#and while doing it I realized I snort when laughing if I’m not keeping it quiet

[icantsleepsoiwritefanfics]

18 - Jake Shim (ENHYPEN) Pt. 2

❝ Jake Shim's biggest problem has name, surname and is two years older than him. Who said falling in love with his friend's cousin would be that hard? ❞

Pairing: younger!jake x fem!reader, Jake's POV

Genre: romance, fluffy, suggestive, kinda cliche you know, fem!reader has no name

Inspiration: 18 by 5 Seconds Of Summer

Warning: cursing, kinda suggestive, making out, just a little bit of nudity

Word count: 828

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (WAIT FOR IT!!!!) | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

A.N: Hey everyone! Long time no see right? College life is killing me and I don't even have time to do something more than study, read and write academic stuffs but I need to graduate so that's how it works. Hope you like it!

"But I want to get to know her".

I say to Jay after telling what happened between me and her.

"Are you serious you'll wait?" this is his first question. He snorts out loud while staring at the ceiling. Fortunately we are alone at the library.

"That's what I said" he knows I don't believe my own words. "There's nothing I can do I'm still a minor"

"Fake ID?" the way I look at him is the answer but he raises the eyebrow keeping the suggestion.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You said there's nothing you could do if you're still a minor but what if you aren't?" ok now that boy has a point but fake ID is a little too much right?

"But she knows I'm a minor"

"You can go where she goes" sounds bad.

"Like a stalker?"

"Like a person who's getting interested in another person and wanna find her where she goes" still sounds bad.

"Isn't it stalking?"

"Do you think you are a stalker?" it's getting worse.

"No?"

"So it isn't stalking"

"Can we just stop talking about stalking, please?" I try to end the topic.

The silence between us makes me feel uncomfortable.

"Do you think I am a stalker?" Jay can't hold his laugh back.

"No I was just kidding" he really thinks this is funny as fuck. "If you think fake ID is a bad idea so you make the good one"

"And what would be the good one?"

"Wait for her" I can see his shoulders raise. "But I don't know if she will wait for you too"

"What do you mean?"

When he looks at me that way I swear to God I can hear him saying I shouldn't be so innocent in the back of my mind.

I know I shouldn't but I can't deny I'm getting delusional when it comes to her.

We just talk once and I'm thinking about it more than the Math test we will have this week.

"Fuck I need to go to the bathroom" the way he gets up makes me think he really needs to go there. "I'll be right back"

I snort realizing I'm alone again. 

Damn it! What the fuck am I doing?

She's eighteen, I'm just sixteen. She will go to college soon and I'll be a senior in two years.

There's a rude gap between us and I'm not talking about age. I know what Jay means when he said that I just don't want to confess it to myself.

I'm not the type of guy who would get a fake ID for a girl but she makes me question everything I thought I ever knew.

I thought being younger doesn't mean a thing but what if it does?

"Hey" and here it is: the girI I’ve been thinking about.

She's wearing the same red flannel I saw last saturday around the waist. She looks like an adult standing in front of a little kid who lost his parents in the supermarket and yeah, I'm that kid. Such a dumb kid, by the way.

“You seen a little worried” when she set by my side I can feel her arm brush on my shoulder. “Math test?”

“How do you know?” that’s the first thing that comes to mind.

“One of my friend is studying for the test right now” she stares at me like a judgement “Guess you should be doing the same big boy”

“I’m not a big boy” but I can’t deny it sounds nice when it comes from her lips.

“Well, you’re taller than me, so…”

“So you’re a little girl?”

That the first time I see her smirking and God, I wish I could say the library suddenly gets colder because that would be the perfect excuse for my stupid shiver.

“I may be little but don't forget I'm still older than you”

Can't belive she put a damper on me in the middle of the library.

Well, you weren't that smart, Jake.

She’ll graduate in a few months and forget about it before getting into college.

It’s not like she would like me too, right?

“I know how you're feeling”

Those words freeze my blood faster than I could think anything to say.

