at her as she crossed the room, typing on her phone. Unlike you and Bob, Nat wasn’t in her pajamas. Instead, she stood between the couch and the front door in a tight pair of jeans and a low-cut top. 

She stopped typing and finally looked up at you. “Sorry guys, I’m gonna bail,” she said with a smirk on her face. She held up her phone as if that was supposed to fill in the blanks. “Booty call,” was all she said. You saw her talking to a few people at the bar last night, so it could’ve been any one of them, but before you could question her, she had already grabbed her keys and started out the door. “Have fun!” she called over her shoulder, and that was it. 

The door closed with a small thud, and you sat with Bob in stunned silence. This wasn’t the first time Nat had gone out with some rando, but she never bailed on plans like this last minute. You realized that this was the first time you and Bob had been alone, really alone. There were moments, but never hours of guaranteed, uninterrupted time together. Your phone buzzed in your hand, interrupting your train of thought, making you realize neither of you had spoken yet.

You coughed, breaking the silence. “It’s uh… it’s Phoenix,” you practically whispered, scared to startle the man next to you. “Probably just sending me her location.” You opened the text.

I better not be the only one getting laid tonight.

Your breath hitched at the sight of the message. Then another one appeared just below it.

Please don’t have sex on the couch.

Now, it was Bob’s turn to cough awkwardly. You looked up at him, realizing he had been looking over at the texts innocently, not trying to snoop, just curious as to where Nat was headed. His cheeks were pink, blush creeping up to his ears.

“Do you want to-”

He didn’t give you the chance to finish the question, one hand coming to the back of your neck as he leaned forward to kiss you. It was urgent, but still tender – like he knew this was what you both wanted, but he was still giving you the option to back out. The kiss was short-lived as he detached from your mouth just enough to look in your eyes, both of you breathing heavily.

“You want this?” The words sounded like a statement, but you could tell he was asking, searching. You nodded shakily, but he wasn’t satisfied with that. “Words,” he demanded gently.

“Yes.” It came out raspy, barely there. But as soon as the word left your lips, his mouth was back on yours. The hand on the back of your neck tightened ever so slightly, not rough, just there, grounding you, pulling you into him.

You moved in tandem, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You shifted, moving to straddle him, all without removing your lips from his. Your nose bumped his glasses, and he pulled away just long enough to remove them, placing them on the side table next to the couch. The kiss grew heated, both of you desperate for the other. Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging softly. His ran down your sides, landing on your hips. He groaned into your mouth as you rocked into him, and you took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You got lost in it.

You could feel him hardening beneath you, his grip on your hips solid, and then you remembered Nat’s text. You moved your hands to his shoulders, reluctantly pushing away from him. Your breathing was shaky, and Bob didn’t look much better. He was wrecked.

“Phoenix said-”

“I know,” he said huskily. “No sex on the couch.”

With that, he stood, lifting you like you were nothing. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he carried you, his hands on the backs of your thighs. You thought he would take you to your room, but you found your back pressed against the nearest wall. 

Bob’s lips moved from yours to your jaw, your neck, and the spot just below your ear. You moaned, and you could feel him smirk against your skin. It was a side of Bob you rarely saw – so sure of himself, completely in control. He worked you over, mouth roaming your exposed skin. 

His hips pressed into yours, and you realized that you were both wearing too many clothes. Bob must’ve had the same thought because he pulled away from you, raking his eyes over you. You knew how you must’ve looked, chest heaving, face flushed, hands clinging to the front of his shirt. He thumbed at the hem of your loose t-shirt, eyes flicking up to yours in question.

You nodded and gripped his tighter, pulling at the fabric. “Off,” you said breathlessly.

Bob smiled and followed your order, tugging his own shirt over his head. He reached for yours again, and you lifted your arms to help him. When the offending garment was finally gone, it felt as if time stood still. You ran your palms across the planes of his chest, the pale, freckled skin smooth under your hands. Bob was in the same sort of trance, seeing your bare chest for the first time. His warm, calloused hands cupped your breasts.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped before leaning back in to kiss you again. You moaned into the kiss as his right hand continued palming your breast, his left moving down to grip your hip, grounding you as he rolled against you. 

His mouth left yours once more and worked its way down the column of your throat, finding your neglected breast. His lips wrapped around your nipple, and your hips jolted at the sensation. You inhaled sharply when Bob ran his teeth over the sensitive bud. His right hand tweaked your other nipple before he kissed his way across your chest to take it into his mouth, paying it the same attention that he did the first.

Both of his hands firmly planted on your hips, and he pushed away from you again, forcing you to unwrap your legs from his waist. You let out a whimper in confusion but followed his silent order, shakily standing on your own two feet.

Before you could ask what he was doing, Bob sank to his knees in front of you. “Good girl,” he praised, kissing your sternum as he lowered himself. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and looked up at you.

Your gaze hadn’t left his the whole time. “Please.” The word came out broken, higher pitched than your regular speaking voice. Bob smiled at just how wrecked you were above him and slowly peeled your shorts down, your underwear coming with them.

“Fuck,” Bob said under his breath, like it wasn’t even meant for you to hear. He ran a finger through your folds, and you let out another broken sound. “You’re so wet, honey. All this for me?” His voice was husky, and his accent was thicker than usual.

“Mhmm,” you whined. “All for you, Bobby.”

“Good,” he said and pressed a kiss to the place above where you needed him most. One of his fingers nudged at your opening. He was toying with you. “You gonna be good for me?” You wanted to answer, but before you could, his thumb swiped at your clit. It was quick, teasing, and gave you no relief. “Cause you’ve been teasing me for weeks. Did ya put the guys up to it?”

“N-No – I-” He chuckled against you, loving the panicked look on your face.

“It’s okay, honey,” he said sweetly. With that, he sank his middle finger into you. It felt like all the air left your lungs. “Just be a good girl and let me take care of you.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the wall as he worked a second finger into you, his thumb pressing into your already sensitive clit harder now. You could feel the pressure building, and you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Bob!” you cried out. His name and “please” seemed to be the only words you could remember.

“Let go,” he said against your hip as he sucked a purple bruise into the skin there. And you did. The pleasure washed over you in waves, his hand still working you through the orgasm. “There ya go. Good girl.”

You came down from your high, and Bob pulled his fingers from you. He dipped them into his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices as he stood before you again, smirking. Bob kissed you again, hungrily, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands found their way to the waistband of his sweats, tugging at them.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said with a light laugh at your neediness. “I don’t uh… have a condom on me.”

“Don’t need one.” You shook your head. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill, and I – I wanna feel all of you, Bobby.” You paused for just a moment, then thought you might be pressuring him to do something he wasn’t comfortable with, so you continued. “Unless you want-”

“No!” The word left his mouth lightning fast. “I-I mean, I’m clean too, and I want this – want you.”

You smiled. The moment was raw, tender, a nice reprieve from the intensity surrounding. You both stood there, relishing each other’s closeness, breathing in and out in unison. Then, your fingers twitched, still hooked in the waistband of Bob’s sweatpants, your wanton need for him catching up with you again. Bob’s breath hitched at the movement, but he tucked his thumbs under the fabric, helping you push it off his hips. He leaned in to kiss you again, gentler this time, as his pants and boxers pooled around his ankles, and he kicked them to the side.

When he released you from the kiss, you looked down at him, now fully bare before you for the first time. He was beautiful. Long and thick with a blue vein that trailed the underside. His tip was swollen and a dark pink, almost red, and leaking a bead of pre-cum. 

You instinctively reached for him, and he hissed at the contact. You wanted nothing more than to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth. Bob saw the hunger in your eyes and broke your train of thought by lifting your chin with a finger, forcing you to look in his eyes.

“Next time,” he promised, but it looked like it almost broke him to deny you. “Right now, I need to be inside you.”

You swallowed the saliva that pooled in your mouth at the sight of him and nodded. Bob moved closer, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist as his hips slotted into yours. The length of him slid through your folds, and you both groaned at the contact. His other hand reached down to align himself with your entrance. You were already clenching around nothing in anticipation.

He pushed the tip in, just barely entering you, waiting for further approval. Bob knew he was big, and he felt just how tight you were around his fingers, so he was giving you ample time to adjust. Every time your breathing settled, he would push in a couple more inches. Taking his time until he was fully sheathed inside of you.

You gripped his shoulders the whole time, anchoring yourself on him, and Bob talked you through it, praising you endlessly. You were used to Bob’s rambling, but this was entirely different. This was confident – he knew exactly what he was saying and the effect it had on you. Your wetness proving useful as he stretched you out on his cock.

He started with slow, shallow thrusts, testing the waters, and one of your hands moved from its place on his shoulder to tangle into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. You pulled him into a lazy kiss, his tongue immediately swiping into your mouth. 

His hand stayed firm on your thigh, and you wouldn’t be surprised if there were bruises there in the morning. Light ones, not like the deep purple and red ones he had sucked into your hips earlier. Bob’s other hand was planted against the wall, holding both of you upright.

He was getting bolder with his thrusts, pulling further out of you and sliding back in with more force. The drag of his cock inside of you was intoxicating, and you were completely at his mercy.

“Fuck, honey,” he moaned, his head falling to rest on your shoulder. “You feel so good. You’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

You weren’t really processing anything – completely overwhelmed by pleasure, but you knew you needed more. “Bobby.” His name fell from your lips in a whine. There was a plea in your tone, but you weren’t really sure what you were asking for.

Bob lifted his head to look at you and then nodded, giving you a quick kiss. “I got you, honey.”

The next thing you knew, you were changing positions. Bob spun the two of you so that his back was pressed against the wall. Your leg was still wrapped around his waist, and he was still buried deep inside you. You braced your hands against his chest as his free hand came down to rub at your clit.

You gasped at the increased stimulation, the coil in your core winding tighter, and you could feel your orgasm building. Bob felt you clench around him, and he increased his speed, thrusting into you while one hand pulled you down to meet him and the other rubbed tight circles into your throbbing clit.

“Bob,” you whimpered, “I-I’m close – please – I need-”

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” He gave you another reassuring kiss. “Be such a good girl for me and cum all over my cock.”