“Look, there's a lof of girls who are much better than m…”

“Don't say it” my voice has never been serious. “It's not my fault you’re so…”

And then I realize her eyes where looking at me exciting for the next words I forget how to say.

Her pupils bright like a mirrorball in front of me. I don’t know if I’m feeling dizzy because of these shining colors or because I forget I should be breathing like every human being on Earth.

“I have to go now” that’s what she say before standing in front of me again. “See you around big boy”

And I swear to God I can hear her smiling between her voice.

[salmon404]

Shoutout bitches that snort and/or squeak when they laugh. That shit makes laughing contagious immediately. You can’t hear your bro make an awful squealing noise and then choke on their own air without it making you lose your shit too. Perfect laughs. Snort and squeak in laughter more actually

[reywritings]

Winner Takes It All

In which a family of detective's notice a suspiciously lucky trend when it comes to Jason's girlfriend.

Jason Todd x fem reader, no use of Y/N

All fluff, mostly slice of life, based of WFA for this one.

Enjoy this one! The next post is angst 😈🙏🔥

______________________________________________________________

“You’re not gonna win. You never do.” Dick says, elbowing Tim as they play against each other in Mario Kart, after finishing a long case.

“Stop elbowing me!” Tim kicks at him, and it isn’t long before they’re trying to multitask kicking each other while playing.

“You’re both children.” Jason says as he walks in, with a raised brow at the two men, they glare back at him, and see you walking in behind him.

“This is pretty on par.” You say, shrugging it off, not nearly as disappointed with the two as Jason is. 

Jason just rolls his eyes at them, giving you a shoulder squeeze as he goes to the library to grab what he came here for. Meanwhile, you lean on the back of the couch, watching the two play.

Dick addresses you in the middle of kicking Tim while trying to button smash at the same time, “Tell him I’m gonna win, obviously.”

You hum in thought. “Who’s playing as Rosalina?”

“Me!” Tim says, kneeing Dick again.

“Oh, well obviously I have to be on Tim’s side. Rosalina is the best character.” You nod, maybe your choice was purely for aesthetics but– its Princess Rosalina.

“What?!” Dick exclaims, and Tim laughs.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Tim says, pushing Dick’s leg off of him.

Dick rolls his eyes. “No, Toad is the best. And that’s why I’m gonna win–”

“I won.” Tim interrupts.

Dick stares at the screen slack jawed.

Jason walks back in, looks at the screen, looks at Dick, and then shrugs as he motions to you that he’s ready to leave.

Dick finally manages to glare at Tim five minutes later. “You got lucky! It was only because she rooted for you.”

Tim snorts. “Just admit you lost, dude.”

“No way! She’s a good luck charm. When have you ever beat me in Mario Kart on this map before?” 

Tim considers that. 

“Huh… what do you say to a science experiment?

______________________________________________________________

“I’m telling you, it’s definitely Kite-Man. Who else would be behind something as lame as this?” Steph asks, scoffing at the idea of it being anyone else. “Plus there was a kite at the scene.”

“Yeah. Which was at the park. Kites are in parks. That's what they do.” Duke counters, taking a seat at the kitchen counter, near Jason and you, the former seemed to show no interest in the conversation at all, but you turned to look at them.

“What’s this all about?” You ask with a raised brow.

“Someone stole all the hot dog carts at the park.” Steph sighs, bored by the mundane crime. Tim glances up, intrigued, but not because of the crime.

“My bets on Kite-Man.” Tim says, nonchalant. “..What about you?” He raises a brow as he looks at you.

“Uh– I’ll side with Duke. Keeps things even.”

“Thank you!” Duke seems genuinely touched.

Tim then pulls up the case notes on his computer, and looks for the latest police update.

“Well, what do you know? Not Kite Man.” Tim grins. This was sound evidence for him. Maybe you were lucky, after all..

Steph whips her head to Tim, eyes wide. “What?! Who?”

“Condiment King.”

“Fuck. I should have guessed that!”

______________________________________________________________

Four card games between Dick and Steph, a race between Cass and Duke, and three rounds of chess between Tim and Damian later, Tim and Dick reached the conclusion that you were, in fact, good luck.

However, in a family of detectives, it didn’t take long for a majority of the others to pick up on their scheme. Or to realize you were a good luck factor. 

“I’m gonna win. Obviously.” Tim declared, confidently at the dinner table as they finished up– they were having a family dinner for once, and afterwards they were going to have a round of Mario Kart… which meant the winner only had to ensure one thing.

“Fat chance!” Dick scoffs, immediately giving into his competitive spirit with that comment.

“No. I am.. You should root for me.” Tim says, suddenly addressing you now.

“Tempting— but maybe I should sit this out with Jay.” You knew how game night went with this family, and you did not want to get in the middle of that. 

“Or you could root for your favorite person?” Duke buts in, smiling as he slides his dessert plate towards you as a bribe.

“He’s gonna lose.” Tim points out, pulling the plate away.

“I’m gonna kick your ass!” Duke retorts,ripping the plate away from Tim.

“No— she should root for me instead! Root for me, please!” Dick says, bringing his hands together as he begs.

You just laugh, but Jason looks completely annoyed by them now. Since when did they care who she was rooting for?

“No! She’s rooting for me—” Tim starts again, swatting at Dick as he tries to push Tim further away from you.

“If she’s truly as smart as Todd says, she’ll root  for me, obviously.” Damian interjects, a proud look on his face as he crosses his arms. 

Jason narrows his eyes. Okay, what was going on here?

Steph rolls her eyes. “Guys— stop it. This is all childish.”

The boys share a look, feeling a bit called out now. 

Dick looks at you. “We aren’t trying to make you feel uncomfor—“ 

“Obviously she’s rooting for me.” Steph says, interrupting him, standing up at the table as she grabs you by the shoulders. 

“Oh fuck you, you did that for dramatic effect—“ Dick slams his hands on the table.

“Like you aren’t the drama, Circus boy!”

You shake your head, deciding then would be a good time to go use the bathroom, because evidently— they would notice if you weren’t there during the actual games.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Jason turns back to everyone else.

“Okay, what the fuck is this all about?” He glares at them.

“Nothing!” 

“What’s what about?”

“None of your concern, Todd.”

“Language.”

They all respond, obviously too quick and dismissive with their responses.

“…I’m gonna ask one more time.” He says, slowly, making eye contact with everyone.

“…okay, fine— she’s good luck. That’s all.” Duke says, shrugging.

That gives Jason pause.

“What?”

Tim butts in, “Anytime anyone has a game or a bet— whoever she sides with always wins. I thought it was an anomaly at first but.. it’s happened too many times to not be a trend.”

“She’s like a lucky rabbit's foot.” Steph provides, leaning back in her chair.

Jason mulls over that thought. Anytime he played Mario Kart or a card game against Roy, he *did* usually win.. he thought he was just a natural but— he only won when she was home, too. He lost when she wasn’t there.

“…maybe there’s some truth to that.” Jason admits.

“See!” Dick says, glad this didn’t end in argument but also— he noticed it first, so he felt vindicated.

“Now we shall let her pick a team.” Damian says, ready to convince her why she should root for him.

“No.” Jason says, smirking a bit as he shakes his head. “..you really thought this would change anything? She’s going to root for me— and I’ll wipe the floor with you all.”

There’s a pause as everyone stares at him in either disbelief or anger.

“..I fear we made an error.” Tim mutters.

“I’m definitely playing now. Guaranteed to win? I mean— I probably would have won anyways.” Jason brags, standing up as he’s ready to go to the living room and start these games.

“You cheater!” Steph accuses, slamming her hand down on the table.

“We were trying to do the same thing though..?” Duke adds, scratching the back of his neck.

You walk back in— raising a brow at Jason as he’s standing up.

“Eager?” You ask, smiling creeping onto your face. “I thought you didn’t want to play?”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder as he leads you to the living room, you could make out his family’s argument and protests from behind you.