That did it for you. You cried out in pleasure, shouting Bob’s name as you released. He came shortly after you, the feeling of you pulsing around him too good to resist. Bob let out a string a curses mixed with moans of your name as he slowed his hips, eventually stopping, still inside you.

You crumpled into him, and he quickly caught your other thigh in his large hand, lifting you completely off the ground. He still leaned against the wall for support as he held you, your legs hanging loosely at his sides now. You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled your face into his warm chest. Once he felt he had regained his strength, he pushed off the wall and began walking to your room, still half-hard inside you. 

Your door was ajar, so he pushed his way in and shut the door behind you with his foot. Bob had only been in your room a handful of times, but he entered like he knew it like the back of his hand, moving immediately to your bed. He sat on the edge, your legs coming to rest against the soft fabric of your comforter.

You started to come out of your daze, pressing soft kisses to Bob’s chest and making your way higher. You kissed your way higher, across his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, up his neck and his jaw, finally landing on his lips. Each kiss was tender and Bob’s chest rumbled with a content exhale at the feel of quite worship.

“Hi,” you said as you pulled away from his lips.

“Hi,” he replied, smiling at you warmly. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you said with a smile, shifting in his lap, trying to somehow be closer. You felt him twitch inside you, and his hands shot to your hips, stopping your movement. “Sorry,” you breathed, almost as a laugh, realizing that he was probably still sensitive inside of you.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, still smiling, but the words came out shaky. “Just need a minute before round two.” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Bob chuckled lightly. One of his hands came up to brush a piece of your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “I’ve been thinking about this since I met you,” his voice was thick and syrupy with desire. “Thought of all the ways I wanted to touch you, to make you feel good, to make you mine.” 

The word hung in the air. You were his — you had been for a while now, even when you tried to deny it. But you were done with that. Bob looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. He looked at you like he loved you, and god, you hoped he did. Because you loved him. You couldn’t help it. You wanted to tell him, but you didn’t want it to seem insincere — a result of some sort of post-coital bliss. Instead, you just looked at him, mind racing, trying to figure out how to show him how much he meant to you.

“I-I-“ you were searching for the right words to say.

Bob could tell you were getting flustered, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb swiped against the soft skin soothingly as he shushed you gently. He kissed you softly, slowing your racing thoughts.

“I wanna be yours, Bob,” you whispered against his lips. You rolled your hips into his, feeling him harden inside you with every passing moment. “I’m yours,” you panted into his mouth, and he let out a deep groan.

“Say it again.” The words were a broken plea on his lips, needing to hear you again, just to be sure.

You kept moving on top of him, practically riding him with slow rolls of your hips. His hand on your cheek moved to grip the nape of your neck, holding you as close as possible, and his other hand splayed against the small of your back. He was pulling you towards him as if trying to absorb you into his chest.

“I’m yours, Bob,” you repeated, “and you’re mine.”

Bob’s lips captured yours in another heated kiss that left you breathless. You were still wet and full of him from your orgasms in the hallway, and the sound of your combined juices spilling out of you as you thrust together was downright sinful.

Bob detached from your lips, his hands moving to your hips, helping you rock against him as he looked at you. His eyes trailed over your body before meeting your gaze as you watched him. “You’re so beautiful,” he said like he couldn’t believe you were real, that you were here in front of him. “I’ve been yours since the first day I met you. It’s only you, honey. You’re all that I want.” 

“You have me, Bob,” you reassured, your palms pressed against the side of his face, cradling his head in your hands. “All of me — I’m yours.” The sound of you repeating those words set something off in him.

“Hold on to me,” he instructed. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and locked your legs into place on his waist, following the gentle order. Bob turned with you still attached to him and moved up the bed, stopping once your head reached the pillows. He laid you down against them and began thrusting into you again, regaining his momentum from before. His lips connected with the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Fuck, Bob!” Your head flopped down against the plush pillow beneath you, giving Bob better access to the column of your throat.

He hovered over you, bracing himself on one arm as the other trailed down your body, squeezing and teasing as it went. It finally came to a stop at your lower back.

He lifted from his place against your neck to praise you again. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he said with a smirk. “Such a good girl for me.” Bob knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the effect his words had on you. “I’m gonna lift your hips for ya, okay? Can you plant your feet for me? Gonna make it feel even better, honey.”

You followed Bob’s instructions as his hand pressed harder against your lower back, lifting you off the bed slightly. And god was he right. The new angle allowed him to push into you deeper. You could feel him further inside you than you thought was possible. 

“Good girl,” he said again, and your legs trembled. They probably would’ve given out from under you had Bob not been holding you up. 

He kept praising you, telling you how good you felt, how pretty you looked underneath him, how you were all his. It was becoming too much, and you could feel that familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen. Your knees shook around his hips.

“Gonna cum for me, honey?” he asked, pressing kisses to your jaw and the place just below your ear.

“Mhmm,” you whined — it was all you could manage.

The feeling of him smirking against you, hips thrusting relentlessly, head of his cock bumping your g-spot repeatedly sent you tumbling over the edge with a broken sob. Bob eased you into the mattress, your legs failing to support you any longer. His hips slowed but didn’t fully stop rutting into you. 

“You got one more for me, sweetheart?” he asked, but before you could answer, he was already lifting one of your legs to rest against his shoulder.

“Fuck yes,” you groaned at the the stretch. One of your hands reached up to claw at his back, the other fisting into the comforter below you.

Bob was pounding into you at a pace that felt inhuman, each thrust hitting that sweet spot inside of you. His free hand came down to rub tight circles into your clit, your climax rapidly approaching. He was coaxing it out of you, practically begging you for just one more orgasm before he would cum inside of you again.

“Gonna fill you up so good, honey,” he murmured against the inside of your leg that was perched on his shoulder before planting a quick kiss there. He leaned down towards your mouth again, stretching you even further, pulling a wanton moan from your throat. “Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart – so good.” You were practically panting into each other’s mouths. “Are ya close?”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, “so close, Bobby. Feel so good inside of me.”

Bob shifted again, moving your leg off his shoulder and slotting his hips between your knees effortlessly. His hand moved from where it worked over your aching core, and he quickly sucked the digits clean before moving to cup your face.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he rasped. He was losing all control, hips stuttering against yours, pupils dilated. “I wanna see you fall apart for me.”

It wasn’t long before you did just that. You moaned loudly, throat tightening around the sound. His name fell from your lips over and over again as you struggled to keep your eyes open, holding Bob’s intense gaze. And he was right there with you — the two of you climaxing practically in unison, cries of ecstasy spilling from both of your mouths.

Bob collapsed into you. Your legs still hugging his hips and your arms around him, one hand stroking his back and the other tangled in his hair — it was like your body was made to hold him. The two of you fit together perfectly, lying there in silence, just breathing.

He pushed his face further into the crook of your neck like he was trying to memorize the feel of you against him. He was so docile in your arms, in complete contrast to the man you had seen just moments ago.

Finally, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your skin and lifted onto his elbows above you. He continued kissing you all over your face, causing you to giggle at the sudden burst of tender affection. He stopped his attack on your face to look at you, his eyes sparkling with adoration.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, chastely kissing your lips. You smiled up at him. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”

You nodded, and Bob slowly started to ease out of you. Once he was fully out, he kissed you again quickly and mumbled a soft “be right back” against your lips.

You propped yourself up against the pillows behind you, trying not to think about the mess you were making on your comforter, both of your releases spilling out of you.

Bob returned with a warm washcloth to clean you with and your water bottle. He handed you the bottle, now full, and kissed your forehead when you winced in overstimulation from the swipe of the cloth against you. He worked quickly but gently, cleaning the place between your legs and the spot on the bed below you.

He stood again, holding a hand out for you to take. “Gotta go to the bathroom, honey.” You nodded, even though he wasn’t really asking. You let him lead you to the bathroom, lazily holding his hand, and he left you to take care of yourself.

When you emerged, Bob sat on the end of your bed in just his boxers. He had the rest of his clothes folded in a small pile next to him, and you smiled at the sight. 

“I, uh… tossed your clothes in the hamper,” he said, looking up at you. “I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s great,” you smiled, stopping at your dresser to grab a fresh pair of underwear. With anyone else, this might’ve felt awkward, but your shared vulnerability was comfortable. You walked over to him and stood between his legs. You brushed your hand over his shirt laying on the bed next to him.

“Do you wanna wear it?” He asked gently, but he was smirking up at you.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, picking up the soft fabric in your hands. Bob took the shirt from you, prompting you to lift your arms so he could help you put it in. The hem reached just the tops of your legs, hanging loosely around you.

The rest flowed seamlessly. You moved back up the bed and tucked under the covers. Bob held you close, your limbs tangling together. 

“So…” you broke the silence, drawing patterns against his skin. “That happened fast.” You glanced up at him, and he was already looking at you. The warmth of his gaze made you blush and look back down at your hand on his chest. “And in case it wasn’t abundantly clear… I really like you — like a lot. Like I might even love you, but — like I don’t want you to think I’m just saying that because we had sex. I’ve thought it for a while, you know? And I just thought you should know now, I guess, but also like no pressure or anything…”

You were rambling, and you might never have stopped if Bob’s hand hadn’t lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him again.

“You love me?” He asked, his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah,” you breathed. It was all you could muster, your chest tightening with every passing moment.

He kissed you deeply, not hungry like before, just full, passionate. “I love you too,” he said breathlessly, “always have.”

You woke up the next morning in Bob’s arms, the happiest you’d probably ever been. You spent some time talking things through over breakfast, deciding to just let the team find out whenever felt right. And then you went your separate ways for the afternoon, agreeing to meet up again at The Hard Deck that night.

It was nice to get your wits about you before facing the rest of the guys. Of course, you had to debrief Nat as soon as she got home. There were certain things she didn’t want to know, needing to maintain some level of a professional relationship with her backseater, but there was one part of your story she was hung up on.

“Wait, how many times?” she asked incredulously.

“Four,” you said with a laugh, almost in disbelief yourself. 

“Jesus,” she huffed. “Good for you. Good for Bob.”

Later, at the bar, things felt normal. You watched Nat destroy Jake at a round of pool, and Bradley played the piano for a while, lighting up the room. But before you knew it, the teasing started again.

Javy snagged the last open seat other than the one right next to Bob, forcing you to take that one, not that you were complaining. Jake made a dirty joke that made Bob blush, and Mickey knocked into your chair as he passed, pushing you into Bob’s arms instead of the floor. Bob steadied you, and you let out a huff, looking at him apologetically.

“Would you guys cool it already? We already hooked up.”

That was one way to shut them up. 

Bob’s eyes widened at your confession, looking around to see the rest of the team’s reactions. It was a mixture of shock and amusement.

“Well, I’ll be,” Jake laughed. “And how was it, Hollywood?”

You rolled your eyes at first, not wanting to entertain Jake’s rude remarks. But then you decided to give them a little something to talk about. Something to boost Bob’s image. 

“Let’s just say,” you glanced at Bob with a smirk, “if we were taking bets the other night… Coyote would’ve won. Big time.” You shot Bob a wink, and then looked at Jake’s face of pure shock. Javy whooped, knowingly, and the others murmured, wondering just what that meant.

Then, Natasha leaned over to you and whispered, just loud enough so that Bob could overhear. “Just wait until he finds out about your fuzzy pink handcuffs.”

[blossomcola]

sugar mommy g!p giselle.... 🤤🤤

- ⭐️

pairing. dom! sugar mommy!gp giselle x sub!fem reader

content warnings. age gap, choking, clit play, mirror sex, semi exhibitionism.

sugar mommy g!p gigi who would always pamper you like a princess because she loves to dress you up pretty like a doll <3 always taking you to the hairdresser every month, paying for your nails and eyelashes in case you like to get them done, every weekend going shopping and spending excessive amounts of money, anything for you! giselle has no problem emptying every one of her cards just to see you with a smile on your face.

and well, just as giselle likes to give you her pleasures, you also have to give hers! i can see her as someone who loves lingerie no matter the color or design, she just loves it. giselle would make you spend hours in lingerie stores, making you give her little shows in the dressing rooms showing her how the pieces she chooses for you look on you <3 obviously giselle is beyond wicked and would always choose the cutest and most delicate sets that are small because the idea of seeing you like a delicate doll when it comes to fucking your brains out is something that makes her hard just thinking about it, so you have to keep in mind that giselle will most likely fuck you the moment you turn your back on her, and that’s how it is!

giselle making you ride her in reverse cowgirl so you can see your reflection in the mirror, one of her hands sliding down the valley of your tits to wrap her hand around your throat while the other slides between your legs and plays with your clit... giselle would also be ramming you from below, making you want to whine and be as loud as you want but you can’t because you’re in the changing room of a store in a mall! she knows how much you need to be fucked and how much you need to cum, and it’s a good thing she’s considerate because in the blink of an eye she'll be pressing you against the mirror and blowing your back out <3 this is when giselle is finally giving you the attention you’ve been craving, having to cover your mouth with the palm of her hand because she was being so rude that she had to shut you up herself.

[cutehoons02]

The4Boys series (photo feed/preview)

The4Boys are one of the most famous bands in the world, made up of Jake, Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon. Every fan who follows them dreams of having a chance with them but what would happen if, with the start of their new summer tour, all four fell in love with four completely different girls? Between cities like Los Angeles, Rome, Nice, and more… stolen kisses before a concert, paparazzi trying to figure out who the four new girlfriends of the hottest rockstars are, and the realization that even those who seem to have everything might still be missing something: love.

*tags: These four stories can be read in any order, as each one will have its own happy ending. They are written for an adult audience , as there will be plenty of spicy scenes. Each member of The4Boys has a very different personality, and their character development will blend fantasy with inspiration drawn from how they behave in public and in various videos. This is a standalone series but if readers enjoy it, there may be a future spin off featuring Jungwon, Sunoo, and Ni-Ki. Below, you'll find the summaries, the romantic tropes and the photo feeds for each story.

-> taglist is open!!

First story: Sunghoon (Friday 4 July 2025)

Ordinary Life

Photo feeds:

*pairing: pervy ice-rockstar Sunghoon x Influencer girl

*trope: grumpy boy x sunshine girl/fake dating

*synopsis: Sunghoon had never been an outgoing guy, and in the world of music and being a "rockstar," that was seen as a bit odd. There had never been any drama surrounding him—no paparazzi photos of him with girls, and people only talked about him on social media or TV because of his stunning looks and the hundreds of brands eager to work with him. Fans often wondered if Sunghoon was even capable of love or of showing a more "human and affectionate" side. So, it came as a shock when he suddenly found himself at the center of a media storm after being photographed at Milan Fashion Week with Y/n—one of the most famous influencers in Europe and beyond. But the truth was, he couldn’t stand her. She was overly dramatic and talked too much, and in his eyes, she was just an attention-seeking brat looking to boost her fame. But what would happen if fans started "shipping" Sunghoon and Y/n? The staff of "The4boys" decided to take action, aiming to show the public a more human side of Sunghoon. They proposed a six-month contract where the two of you would pretend to be a couple. But what happens when the Ice Rockstar slowly starts to see you differently—and even more attractive? Is it all just an act… or is it becoming something real?

*tags: Sunghoon at first is cynical and cold with her, the main character loves to tease him, fake dating, you at first are a little teeny with him, you’re obviously downbad for him, many kisses, a lot of tension, humor, fingering, female and male masturbation, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) sex mirror, explicit sex, dirty talk, pet names (hoon,hoonie) (sunshine,brat) statement with song by The Weeknd

I Wanna Be Yours

*pairing: pervy rockstar Jay x innocent good Girl

*trope: brother best friend/she fell first, he fell harder

*synopsis: Having a teenage crush on one of your brother’s best friends might seem like just a “phase” most girls go through, but not for you. Your crush on Jay has lasted nearly ten years, long before they even debuted as The4Boys. All three of your brother’s friends and bandmates are completely off-limits, especially Jay: the true "rockstar" of the group. You’ve known Jay for years, and from the moment you first met him as a teenager, you thought he was incredibly cute. But now, he’s a man… and lucky (or unlucky) for you, you’ll be spending the entire summer with them. Your parents didn’t want to leave you home alone before university starts, so now you’re stuck spending 24/7 with your ultimate crush. But what if Jay liked you back?Jay knows you as Heeseung’s little sister, but for the past couple of years, you’ve been living rent-free in his mind. Having you around might just be a ticking time bomb because while the rest of the group still sees you as the sweet, innocent girl they grew up with… in his eyes, you’re very much a woman now.

*tags: Jay has always made fun of you because underneath he knows that you have a crush on him, you are definitely downbad for him for almost 10 years, you are ambivert but with him you can express your feelings, a lot of fluffy moment, a lot of kisses, flirty moment, jealousy, virgin reader, Jay is a green flag, fingering, female and male masturbation (first time for you) public masturbation (car in Monte Carlo) protected sex/unprotected sex (don't horny ppl) white lies told to your brother, protective brother, statement with a song of the Arctic Monkeys

Confident

*pairing: pervy rockstar Jack x social media staff Girl

*trope: sunshine boy x grumpy girl

*synopsis: Working for a record company had always been one of your dreams and moreover creating social content was one of your passions, so after graduating in Communication and Social Media you were part of the world of "The4Boys"; The4Boys was one of the most famous bands in the world and for your disgrace there was only one member that made you go crazy: Jake Sim. You and Jake were the opposites in everything, he the light you the darkness, the white against the black, you were slightly shy and did not dare to contradict the rules instead he was cheeky, confident, liked to filter with any girl and hated the rules. The tension between you two could be felt miles away and a new world tour was coming, what would you do between trand on Tik Tok, paparazzi shots and stolen kisses before a concert? Jake Sim was all you had to stay away from but he didn’t think so at all…

*tags: Jake loves to tease you and you don’t like it at first, Jake is seriously downbad for you and you’re his type and he’s not ashamed of not hiding it, psychological games, dirty talk, humor, fluffy moments, many kisses, kisses and physical moments before a concert, female masturbation, physical touches, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) shower sex, jealousy, post concert statement

Starboy

*pairing: pervy starboy-rockstar Heeseung x hostess Girl

*trope: fan x idol romance

*synopsis: Heeseung had never sought out love in his life. To him, it was a waste of time, especially with the hectic lifestyle of a “rockstar,” spending one month in one country and the next on the other side of the world but with a break that stretched out over four long months, for the first time, he wondered what he would actually do without stages, tours, or interviews. He had Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, his family, and the love of the fans... but there was no one who had ever made his heart beat in a different way. Except for one person. Someone who, to make matters worse, was absolutely off-limits. Y/n was one of the three flight attendants on their private jet, and she had joined the team just under six months ago. Yet from the very first time he saw her, Heeseung had felt something. It wasn’t love at first sight, but a strange curiosity that found its way in between tours and cities. She always had that sweet smile for everyone... except for him. Maybe because, right from the start, he had acted distant maybe even a bit like a jerk. But what could possibly happen when, one night in Los Angeles, that same flight attendant, the prettiest he’d ever seen, after a few too many drinks, lets it slip that she’s a huge fan of The4Boys? And that her bias is none other than Lee Heeseung? and what if that moment of confession ended with a stolen kiss, right in the middle of a crowded club?

*tags: Heeseung is the classic mysterious guy and you are a sunshine girl but a little intimidated by him because it was your bias before you found out to work for them, you love teasing him but also he loves to tease you especially when he finds out that you’re a fan, embarrassing moments, alcohol consumption, first kiss to Heeseung drunk, many moments of physical touches (in the plane) jealousy, male and female masturbation, unprotected sex-cowgirl (don’t horny ppl) post concert statement

[hermajestythesun]

okay so this is my theory as to why john and paul worked well as a duo bc yk. i’m obviously a psychic who knows everything and can make these assumptions despite seemingly minimal evidence…

- in paul’s case, we have an emotionally distant / abusive father who is unreliable and mother who had to overcompensate to support the men in her family (though this often meant being dismissive about emotional matters). his mother dies when he is 14 and he never gets any time to say goodbye. this destroys his already emotionally unstable father and forces paul into a parentified position. life becomes more about survival and maintenance than truly existing, feeling, and enjoying oneself. this makes paul appear cold and guarded, despite him being a heavy feeler. additionally, paul resents the masculinity he grows up with but ultimately does not know how to live without conforming to heteronormativity. this makes paul constantly battle his own desires and thoughts.