“Changed my mind. As long as I have you on my side, I’ll always win.” He smiles cheekily at you.

“How romantic.” You say sarcastically, raising a brow at his sudden affinity to participate in game night.

He grins at you, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“…is this about me being a boon?” You question, side eyeing him with a soft smile.

“You knew?” He widens his eyes, pausing to look at you as you both stand in the living room door frame.

You snort. “Hard not to. They made it fairly obvious.”

“…you still gonna root for me?”

“Always.”

[seumyo]

the language of biting.

NOTE. a teensy bitsy suggestive!

Bakugou doesn’t always say “I love you” with words.

Sure, he can.

He has.

He does.

But more often than not, it’s in the things he does: folding your laundry just the way you like it, memorizing the exact heat setting for your tea, walking on the side of traffic when you two are out (it’s become a habit at this point, and he will get playfully physical with trying to switch places with you if you think otherwise), scowling at people who so much as glance at you too long.

The quiet, loaded things.

Acts of service.

Devotion in motion.

But when you two are alone—when the world outside your apartment fades and it’s just the two of you—his love starts to show in other, more unconventional ways.

Like biting.

It starts off soft, playful, almost lazy.

You’ll be curled on the couch, on his lap, while something plays on the TV, forgotten. Your hand will drift against his surprisingly soft hands, playing with his fingers to flex them open and close as you hum, and he’ll nuzzle closer, burying his face into your thigh or shoulder or collarbone—wherever you are.

Because Bakugou is an unreliable narrator when it comes to you.

And then, without warning—

“Katsuki!”

You gasp, as if he had just committed the most heinous crime, laughing as he runs his canines gently over your skin, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing how much you’ll let him get away with.

“What?” he mumbles, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You bit me!”

He huffs a short laugh. “Did not.”

“I felt your teeth, you maniac.”

“Didn’t bite,” he says again, leaning in to nip at your collarbone, slow and deliberate this time. “Just a pretend bite. Barely.”

You yelp and try to push him away, palms flat against his shoulders. “What are you, a dog?”

Bakugou smirks against your skin. “You don’t hear me barkin’, do you?”

“Should I take you to the vet? Get your rabies shot?”

His teeth graze you again, this time just on your aching shoulder blade that you’ve been whining about for the past few days. “Too late, dummy.”

He bites down again, this time just enough to leave a fleeting pressure—never enough to bruise, never enough to really hurt, just enough to say, Mine. His hand slides under your hoodie, not in a lewd way, but to rest warm against your waist as he presses his teeth into the curve of your shoulder.

“Why is this your favorite?”

“Because you’re soft.”

“That’s not a reason to bite me.”

“Or maybe you could just admit that I’m cute when I do it.”

“Cute? You just bit me like a teething baby!”

He quietly sighs and leans up higher, bringing his face close to yours now. “Wasn’t tryna hurt you. Just…” He pauses, nose brushing yours. “‘s weird, but I like doin’ it. That ok?”

Bakugou never bites when he’s angry. Never in frustration. Only when he’s calm, or smug, or holding you close and soaking in the way you fit perfectly in his arms. The biting isn’t possessive in the toxic way. It’s intimate. Familiar. He doesn’t even realize how often he does it.

Your expression softens at that, because of course it does. How could it not? His voice had gone quiet, and his brows were furrowed in that shy, self-conscious way that only ever comes out when he’s being sincere.

“You do know biting me isn’t how humans mark territory, right?” you tease.

His ears turn pink at the tip. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I’m serious. Should I be worried? Is this like… a feral wolfboy thing?”

“Keep talkin’ and I will bite harder.”

You snort and lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “You’re weird.”

“And you’re still in my lap.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Never said I wasn’ lucky.”

But then, just as you relax again—he strikes. A soft, precise bite just behind your ear this time around. His canines dig in just enough to make you squirm, though there’s no pain. Just the warm press of his lips a moment later.

“Katsuki!”