- john grows up without his father and surrounded by female figures. while aunt mimi is a dependable and loving caretaker, she is incredibly harsh and stern regarding certain matters, as well as tough and unyielding. he remains in contact with his erratic mother who is more like a friend than a familial figure, and she also dies when john is a teenager. so, despite having a guardian, john has to learn how to be independent and reliant on self. he also lacks strong masculine figures, and while dependent on women, he struggles to make a gendered identity for himself (keep in mind this is like the 50s). this combined with heavy childhood trauma results in somebody who wants to be better, but often lashes out violently and unpredictably.

together, the binaries of gender, love, and partnership got blurred in favor and benefit of the other:

- paul reestablished that maternal care john needed and missed. paul would help john cook, clean, calm down, and wake up without ever infringing upon john’s own autonomy. this was especially good for john because paul was NOT a woman. in fact, paul was younger than john and even looked up to john as a guiding figure. this wifely role taken on by paul as well as his “effeminate” display of manhood, fame, wealth, and partnership allowed john to feel like he had somebody he could be vulnerable with while not being controlled by that person.

- in fact, i would argue that john took on more of a parental role in many ways and served as an emotional regulator for paul. paul, who has a brain that moves a million miles per minute, often internally panics at any perceived threats (ex. regarding money, abandonment, etc). i think paul even struggles to understand his own feelings half of the time because of how regularly he had to suppress them. john hardly needed words to understand paul; instead, john was able to read paul in an almost intuitive way and understand paul’s actions for what they were rather than how paul wanted them to be understood (ex. john never buying into paul’s “oh im totally fine” act, and john knowing how to calm paul down even when paul seemed impossible). i don’t think john gets enough credit in this regard. for once, not only did paul now have somebody who was willing to do anything for him, protect him, defend him, stand up for others on his behalf, inspire him to be more independent, etc., but paul could exist and be understood in ways i doubt other people were able to do at all.

together, paul was able to play into the more feminine role he subconsciously took on and provide love to somebody who loved him back the same amount (if not more), and john was able to convey a more subdued masculine version of himself that was fully dependent on paul’s need for john��s affection and presence.

anyway. i have 0 evidence to provide for any of this tbh. it’s just kind of the vibe i get from things i see/read, and it’s a bit ballsy to make all of them assumptions without a true basis for them LOL. also i had ten minutes to write this so i apologize for any typos or weird sentences or whatever !!

[totallynotashieldagent]

I loooooovvvveeeeddd old bruce finding love so can old bruce also get a surprise pregnancy with reader for the birthday special?????

The Birthday Blurbs Special

You sat on the toilet, staring at the pregnancy test. There were three more on the sink counter. Every single one of them was positive.

"Sweetheart?" Bruce knocked, "You've been in there a while. Everything alright?"

"Uh- Yeah. All good." You called back. "Just- Um- I think I have UTI. So, I'll be a second." You cringed internally for that excuse.

"I'll get you some cranberry juice, okay?" He said and you could hear his footsteps receding.

You groaned to yourself and stood up. You had to dispose of the tests somehow. House full of detectives, it would be only a matter of time before someone found out and-

"Darling?" He knocked again. "I'm- I'm starting to worry now."

You opened the door, "We need to talk."

Bruce kept a neutral face, a glass of cranberry juice in his hand but every anxiety was rising to the surface.

This was it. She's had enough. She wants to leave- Who would want to spend a life like this anyway? He spiralled until he noticed your slightly swollen feet, the way your hand twitched, the way your PJ pocket was obviously heavy with something-

"You're pregnant." He said deadpanned, walking away, placing the glass on the table. "How would you wish to proceed?" He asked, his tone still carefully neutral.

"I- I don't know." You sighed, throwing the many tests into the dustbin and sitting on the edge of the bed.

He knelt infront of you, taking your hands in his. "Whatever you choose, I'll be okay with that."

"I.. What if I want to keep it?" Your voice was barely a whisper. "But you- I know you've got enough already and-"

"No." He said firmly. "No. There's never too many children. If I'd believed that, I would have stopped after Tim." He offered his signature lopsided smile. "There's never a child that isn't wanted in Wayne Manor, I promise you." He gave your hands a light squeeze.

"You mean it?" You smiled softly.

"Of course." He nodded. "I know I'm no spring chicken anymore but, I still have a good few years in me to raise a little one."

"Another Wayne." You mused, leaning down, resting your forehead against his and exhaling deeply. "This will not be an easy pregnancy, given both our ages."

"I'll ask Clark to use the Fortress if we need it, don't worry. In 9 months, you'll be glowing and this house will see another joy to celebrate." He leaned up slightly and kissed the tip of your nose.

[burr-ell]

In regards to how unfitting Vax just getting rolled back into mortality was to the overall narrative he had in C1.... I recognize that it's not great to put too much weight into fanfiction letting it determine how I feel about canon story, but the thing about how Vax's return is framed as Keyleth and Vex's Only happy ending, is that I read a lot of satisfying, sweet, touchingly real fanfic where all of Vox Machina eventually pass on to meet Vax as he psychopomps them to the afterlife! It carried a very comforting and resonant sentiment to be able to believe "this person is gone, but in a world where an afterlife is tangibly proven and real, you WILL see him again" and this carrying its own happiness! So for this to be overwritten YEARS later is just.... a denial of that.

Vax's return also just doesn't gel with the other narratives about death in the CR universe. Mollymawk, as loved as he was, doesn't get to come back; Orym doesn't get Will and Derrig back; FCG doesn't get to come back, but the story keeps on going for the people who loved them. What does it say in the face of those losses for Vax to come back?

Deanna WAS brought back, and while it'd be cruel to argue she should have stayed dead and imply that her newfound life wasn't worth the value to the people she made bonds with after her ressurection, it clearly fucked her up to be effectively a pawn to someone else's idea of fixing their life! It doesn't inherently beget a happy ending! What does it say when Vax's clear choice and faith in his championhood is overruled?

Absolutely agreed on all points, anon, and I think it's telling that Matt, Marisha, and Liam agreed on this with full knowledge and understanding that Vax and Keyleth had been making unhealthy choices. The implication is that despite this, none of them could envision a truly happy ending for these characters that did not involve them being able to continue a romance, and there are two problems with this.

Firstly and most obviously, wildly allocentric to imply that Keyleth could not have a properly happy ending without her college boyfriend who died three decades ago. To give context, thirty years is almost as long as Marisha Ray has been alive. Thirty years ago was the Oklahoma city bombing and the O.J. Simpson trial. Thirty years ago is older than 9/11 and the Iraq War. Thirty years is a long time, and I can't see Keyleth still being just as angry as she was at the end of C1 as anything but a person refusing to stop being mired in grief and move on. She even acknowledges it herself in Dalen's Closet, that she can't move on if Vax keeps sending ravens and then she still asks him not to stop. And to be clear, that in and of itself is a fine and even interesting choice! Rewarding that because the alternative is "unfair", for a rather nebulous value of "unfair", is not. It's not a happy ending to grow past unhealthy attachment and wallowing in grief, but it is happy to completely overlook those behaviors for a romance and some hackneyed callbacks to the ending of a better story?

Secondly, we don't even need to look at Molly, Will, or Deanna, although those are very good examples. Elaina is still dead. Juniper is still dead. Frederick, Johanna, Julius, Vesper, Oliver, Whitney, and Ludwig are all still dead. Every member of Vox Machina, including Keyleth herself, is eventually going to die. There's something that feels almost pointed about Taliesin emphasizing in 3x121 that Percy is still going to die decades before Vex, and we know Pike and Scanlan will outlive Grog by centuries. What, exactly, is different about their deaths versus Vax's? If Vax hadn't taken the revenant deal, he would have just died immediately—he was disintegrated. Liam made a point, over and over, both in the campaign and on Talks, of saying that Vax did not want a way out of his deal. What, in the in-universe logic of this setting, makes Vax so special, as opposed to every other person Vox Machina knew and loved who died or will die and isn't going to come back?

When I've had time, I've been reading through Vox Machina: Stories Untold, and something stuck out to me in the post-C1 content. Keyleth has taken on a young apprentice, an Ashari druid named Audra. We don't see much of their actual relationship, but it's close enough that Keyleth brings Audra along to Whitestone while she and the others have a night out, and Audra is friends with Vesper, Juniper, and Wax. In other words, Keyleth still invested herself in the community she was leading and kept in touch with her friends. She had a rich, fulfilling life that did not have to involve Vax in any way. Exandria did not stop turning because one person died; it kept moving, and Vox Machina kept moving. That is a vastly superior and more meaningful story than the ending of Campaign 3, and I find it absurd to imply that this ending can't truly be happy if this character doesn't have her boyfriend.

[loganficsonly]

Omg a sick thought I just got from a whole other fix with a diff character but though you would do it like absolutely justice!! And I really hope you write it! But reader stumbling on a post on tumbler may be (lol) and gets an idea to make brownies and have Logan cum in them so she can eat them and how would Logan react to being asked to do that maybe he’d be weirdly into it to okay okay thanks for reading lots of love for your writing

you know what anon, i think it takes a lot of courage to trust someone on the internet with a request like this, and i am strangely honored you would take it to me. thank you for deeming me a safe place to wave your freak flag 🫶

my take on this is under the cut. spoiler alert, it doesn't get baked into the brownie, NOTHING HAPPENS TO THE BROWNIES (i wasn't exactly comfortable with taking things there), but... stuff happens.

just desserts

logan x f!reader, 2k 18+ VERY SMUTTY OBVIOUSLY so for the love of god MDNI!!!, established relationship, oral sex (m!receiving), rough sex, cum play, dirty talk, praise?, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), is it creampie if it's gender neutral???, reader has hair and it's used against them, unedited/not proofread cz its fucking 3am

“Thought you were a sweet little thing when we first met.” 

You’re on your knees between Logan’s legs, cold kitchen tiles biting at your bare skin. His eyes survey you from above as a hand softly cards through your hair, tucking the stray strands away from your face. Much too gentle for what he’s about to say next.

“Turns out you’re a real dirty slut, huh?”

Blue jeans and black boxers hang low, revealing his cock, leaking at the head. Your breath hitches at the sight, as if not enough of you is wrecked with lust. Eyes glazed, lips swollen, cheeks pinkish.

That’s his favorite kind of look to put on your face, if you ask him. One that says you feel good. 

Fingers on your chin tilt your head back, the movement gentle. You allow yourself to fold to his guidance, submitting to what he wants you to do.

The lazy smirk on his face tells you he’s pleased.

“Look at you.” 

The hand moves from your hair to your jaw, swiping his thumb on your bottom lip, parting it.

“Already so out of it. I just kissed you a little.”

What a liar—you were pinned by the hips against the kitchen island while he overwhelmed you, devouring you with his mouth. He kissed you like he would never get to again, deep, teeth mercilessly closing in on flesh, tugging your lip before sweeping his tongue over it like another layer of claim staked.  

When Logan pulled away, it wasn’t for breath. You were left moaning as he buried his face in your neck, sucking and biting the spot on your throat like a starved animal. You can still feel the slick of his saliva, the way his tongue teases your ear. 

On a regular day, you’d throw sass about how you felt like you were eaten alive rather than ‘kissed a little’.

Then again, you think to yourself, half-lidded eyes staring at his twitching length, this situation is entirely your fault.

It’s a lazy evening for you, and your impulses lead you to the kitchen. Not to scavenge for an assortment of leftovers to call dinner, but for the singular purpose of baking.

Brownies, specifically. 

Some would call it cursed, the thing you saw on social media earlier.

An abomination. A desecration of the very concept of dessert. Their reaction images say things like every day, we stray further from god.

But you blinked and continued to scroll. You’ve seen worse. 

You’re not fully sure of whether you were on board with the idea of adding Logan’s cum in a sweet treat before enjoying them. You suppose it did look uncannily similar to powdered sugar glaze. Amateur bakers mistake one for the other all the time. It happens.

One thing you’re sure of, though, is that you want brownies. You want them now. 

And that’s how Logan finds you when he comes home: tasting a dollop of batter on your pinky finger, cocoa powder dusting your t-shirt and short shorts. Something smells good. His face is a balanced blend of amusement and exasperation.

“What’re you up to this time?”

“And a hello to you too.” You ignore your boyfriend’s implied disdain at your spontaneous shenanigans, adding a bit of brown sugar into the bowl and mixing it.

He walks over for a kiss, the faint taste of chocolate on your mouth lingering on his. 

You begin to tell him about what triggered this particular craving while pouring the brownie batter onto a baking tray. All of it, no details spared. You’re way past the point of propriety with this man.

“Are you into that?” you ask, tone as level as if talking about the weather.

You’re too busy checking the oven to see his pupils dilate.

Long story short, that’s how you got here.

Kneeling in front of him in the kitchen, while your brownies bake in the oven. His hand gripping your skull with just the right amount of pressure, the other one slapping his cock against your cheek, making you whimper. 

He looks so ready for you, veiny and red, twitching with need.

“My baby wants to eat cum that bad?” he asks, as if he’s not just as eager.

You don’t answer, head spinning. Maybe it’s the circumstances that make this encounter that much more intoxicating. You can smell him, musky and heady in that familiar way that sends heat between your legs. Already you feel yourself salivating.

He talks to you again, voice lower, more dangerous.

“Words, honey.”

“Please, can I?” the answer escapes you immediately. Breathy. Hungry. He lets out a shaky laugh.

“Beg so pretty. Take what you want, sugar.” 

You let out a soft moan, hand immediately wrapping at the base, pumping him nice and slow. He watches for now, all dark eyes and restraint. Only when you kiss the tip of his cock, tongue teasing the slit, he jerks his hips forward. The beginning of his crumbling control.

You take him in your mouth then, but not all the way. Just enough to wrest a ragged sound out his throat. Pulling back, you tease him with your tongue, licking a thin stripe from base to pretty tip before putting him in your mouth again.

You know you’re doing a good job because his fingers curl round your hair near your scalp. It doesn’t hurt. Just a little gesture to show you how much he’s enjoying himself.

“So fucking warm,” he murmurs, admiring the view. Your eyes flick up to meet his for a second, and he swears he sees you smile around his cock. Minx. 

It doesn’t take long for him to start fucking into your mouth. You’re too good, too patient. You let him. Trust him enough to take control of you. Muffled moans reverberate through the kitchen, and underneath the sounds you make, he never really stops talking, the filth only serving to heighten your desire.

God, you love it when he uses you like this.

“Take me so well,” Logan uses both hands to cradle your head now, strong and steady. Each time he sinks himself into your mouth, you mewl in a way that fuels the pace of his hips.

“You’re being so good. Made f’ me, hm? Fuck.”

Your hands busy themselves, pumping the parts of him that can’t possibly fit down your throat and playing with his balls. He groans. Loud. 

“Gonna let me cum in your mouth, baby?”

You can’t speak, moaning with ardor around his cock instead. He shivers as he finds himself on the edge. It’s too perfect. The look on your face, your pretty lips wrapped around him, drool slick on his cock every time he pulls out, disappearing when he drives back in. The sight pushes him just shy of the crest.

“Don’t swallow,” he hisses the words past gritted teeth, “wanna see my cum in your mouth b‘fore you do.”

You cry out when he cums with a long growl, spurts of his release hitting the back of your throat you’d choke if you weren’t turned on out of your mind. It’s so much, but he eventually pulls out of you.

“Open.”

Your jaw slackens, panting, revealing the sinful pool of it on your tongue. A dribble of it escapes the side of your lips, trailing slowly down your chin.

How he’s able to look so smug after orgasming is beyond you. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect, y’know that?” he says, tone laced with wonderment even as he uses his fingers to make you close. You swallow, the taste of him making you even wetter between the legs. Opening up your mouth again, you show him your pink tongue. Clean.

That sends him into overdrive, it seems, because his cock is half-hard again and he’s gathering you up on your two feet, his grip stern but not unkind. You find yourself pressed against the island where you worked on the brownies not too long ago, palms pressed flat on the surface as he all but yanks your shorts down to your ankles. You kick them away.

A sharp slap lands on your ass once he gets rid of your underwear, making you yelp in surprise. The sting melts into delicious pleasure. You arch more, as if offering yourself to him. He stands behind you, quietly tugging your hips to meet his. The curve of his cock nestles against you, teasing. He doesn’t move. 

“Logan,” you breathe shakily, impatiently. 

“Ready?”

“Yes, fuck,” you cry, feeling his fingers play with the slick between your legs, drawing circles around your entrance as if to prepare you. The both of you know you don’t need it—one look and he knows you’re ready for him. His cock kisses you there and you feel your legs nearly give.

He engulfs you in this position, chest pressed against your back as he sinks in.

You melt, lips open in a silent scream.

He delights at the sight of you as he feeds himself into your heat, one hand tugging your t-shirt up so he sees the bare skin of your arched back. Once he’s reached the deepest parts of you, he stays still, allowing you to breathe through the stretch. Fingers stroke a long line from the nape of your neck down to your lower back, admiring the curve of your spine. You shiver at the featherlight touch.

“So b-big,” you gasp, chest heaving. His hand moves to your front, up your stomach, past your ribs, brushing against a nipple before pinching it between his fingers.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweet thing. Been wound up since I put my cock in your mouth, yeah?”

Then he moves, and you sigh in relief at the friction, encouraging him with all sorts of debauched sounds that stream out of you almost like second nature.

“Logan, please, more…”

His body crowds yours, arm wrapped around your torso to keep you flush against his chest as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, mouth gritting out filthy things by your ear. 

“Gonna fill you up instead of the brownies. I’ll pump you so full of my cum you’re gonna feel it leak out of you for days. Feel it every time you walk. Want that?”

Your mouth forms the answer almost immediately, whimpers of ‘yes, yes’ and the wet sounds of slapping flesh goading him to take more of you.

The hand that snakes between your legs is the cause of your demise, deftly manipulating you until your nerves zap electricity throughout your body, triggering your release. You’re a mess that’s held up only by Logan’s burly frame and the kitchen island, noises spilling out of you as slick does down your thighs. He moans, chasing his own high while you spasm from yours, holding you down as he pounds—

And then it’s his turn. This time he cums with his teeth on your neck, muffling a chesty “fu-u-uck” that escapes him. 

He kept his word. Not too long after the deafening heartbeat in your ears settles, you feel his cum trickle down your inner thigh. 

Wordlessly, he smears it on your skin, as if marking his territory.

Then you feel the shift behind you, cool air hitting your back as he moves. Warm breath caresses your flesh right where he just ravaged you, and you can tell he’s staring.

It’s his turn to be on his knees, both hands spreading your asscheeks wide to get a better view of what’s still dripping out of you.

He seals his lips around your opening and you cry out.

Tongue licking up the remnants of your shared pleasure, eating you the way he did your mouth at the very beginning. Shameless. His nose bumps deliciously against you, and you find yourself grinding into his face. Then he chuckles in response, the vibrations devilish, before his hands steady your thighs, almost allowing you to use him as he used you.

When he makes you cum with his mouth, your legs are shaking, held up only by his strong grip. Your mind is blank—the aftermath of the desire he seems to infinitely inspire within you.

Logan rises to his feet, arms wrapping around your torso from behind as he presses his lips to your ear. They’re soaked. So is his chin.

“Tastes better than stuffed brownies.”

[m1ssunderstanding]

do you think john and paul were hooking up in the 70s at all? i know so much abt the mclennon 60s timeline but the 70s is a bit foggier to me

Anything's possible, man. I think the whole seventies are generally portrayed and perceived as much more antagonistic than it actually was. I do think the actual fucking was a lot more sparse than the sixties obviously but the mutual obsession and the closeness and friendship and attraction and desire to be and work together was just as present in the seventies as all the bitterness and miscommunicated and competitiveness and jealously and lawsuits and mind games were.