You could feel him smile against your skin. “Couldn’t help it. You smell too good.”

“You are—insane. You are absolutely feral.”

“You’re still not movin’.”

“Because you’re hugging me like a bear, idiot.”

“Guess you can’t do anythin’ about it now, huh?”

And then he’s peppering kisses along your shoulder—soft ones, a little too sweet to match the devilish glint in his eye—interrupted every few seconds by little nips. Not enough to leave marks. Just enough to feel. Enough to make you shiver and laugh and squirm under his touch until you're warm and breathless from giggling.

Eventually, you push him away with both hands, heaving in breaths. “You need a warning label.”

“I’ve got a hero license. Close enough.”

“I’m gonna make you get a rabies shot.”

“Go ahead. Long as you’re there to hold my hand.”

You roll your eyes, but the affection behind it is undeniable. “You’re the worst.”

“And still your favorite.”

You sigh, defeated, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Unfortunately, I’m married to someone who bites like a baby who’s just now getting their baby teeth.”

He grins, closing his eyes. “Better get used to it.”

“You done?”

“…Maybe.”

“Katsuki.”

“…Okay, okay. I’m done.”

. . .

“…For now.”

“If those leave a mark—I will make you do laundry by yourself next week.”

And Bakugou, pleased as hell with himself, gives you one final, barely-there bite to your shoulder and murmurs, “Love you too.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[snail-day]

Satoru thinks you might actually enjoy tormenting him at the worst of times.

Of course, not like, physically. Just with your brattiness that always seems to blossom the second Suguru steps out of the house. Like his presence alone is the only thing keeping you from touching base with that inner gremlin, and now that he’s gone? Now that it’s just the two of you?

You're insufferable.

Because you're in the bedroom - his bedroom, Suguru's bedroom, your shared bedroom, whatever it is - and you're throwing a tantrum. While he’s brushing his teeth.

“You don’t even love me,” you announce with a dramatic huff, flopping onto your back, doing a little leg kick. “You think I’m ugly. You only wanna be with Suguru. You only want me - ”

His brain breaks. Briefly. He’s standing in the doorway, blue toothbrush hanging from his mouth, staring at you as some foam drips down his chin.

It’s not the words themselves - he knows they’re not true. Knows you like to stir the pot and that you like the attention. But there’s this tiny, razor-edged part of him that whispers, what if you’re saying it because you actually mean it a little bit?

And he hates that part. Wants to knock its teeth out with his toothbrush.

Because he does love you. Horribly. Desperately. In ways that make him stare at the ceiling at 2 a.m. and wonder if he’s hallucinating this whole relationship. If he touches you wrong - if he holds on too tight - you’ll remember you could do so much better than them.

But you’re sprawled across his bed with your lower lip pushed out and your voice all wobbly and teasing, and now he’s walking. He doesn’t even decide to walk. His body just moves, like his soul’s been yanked forward on a leash.

He presses you into the mattress with one hand, climbs over you without ceremony, toothpaste still threatening to drip down his chin.

You blink up at him with that stupid, perfect face. Lips parted. Eyes wide. Waiting.

So he does what any emotionally stunted man would do: he squishes your cheeks together and mumbles, “You serious right now?” around a mouthful of mint.

You make a noise. Possibly a protest. More likely a suppressed giggle.

Doesn’t matter. He’s already hiking your legs up over his arm and swatting your ass a few times, because clearly you’re asking for it. The little wiggle you do after confirms it.

God, you’re so annoying. He’s obsessed with you.

And then - because he’s disgusting, and this is love - he spits his toothpaste into your mouth.

You screech, attempting to launch yourself away from him, spitting the remainder of the toothpaste onto the bed, whining and crying about how gross he is while he's full-on laughing - legitimately, head thrown back and utterly unrepentant.

He snorts. “That’s what you get,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Start shit, get spit.”

You’re hitting him with a pillow now. He takes it. Deserves it.

But he also sees the way your eyes shine a little at the corners. The way you’re laughing, even as you call him a freak.