They were together a lot more than is generally acknowledged in the seventies and I bet they were together a lot more than we know about even. And let's be real, if those two couldn't be lovers they'd never be friends. So it's likely that at least some of the time they fucked.

70: 0% chance of fucking. Paul is really hoping he ods up in Scotland and John is screaming his guts out in an institution. They're not speaking. They don't see each other.

71: they technically could've (John doesn't move to NY until August and Paul would've been in London part of the time) but I doubt it. Someone correct me if we have more information but I think they didn't really see much of each other in this year. John did send Paul the tape of their deca audition with a lovey note for Christmas so things weren't all antagonism, but still very rocky. And I believe he invited Paul to play live with him but Paul wouldn't because of Klein.

72: maybe. In January, Linda and Paul flew to NY to visit John and Yoko at their new place. Then John invited them to play live together and even said Klein wouldn't be involved if Paul didn't want. (I don't know how that would've looked legally) But we have no idea whether Paul responded to that telegram, only that he didn't go and that after that he went on the wings tour of Europe. But John was very much not permanently pissed at him because then we get the elephants memory story of John regularly taking 90+minutes out of a recording session for SINYC to chit chat with Paul on the phone. And the thing is. If they're that friendly, the McCartneys probably visiting John and Yoko on their way to Linda's dad's house. Which being rich and being big on family, they probably did more often than is documented.

73: Probably not. January of this year is when John yelled at Yoko during a party that he wished he was back with Paul. This is also the year (might even be the same party idk) that he got mad at her and grabbed some woman and went into a nearby bedroom and fucked her and everyone knew what was going on etc. Late 73 is the start of the lost weekend. But! Even though emotionally they would've been there imo it was physically impossible because Paul wasn't allowed into the US and John wasn't allowed out. I did hear they tried to meet at the Canada border just to see each other in person, so maybe? That would be something they would do, I don't know.

74: Definitely. As soon as he was legally allowed to, Paul was tapping that ass I guarantee. May acts like there's something she's not allowed to disclose about John and Paul during this time and the agreed upon timeline for their meetings does not match their locations so there's something sneaky going on.

75: Definitely. Again, with May Pang. I definitely recommend her book. It's one of my favorite Beatles books. Paul just randomly knows they've moved into a new apartment (again in NY where Paul and Linda visit all the time anyway) knows their number and shows up to hang out with John. John's so stoked for New Orleans. He's popping out songs left and right, he's giddy and goofy. He's talking about getting a house with May. He can't wait to get that bussy.

76: Probably not. John and Paul remained on good terms despite John not showing up to New Orleans and breaking Paul's tender heart. (His excuse is a baby. Like Paul's not going to eat that up. He was born with milk in his tits I swear.) But even though they're buddies, I have a hard time believing they fucked when they met up in 76 with the whole snl story and all that. While I do actually buy that Linda might've supported them hooking up (we can get into that mess later) I don't think Yoko wanted that, at least at this point in their marriage where they're trying to be a nuclear family with Sean and all that. I really doubt, after she's just taken him back and had his baby, that Yoko would've let him be alone with Paul. So unless John went in disguise to a Wings over America concert -- which was decidedly Not his mental state that year -- it's extremely unlikely.

77: Doubt it. I don't know too much about 77 other than that was the year John wrote many of those extremely love-sick and beautiful and depressing ballads and made self recorded journal entries about not wanting to get out of bed unless it was to jump out the window. Paul also took this year "off" so Linda could have James in peace and he could more actively participate in child rearing and housework while she healed from pregnancy and birth. This was probably the start of the "we just talked about bread and cats and babies" phonecalls. Idk maybe there was some sad->sweet phone sex in there somewhere.

78: Bit more likely. Sean was turning two at this point, and as a mom of a two year old I can tell you two is WAY better than one or zero. So, while John of course had nannies and house keepers to help, I'm sure his mental state still improved with Sean's development. Meanwhile, Paul's London Town was a flop numerically and critically, which probably helped things between them to be honest. Also, this is where I think Yoko was starting to get over John and wasn't around much. So any time the McCartneys were in New York to visit Lee, it's possible.

79: Probably. And this is just me being insane, but when Paul tells interviewers he showed his homemade tapes that would become McCartney 2 to "someone" and that "someone" said 'oh this is your new album' and Paul said 'no I was just messing around' and that "someone" said 'No. That's your new album'. And Paul went, 'yeah you're right' and put it out. I mean, that's just obviously John. Nobody talks to Paul like that except John. Nobody else has the balls and Paul wouldn't respect anyone else that way. So this is where -- I think -- the secret Montauk meetings probably started. We also know Paul and Linda visited John and Yoko again at the end of 79 right before they went to Japan. So it could've happened then too.

80: Definitely. See my post about secret late seventies meetings for an explanation here. If you don't know what I'm talking about, message me or comment or whatever and I'll send it your way:)

[transmutationisms]

Hi, I know you don't give advice so obviously just ignore this if you want to. I got into an argument with a friend recently about a mutual acquaintance of ours who is suicical. She wanted to involuntarily commit her to a psych ward. I tried to argue against her, saying that she deserved the same autonomy as everyone else etcetc, how it was a huge breach of trust and wouldn't do any good anyway, but she kept insisting. Anyway, main point of her argument developed into "well what if she harms someone else too" (like leaping in front of a train), which is obviously bullshit, locking someone away on the off chance they might harm someone else, but I didn't really know how to argue against that eloquently. Do you have any tips on how to formulate anti-psych arguments in a way that people who don't read any theory might understand? Or is this a lost cause?

i don't think the point of this type of argument is to change someone's mind (generally not going to happen) but to do what you can to shield the other friend from involuntary commitment. so yes this is one of the cases where i would absolutely pick a fight and refuse to 'agree to disagree' becuse someone else's basic wellbeing is directly at stake. it's not even really about the global ethical position in that moment, it's about literally is there any combination of words i can string together so that this person retains the legal ability to make their own life decisions. in other words yes i think this is worth making the effort but no i don't have debate tips because this depends so heavily on the particularities of the situation & what the other person will find specifically persuasive.

but frankly ime a lot of times people who are otherwise enthusiastic about involuntarily committing someone can be held at bay by the mere fact of knowing that a friend or acquaintance strenuously disagrees, is not compromising on that position, & will vocally despise them forever for robbing someone else of their basic self-determination like that. you don't always have to be a master rhetorician, sometimes you just have to be a moral roadblock withholding approval of an abhorrent action.

[gothicpaperback]

THE WAY HE CARES | PART FOUR

<<< PART THREE | PART FIVE: COMING SOON >>>

wc: 2,2k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Joel Miller x You | Enemy Pregnancy

summary: Joel Miller has been my pain-in-the-ass neighbour for years. we argue more than we speakand when we do speak, it's usually through gritted teeth. but when my doctor tells me my fertility’s running out of time, panic sets in. I want a baby and I don’t have the luxury of waiting around for Mr. Right. Joel's a damn good father to his daughter, Sarah. that much, I can’t deny. so one night, fuelled by nerves and just the right amount of wine, I ask him the unthinkable: get me pregnant. no strings.no romance. just biology. i never planned on falling for him. but nothing about Joel Miller ever goes according to plan.

while the story is first person narrative, the OC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely physically described aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: neighbours, enemies to lovers, comedy, smut, sexual tension, mentions of fertility and reproductive issues, mentions of drugs and alcohol, self pleasure (male). i will add more tags as they become relevant.

taglist: @himboelover | @harrypotteranna23-blog | @isabella-rose-trastamara | @ro4nix | @sunndroppp | @harriedandharassed | @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 | @titlee78

THE WAY HE CARES | PART FOUR

Several weeks later, I sat in my favourite purple chair by the window, one leg tucked under me and a mug of peppermint tea cooling in my hand. From this angle, if I craned my neck just right and leaned past the curtain, I could see Joel’s house across the street. 

His porch light was on. Probably still up. Probably doing something boring, like organizing spice jars by alphabetical order. The man gave off serious cumin-before-coriander energy.

We hadn't really spoken since that ridiculous day of the Great Sneak mission, which honestly felt like months ago. But that was to be expected. Joel and I had nothing in common, except proximity and mutual judgment. And now, I guess… impending semi-scientific conception.

I pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over the screen, then moved of their own accord, slightly trembly.

It’s ovulation tomorrow.

A few seconds passed. Then the bubbles.

How do you know? Clearblue. Ah So… your place or mine? Sarah is having a sleepover here so unless you feel like wearing a ball gag, it better be yours. Maybe I like ball gags. That was a joke, right? Obviously, Joel.

I shouldn’t be as nervous as I am, considering what’s about to go down. It’s not like Joel and I are going to be doing anything remotely romantic. There’s no candlelit Marvin Gaye situation happening. The most physical contact we’re having is a sample hand-off, like the world’s most awkward espionage operation.

Still, I’d gone out of my way to prepare. The turkey baster was cleaned, prepped, and resting ominously on the counter. I’d even lit a couple candles for ambience, though I quickly blew them out when I realized it made the whole thing feel creepily intimate.

I’d also Googled “insemination playlist” and immediately regretted it.

When the doorbell rang, I jumped like I’d been caught doing something illegal. I shook it off and opened the door, trying to look calm and casual and not like a woman about to artificially inseminate herself with her neighbour's genetic material.

Joel stood there with an expression that said he would rather be anywhere else. He looked freshly showered. 

And mortified.

Joel stood on my front stoop with his hands deep in his pockets, and he looked everywhere except directly at me.

“This is weird,” he said flatly.

“I know,” I replied. “But your swimmers don’t thrive in traffic, so here we are.”

I stepped back and gestured for him to come in and he did did so warily, like you expected someone to shout out and tell him he was on a hidden camera show. 

"I don't see why I couldn't... Produce a sample at my place and bring it over." 