He sobers slightly, tilting his head while you glare up at him.

“You really think I don’t love you?” he asks quietly. “That I want Suguru more than you?”

You hesitate. That kills him a little.

“Don’t play like that, baby,” he says, softer now. “Not when I’m already hanging on by a thread.”

You stare up at him like you didn’t expect that answer. Like maybe you thought this was a game. Like maybe you're realizing how serious it is for him.

And he realizes, maybe you needed to hear it.

So he rolls over, pulls you into his chest, still a little minty and damp, and mumbles: “Now brush your teeth before I tell Suguru what you said.”

But he kisses your temple right after. Murmurs an I love you. And while you get up to get ready for bed, he's putting a note in his phone to buy you flowers tomorrow.

[bitters-n-sweets]

coffee tables pt. 2 — jack abbot x fem!reader Jack visits his ex-girlfriend’s apartment to help build a coffee table, but as old memories resurface and quiet confessions are shared, the day slowly turns into a chance to begin again.

warnings: flashback to the past, nothing 18+

part one || masterlist

Jack stands in front of your apartment door, toolbox in hand, trying to calm the nerves he thought he'd buried months ago. It's Saturday—his day off—and he decides to spend it building a coffee table with you. Somehow, it feels more intimate than it should.

You've been texting all week, your messages short and sometimes teasing, but always warm. He takes a breath, finally lifts his hand, and almost knocks, but you open the door first.

You've been waiting for him behind the door, watching him. "Were you gonna knock or just keep standing there like a creep?" you tease, not realizing the irony.

Jack exhales a nervous breath and cracks a small smile. "Sorry. Was deciding between knocking or faking a maintenance request."

You step aside so he can come in. "Well, you’ve got the toolkit. Might as well earn your keep."

The apartment smells just like he remembers it, he looks around to reminisce for a bit before spotting the half-assembled coffee table still sprawled across the living room floor.

"I figured I’d finish what you started," Jack says, lifting the toolbox.

"Before it finishes me off?" you joke.

"It almost did," he reminds you that the piece of glass almost cut your femoral artery, "Are you recovering okay?"

"Yeah, I can walk without much pain now. The meds help."

He nods, "That's good. I can take a look for you later."

"Okay, yeah, sure." You don't protest.

The mood is awkward at first. Small talk. Dry jokes. "Tool sizes". But it doesn’t take long before you warm up to each other. He fits a bolt in place while you read the instructions upside down, the rhythm of your banter slowly syncing. You snort when he grunts at the wrong size screw, and he rolls his eyes when you say you should’ve just bought a pre-built one.

"Remember the bookshelf we built for your place?" you say at one point, legs tucked beneath you on the floor.

Jack pauses, head tilted. "The one that fell over after a week?"

"You insisted we didn’t need the wall bracket."

He laughs. "And you still let me build furniture."

"Touché."

"Alright so where does this screw go?" Jack holds up a singular screw that looks just like the other ten.

"Um... there?" You point to a threaded hole, squinting. "Oh wait, but it could also be the other one. Ugh, I don't know, they all have the same measurements."

Jack shrugs and screws it into one of the holes while muttering, mostly to himself, "That's right, it goes in the square hole..."

You freeze. "Was that—"

"Yes, yes it was," he replies without missing a beat.

"Who taught you??"

"Night shifts can get boring sometimes."

You laugh, the kind that escapes before you can think about it, and Jack glances at you with a smile that lingers just a second too long.

A few hours later, the coffee table is finally finished. It's off by maybe 1cm, but it'll do.

“We did it. Functional table. No injuries. Only minor emotional peril.” Jack says as he stretches his legs.

“Honestly, I’m—.”

“Hungry?”

You nod, "YES."

And he pulls out his phone. “Your usual order still the same?”

Your eyes flick to his. “You remember?”

Jack only smiles and places the order.

You try to hide your smile and stand up. "I'm opening a bottle of wine. We're celebrating this."

"You're on meds."