"Sperm viability declines with time," I said, parroting what I had read online. " And I don't know about you, Joel, but this is pretty awkward and I don't really want us to have to do it again if we don't have to."

Joel nodded. "Right. I sure as hell don't wanna do this again."

He lingered by the door while I turned toward the kitchen. There was a weird silence between us, awkward, yes, but not entirely uncomfortable. 

“You sure you’re okay doing this?” he asked suddenly.

I turned to look at him. “We already agreed, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. I just… I don’t know. You look nervous.”

I blinked before shrugging. Yeah I guess it was a little nervous, but honestly I was excited to get this part out of the way. 

"Are you okay with it?"

He nodded.

We walked to the bathroom in an uneasy silence. Joel was clenching his teeth so tightly his jaw bulged. When we reached the door I looked over at him.

I blinked. “I set out a clean cup and everything. Very medical. Very sterile. And I blew out the scented candle.”

Joel didn't say anything, just catching you'd staring at the sample cup on the bathroom counter.

“You want me to stay and… supervise?” I asked, half joking, half… actually I don’t know why I said that. Maybe I just wanted him to walk in and get this over with.  

Joel looked alarmed. “You're not fuckin' serious."

"No." 

(Curious but not serious).

"Well... Times ticking," I said trying to sound cheerful. 

Joel gave me a look like I’d just sentenced him to public execution. Still, he trudged inside and shut himself in the bathroom. The door clicked shut. 

A beat passed. 

Then another. 

Silence.

I hovered awkwardly in the hallway, arms crossed. Then came a sigh from inside the bathroom.

“Problem?” I called, pretending to study my nails.

“You’re standing right outside,” he grumbled.

“I’m not breathing on the doorknob or anything.”

“This is not… conducive to performance,” he said tightly.

I rolled my eyes and took a step back. “Okay, fine. I’ll wait in the kitchen and stare at the fridge like it’s judging me.”

I left the hallway, my feet carrying me to the kitchen. I watched the clock on oven, walking back and forth over the vinyl flooring as I waited. 

When five minutes had passed I poked my head around the corner. More silence. 

Then: “I can hear you pacing.”

“Sorry, should I tiptoe around while you romance yourself?”

Another groan from the bathroom. A full minute passed. I heard the sound of the faucet, then nothing.

“Do you need… a magazine?” I offered through the door. “Or, I don’t know, a suggestive fruit arrangement?”

“I swear to God,” he muttered.

“Some people find ASMR videos relaxing. Or should I queue up a classic ‘Nurses With No Boundaries’?”

There was a strangled sort of laugh from the other side.

“Stop talking!” he snapped.

I grinned. “You’re welcome for the foreplay.”

A thump. Possibly his head hitting the wall.

Finally, I heard him mutter, “This is impossible.”

I sighed and leaned against the hallway wall. “Okay. Breathe. Reset. Picture literally anyone else in the world. Or wait, why don't you just look at something on your phone?"

“…forgot it at home,” he admitted quietly.

"Really, Joel?"

"Forgive me, I had a little meeting that was distractin' me."

I sighed, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my mobile. 

“Use mine. Should I preload the tabs or what?”

“Just give me the phone.”

I unlocked and slid my phone under the door with two fingers like I was handing over contraband in prison.

“There,” I said. “Freshly sanitized. Just try not to Google anything that’ll land us both on a government watch list.”

He groaned again. Then i heard a small chuckle. 

"Nice wallpaper." 

It took me a moment before I realized what he was talking about. The background to my phone was of me last summer. It's the best I've ever looked and I like the reminder that once in a while I look good. 

"Don't judge me," I said with a scoff. "I looked good and wanted to immortalize the moment."

No answer. Just the soft scuff of movement, then the faint sound of a breath, long and exasperated.

I leaned against the opposite wall, staring at the crown moulding like it might hold the answers to life, fertility, and why this was my Tuesday night. A minute passed. Then two.

Still silence.

“Do you need a better Wi-Fi signal?” I offered. “I can reset the router if your chosen adult content is buffering.”

Nothing. Then, softly, almost too softly to catch: “where was this?”

I blinked. “What?”

A pause.

“The background. On your phone. Where were you?”

I cleared my throat. “oh, uh, you know Lake Travis? There." 

Another beat. Then his voice smooth like molasses. 

"You’ve got this little smirk. Like you’re up to something. Makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“You’re always up to somethin'.”

His voice sounded different now. Rougher. Lower.

Something in my stomach flipped.

From the other side of the door, I heard the faint, unmistakable sound of someone settling in. The creak of the vanity. A quiet inhale. Then nothing but the low hum of tension pressing at the silence.

“So what are you looking at now?” I asked, a little to break the stillness, mostly to mess with him.

“You really want to know?”

“Depends,” I said grinning. “Is it still my wallpaper?”

Long pause. Then: “Maybe.”

My breath caught.

I swallowed. "R-really?"

"Nah," came Joel's soft chuckle. "Just like screwin' with you." 

"Ha ha," I said with an eye roll, body fluttering. "Okay, I'll leave you be."

Joel didn't reply and I didn't move a muscle. My cheeks felt warm but I admit to being perversely fascinated at the thought of my miserable neighbour jerking off behind the door. 

And then I heard it, the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh. The slow drag of a hand over a shaft, dry at first. 

"Bossy thing," he murmured to himself. "F-fucking take it then." 

I ached to know what he was watching in there. What was the type of stuff that got a man like Joel off?

Please tell me it's not schoolgirl shit. 

"Be good," he continued, voice quieter now, "c'mon be good for me tonight and take it." 

I blinked, heat crawling up my neck.

Another beat. The dry skin sound replaced with something slippery, the movements glided instead of stuttered. Then his voice dropped further, smoother, like dark honey.

"Yeah show me. Show me how much you want it, darlin'." 

I pressed my palm to the wall, heart pounding. The clapping sounds were increasing in both volume and speed, interspersed with Joel's grunts or quiet groans. 

"So pretty... fuck, yeah..."

A ragged groan was muffled halfway by what I imagined was Joel's arm.  

The silence that followed was thick, electric. Then I heard it. A soft, sharp inhale. A breathless exhale. And then nothing but the still, sudden quiet of completion.

A long second passed.

Then my name was being called. I made a great show of pretending to run down the hallway. 

"Finished?" 

The door cracked open and I saw Joel's flushed face, neck blotchy and forehead shiny with sweat. 

"Yep." 

He glanced at me. I glanced at him. He opened the door all the way, motioning to the container on the sink sitting next to my phone. 

The moment was far too serious and I pointed to the donation.

“Aww they have your eyes,” I said, turkey baster in hand. 

Joel, let out a booming laugh, surprising both of us. Then he just stared at me with a weird, faraway look. When he didn't make a move to leave I brought up the baster between the two of us. 

"Okay, my turn."

Joel blinked rapidly, springing to life as if he'd been asleep. 

"Oh, oh right, shit. I'll head out. Good luck." 

He gave me a salute and then flinched as you realized what he done. I watched his broad frame move from me and out the front door, closing it quietly behind him

This was supposed to be clinical. But something felt charged, like something had shifted. 

And to my annoyance when I checked my phone later that night, I saw he'd wiped the his entire search history clean. 

Two weeks and a period later I laid in bed with tears streaming down my face. I was heartbroken. Images of me with a baby in my arms were replaced with an empty crib. 

There went my one chance. That fucking turkey baster didn't even seem right when I was doing it. Fuck this whole thing. 

He told me he didn't want to do it again when he arrived the last time. He's not going to put himself through that hell again. 

I brought up my phone, sniffling.

It didn't work. 

I dragged myself to work, explaining away the puffy eyes claiming I had allergies. My coworkers were sympathetic even though I'm sure a few of them didn't believe it. 

I tried not to look at the Pinterest board I'd started last month, back when I thought I might be pregnant. The one full of cute cribs and wooden toys.

Every twitch in my abdomen, every nauseated feeling had made me convinced I was pregnant. I was so joyful and now? I'm devastated. 

Joel replied later that day on what I assume was his lunch break. I ate my sandwich and pulled open his message. 

I'm sorry. 

Thanks Joel. 

.... ....

The bubbles appeared and disappeared several times. Then finally:

Is there anything I can do? 

For some reason his kindness caused fresh tears start but I blinked them back. This was my frenemy, the man that I always found so irritating. And here he was being courteous, even kind.

You held up your end. No need to do anything else. 

I put the phone in my bag before he could reply. I couldn't take any more of his kindness. I was finishing up for the day when a long pair of legs approached my desk. 

"Hi. Any chance you could tell me where the mail room is?"

I chanced a look up from my bag and went slack-jawed. To say he was handsome was an understatement. He was the kind of man I'd only read about in books. He gave me a boyish smile when I continued to stare a bit too long.

"Sorry, yes, just down the hall and to the left." 

"Thanks," he said with a beam that made my stomach do flips. "My name's Ben by the way. I'm the new guy in accounting." 

We shook hands briefly, a quick pump as I told him my name and position at the company before he was on his way. 

"Hope I see you again soon," he smiled. 

I watched him go, my body thrumming all over. Just then my phone buzzed and to my surprise it was a message from Joel.

Do you wanna try again?

authors note: i really appreciate all of the comments that have been left. i'm glad to know what makes you laugh or what you like best in my stories so pleaase tell me your favourite part in the comments

💋💋💋💋

[l4lenthusiast]

need emily with a newborn headcanons! i loved the spencer one

Emily Prentiss with a newborn baby𖹭⋆˙

Emily Prentiss x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of Doyle (literally just his name no in-depth spoilers), implied girl mom emily (can be read as boy mom emily but she/her pronouns are used for baby,) no specified name for the baby (just referred as "the baby", "her baby", or "your baby."

A/n I love that little cat gif more than anything.

Emily was hesitant to have a baby at first. Obviously she wanted nothing more than to settle down with you and be woken up to your baby crawing around in your shared bed. But she was a bit scared considering her job, and the Doyle situation frightened her even more.

After Emily held your baby, she knew that she would never let anything happen to them and would be the best mom to her baby.