"And you are on your day off." You smile at him, pouring two glasses. "I'll just have one." You try to convince him while he rolls his eyes.

There is no going between you and your wine.

"Mind if I use the bathroom?"

"You already know where it is."

As he steps into the hallway, he sees one photo still hanging on your wall. Cracked glass. Your arms wrapped around each other, blurry with motion but full of joy. The memory slams into him.

It’s late, and your apartment feels too small for the fight you’re having. "You’re always at the hospital," you say, voice shaking. "Even when you don’t have to be." "It’s not that simple," Jack snaps. "People rely on me." "And I don’t?" He turns too fast. His elbow knocks the picture frame off the wall. It crashes to the floor, splintering the glass. You both freeze. Something in him falters. He picks up the frame and sets it on the counter. "I can’t do this," he mutters before walking out.

Jack stares at the cracked photo now, throat tight. You wander over to where Jack is, and realize what he's looking at.

"You still have it." He states.

"I thought about throwing it away," you reply. "But I couldn't."

"I kept some things too," Jack says, but he doesn’t elaborate. Not yet.

You fall into silence, but it’s warmer this time. He reaches for your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. You let him.

"You know," you dare yourself to say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I used to sit in this apartment and think… maybe he’ll show up. Say he’s sorry. Say he wants to try again."

"I’m here now," Jack says. "And I am sorry. And I—"

There’s a knock at the door. The food delivery.

Dinner is quiet, softer. You split the last of the wine, and you laugh at his terrible jokes. When the bottle’s empty and the plates are cleared, you stay sitting on the floor, closer than before. Hands almost touching.

Both wanting to pick up where the serious conversation last ended, but also fearing where it might lead.

Jack reaches for his glass of wine and pauses. "You remember the night the power went out?"

You blink. "The storm?"

He nods. "We were stuck here. Couldn’t even order food because your phone died and mine barely had signal."

"We lit every candle in the apartment. I think I still have wax stains on that old bookshelf." You smile at the memory. "That was probably a fire hazard."

Jack chuckles. "And you made us play that ridiculous card game. Loser had to answer a personal question."

"I was trying to get to know you better," you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "You’re not exactly an open book."

He shakes his head with a faint smile, one of those rare ones that tug more at memory than amusement. “Still not, I guess.”

“I asked you your fears,” you continue, voice softer now. “You told me you wanted to be a good man. That night. You said you didn’t know if you were, but you wanted to try.”

Jack’s smile fades—not from regret, but more longing. "Yeah. I remember. I was scared I'd let you down."

"You did."

He looks down, his fingers absently brushing a speck of dust from the table’s edge. But then you add, just as gently:

"But you're here now."

He looks up. Meets your eyes. There’s something unspoken hanging between you—pain, promises that shattered and ones still waiting to be made.

And that silence, again—this time warm, thick, forgiving.

He swallows, as if laying his heart bare, and asks, “Can you give me another chance?”

Your fingers find his, and you squeeze, quietly telling him yes.

He looks at you with that softness in his eyes, the one that makes your chest ache. His hand rises gently to your cheek, and your breath catches.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, voice almost shaking.

“I missed you too.”

And then, finally, he leans in.

So do you.

The kiss is careful at first—like testing the coffee table you just built. But when your hand slips to his chest and his thumb grazes your jaw, it deepens into something more certain. Something lived-in and familiar, and still electric.

It’s not just a kiss.

It’s a promise.

[allsteddie]

Steve and Eddie secretly dating.

It's not that they don't want to tell their friends, or that they think their friends won't accept them. They just want to enjoy their relationship a little bit before sharing the news with everybody else. And it's kinda fun, sneaking around to make out behind their friends' backs. Thrilling, even.

But since everything must come to an end someday, their little secret comes out during one of the Party's countless gatherings.

Everybody's at Steve's, making good use of his pool and stuffing their faces with so much junk food Steve's getting a little nauseous just from watching. Robin and Eddie are there as well because there’s no fucking way in hell Steve’s gonna deal with those gremlins alone.