She would parade your baby around the bau with them on her hip, stopping by everyone's desks to make them smile, even making Hotch crack a smile.

"Emily," Hotch kept his eyes on the case file he was 'reading'.

"Yes?" She bounced the baby on her hip, knowingly smiling down at him.

"Where are those papers I gave you yesterday?" He glanced up still keeping a serious look on his face.

Emily smiled once again. "On my desk, I'll go grab them now." She walked off but not before waving and her baby repeating that same wave, making Hotch lift the file conventionally over his mouth.

Up early every morning to wake up her baby with kisses. If not she would expect you to bring the baby to her because she just loves them so much.

"Good morning!" She peaked into her baby's room, who was thrilled to see her.

"Hi sweetheart." She picked them up and kissed their faces, resting them on her hip.

"Do you want to go see Mama?" She cooed. Obviously she knew the baby couldn't talk back, but she still loves to talk to them.

Loves taking her baby to bau girl nights it used to mean going out for drinks, but know it's mostly just jj and Penelope cooing over your baby in one of your living rooms.

Emily can never stop buying them clothes. Every time you go to a store, she says she will be right back just going to grab some fruit and will come back with five new outfits and matching hats for your baby.

She will fall asleep baby on her chest, watching some random cooking show in bed. When you wake her up to put the baby back in their own bed, she would coax you back into bed.

"Em," you tuck her dark hair behind her ear and start to reach for the baby.

"Hm?" She mumbles out, wrapping her hands a little tighter around them.

"Pass me our baby. She needs to sleep, and so do we." You sigh out of exhaustion, leaning down a bit lower on your shared bed.

"Shh honey." Emily pulls your arm down and wraps a hand around your waist, pressing a kiss against your ear.

"Emily -" she interrupts you by humming.

"Don't 'Emily' me. Just go to sleep. She's fast asleep, and so am I in a second. Okay, just sleep." And it works every time.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Idea. For one adventure tha TADC members have to rob a bank and the reader is somehow very educated in this type of thing. When asked the reader admits that they were a known and wanted criminal which can freak them out

The reader adventured banks.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Career criminal Reader

★ You weren't looking for any trouble. Just an easy score. The C&A building was abandoned years ago. But everything inside looked untouched. Surely there was something valuable? Then you found that damned headset.

★ Your new body? It's a raccoon. Obviously. Or some other theft associated animal. The grabby little hands and mask-like fur pattern suits you perfectly. Not to mention how everything fits in your pockets. You could fit a sofa in there if you tried.

★ These days, the most you can do is yoink stuff from Caine's adventures. Thinking that they won't remember. Robbing NPCs without guilt. Imagine Caine re-using the same NPC and, somehow, they recognize you as someone who stole their wallet.Twice. 

★ In the McDonald's adventure, you spent the whole time trying to steal from the register. Stressing Gangle out in the process. You got $0.00 and a nice new pair of handcuffs. Plus you got to leave early! So, really, you were the one who won.

★ Robbery wasn't your favorite. It's nerve wracking and hard to pull off. Planning it was the worst part. But when rent was due and your stomach was empty, you would do it. Just to keep your head above water. You hated that the most.

★ One day, Caine decided to have a "bank robbery adventure." It was actually pretty fun doing a robbery without the stakes. But did Caine really think handing you a gun was a good idea? Either way, you're suspiciously good at this.

★ Caine gave you a lockpicking set for enrichment. Complete with a practice lock that was copied from Jax's door. The rabbit had... Opinions about that. "Are you f*****g kidding me?!?"

★ Ragatha once joked about turning you in. Little did she know, you have warrants out for your arrest. Warrants as in plural. Good news is, you can't be arrested while stuck in a digital hell! Bad news is you're stuck in a digital hell.

“Used the ‘wrong’ bathroom.” Zooble said. Annoyed look in their eyes. "Got banned..."

Nodding gently, you speak "Yea. I got banned from Walmart."

You paused for a moment. Thinking over what you're about to say. "But it was for a good reason." The statement gaining you Zoobles full attention.

"I just… took things. Food mostly. Couldn’t afford not to. The job I had paid, like, six bucks an hour. Overtime didn't help.” Explaining the situation causally. Like it was something everybody did.

"Only got caught once"

Zooble turns to you.

“Huh.”

That makes a lot of sense.

[jester-nonconforming]

at first i was like “oh, i wish the short showed Blitz and Loona interacting more,” but the more i think about it, the more i feel like them *not* interacting informs us about their relationship. they had all this time while Mr. Wrigglers was saying goodbye to everyone, but Loona is on her phone and Blitz is just sitting around bored. Blitz really *wants* to hang out with her, and he spends a lot of his daily life around her, but he seemingly still has no idea how to actually *engage*.

and this is a problem in all of Blitz’s relationships—he doesn’t feel secure enough to just ask people to spend time with him, so he either makes everything sexual (which he obviously wouldn’t do with Loona) or he focuses on what he can give them (money for their jobs, driving them places, cooking them food, protecting them from harm, etc). he’s gotten better about focusing less on sex as he becomes a bit more secure in his friendships w/ Stolas, M&M, and Fizz, but he still really relies on that other coping mechanism of “here let me do these things for you and in return you won’t leave when i talk about horses for an hour”.

so in a case like this, where he IS just trying to reach out to Loona (which is a lot more vulnerable for him than i think he’d admit) and the plans change in any way, he falters. he’s completely stuck on his original idea for the day and he can’t get out of that mindset enough to listen to what she wants here.

it’s not that i think he doesn’t notice other people’s interests or wants or needs—he definitely does, at least when he’s not clouded by jealousy or other emotions—i think he just does not know how to have a conversation that isn’t focused on himself. and i don’t mean that in an asshole way, i mean it in a “ADHD kid who never learned how to communicate” way. that’s why his relationship with Moxxie works in some ways, because Moxxie and Blitz are both people who will just talk about their interests without prompting (and yes this is a very neurodivergent type of friendship lol). and with Millie he can talk about their shared interests, or just play games, because him and Millie are both more physical people. and with Stolas, Blitz can be the center of attention and Stolas *prefers* it that way. but with Loona being closed off, he just doesn’t really know how to reach her?

he also tends to be really invasive with his friends (again, he’s getting better at it, but still), but he really tries to give her privacy. at least, we’ve never seen him go into her room or ask what she’s doing on her phone. which is a VERY good thing that probably allows her to feel way more comfortable around him. but it doesn’t give him a lot to work with, and i don’t think he realizes that he could just ask her questions about her interests, or would even know where to start (honestly, idk if i would either, that’s a hard thing to do when someone isn’t giving you much to work with).

and all this doesn’t mean Blitz and Loona’s relationship is “bad” or that they don’t love each other. in fact, I think Loona being comfortable with just existing in the same space as Blitz, rolling her eyes at his antics, finding him kind of annoying and embarrassing but trusting that he’ll always be there and relying on him—that’s all pretty typical “teenager with her father” behavior, and despite being an adult, Loona is still working through a lot of teenage experiences. she might have seen Mr. Wrigglers as an idealized dream father figure, but even he couldn’t live up to that standard in the end. her relationship with Blitz reminds me a lot more of how i was with my parents when i was younger, tbh.

but for all the criticism people tend to give to Stolas and Via’s relationship… there’s actually a decent amount of evidence that, when Via isn’t mad at him, those two are better at just hanging out with each other? Stolas obviously misses the mark sometimes as she gets older, but every picture of them from the past shows them both grinning and clearly actively engaging with each other. he focuses on interests they have in common (like telling her about space, or giving her a guitar to further her interest in music), and Via is a lot more receptive to that (which i’m sure is partially because she grew up around those things).

i’m curious to see if Stolas being more quiet and patient will allow Loona to open up more. the short makes it clear she *wants* to open up at this point, and that’s definitely because of the time and effort Blitz has put in over the past 5 years. but after being unsafe for so long and then closed off for even longer, i don’t think she knows *how* to open up, or when is appropriate (because showing your demon form to a random human was a pretty impulsive and unwise decision. again, a rather teenage one). i think it would be cool to see how as much as Blitz can teach Stolas about reaching out to Via, Stolas might be able to teach Blitz some things about connecting with Loona as well.

[six-improbable-things]

sorry, the Lockwood & Co brainrot is still consuming my soul.

I would kill to see the end of ep. 8 from Barnes's POV. I mean, think about it. He's up to his ears in work, dealing with the panic from the false alarm at the Fittes ball plus the news of some kind of disturbance at Winkman's (an agent is dead. That's not good.), when hears that someone called in a report of a bunch of Visitors from the graveyard where he knows that BOTH of "his" teams are.

He drops everything and goes to the cemetery (obviously he's the first one there, they are his responsibility, after all), finds the place swarming with ghosts, there's a few dead and injured thugs from the relic smuggling ring he's been trying to take down for ages (well, that's one of tonight's messes dealt with), and Kipps and all of Lockwood's team are missing. Kat tells him what she knows, which isn't much but is certainly concerning. (Including the nonzero chance of having heard a gunshot.)

Also, consider the fact that the catafalque needs to be operated from above. Meaning that George, Lucy, and Kipps would have needed to call up for help. I'm imagining that Barnes is up in the chapel, wrangling agents to send them down to the crypt to look for Kipps and the Lockwood team when he hears: Lucy: "Hello? Is someone up there? We need help!" Barnes: "Carlyle, is that you? What's going on down there? Is Kipps with you?" Lucy: "Barnes, it's us! Raise the catafalque!" Barnes: "The what?" George: "It's a lift for caskets! Takes them down to the crypt!" Lucy, aside: "Not now, George!" To Barnes: "Just pull the bloody lever. It's over there!" Barnes: "We unlocked the door, you can come up the stairs. It'll be faster that way." Lucy: "No, no we really need the lift. Lockwood's been-- he's been shot."

And like, of course Barnes's reaction would probably be a mix of like "oh god, not another one." and also "it [Lockwood's recklessness and death wish] finally caught up to him."

And like, externally he's unflappable as always, but inside he's remembering what he said to them: Don't let this be the last time I see the three of you alive.

(if anyone wants to write this fanfic, please do!! and please ping me!!)