It’s chaos, mostly, since Eddie and Robin can be as bad as the kids, but Steve’s heart is full as he watches everybody having fun and truly enjoying themselves, a stark contrast to what their lives had been a year ago.

At some point, he catches Eddie’s eyes and notices the meaningful glance his boyfriend is giving him. Steve knows that look too well and exactly what it means. He tells Robin he’s going to the kitchen, then goes inside the house. Not two minutes later Eddie is there with him.

Steve pulls him into the laundry room, giggling and stumbling, so they can make out in peace. They lose themselves a little, mouths coming together and hands touching as much skin as they can reach. It’s easy for Steve, really, to forget everything else when Eddie’s nibbling down his neck and chest and grinding against him in a maddening way.

“The others are gonna hear you, baby,” Eddie whispers in his ear and just then Steve realizes he’s been making too much noise.

He pulls his boyfriend up for another deep kiss.

“We gotta go back,” Steve mumbles against his lips.

“We do,” Eddie agrees.

It still takes then a little while to part, though. When they do, they fix their clothes and hair the best they can. Eddie pulls the door open and makes sure there’s no one around before stepping out. Steve follows, making his way to the hallway.

The idea is for Eddie to go back out first, whilst Steve waits a few more minutes in the kitchen. Their plan goes to hell before they can even reach the kitchen, because the bathroom door opens out of nowhere just as they are walking by and the two of them stop, caught by surprise.

They’re even more surprised when they see Mike fucking Wheeler and Will Byers walk out of the bathroom, still grinning at each other all dopey and completely unaware of Steve and Eddie’s presence. At least until Wheeler literally walks into Eddie.

“The fuck!?” Mike snaps, at the same time as Steve says, “What the hell were two you doing there?”

“Kinda obvious what they were doing, Stevie,” Eddie snorts.

And he’s right. Steve knows what those two were doing; their lips are too swollen and there’s a scratch down Wheeler’s neck that looks too much like nail scratching for Steve not to know what those two were doing in his fucking bathroom, but he’s choosing to be in denial here. They are children, his children, he doesn’t want to picture whatever it was happening in that bathroom.

“You’re one to talk,” Mike retorts, eyebrows raised and sending Eddie the bitchiest face Steve has ever seen. “What’s wrong with your collarbone, Stevie? Wild animal attack?”

“Mike, shut up,” Will begged, pulling the other boy by the arm.

“But it’s true!”

“Okay, Will is right, shut the fuck up everybody!” Steve hisses. Beside him Eddie is clearly trying not to laugh, but he doesn’t say anything so Steve considers it a win. Small victories. He shoots a warning glance to his boyfriend before facing the other two. Poor Will looks like he wants to be anywhere but there. “Look, I don’t care what you guys were doing, good for you. But I’m guessing you haven’t told anyone about it, if you’re sneaking around like that.”

They keep quiet, but Byers red face is answer enough for Steve.

“Alright, we also haven’t told anyone, so here’s what we’re doing…”

By the time they are out back with their friends, everything is back to normal. Steve’s hickeys are covered by his shirt and Mikey’s scratches are hidden under band-aids, some bullshit story about bumping into the murderous corner of a cabinet is given as an excuse and, surprisingly enough, the kids buy it.

“You know, we should have seen that one coming,” Eddie says, pointing out to the other side of the pool where Will and Mike are laughing together, apart from the others. They have the same dopey expressions they did when Steve and Eddie caught them red-handed a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, we should have,” Steve agrees. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s. “You know Wheeler is gonna be insufferable now that he knows about us, right? He’s gonna hold this shit over our heads forever.”

Eddie laughs hard. “That kid is a bitch when he wants to be, but he’s not cruel. He might try to use this to get free rides to school or access to R-rated movies, but I doubt he’s gonna tell anyone. Byers would kill him if he said anything and poor Mike is whipped. He’s not gonna risk it.”

“I am not letting him get any R-rated movies. He can tell whatever he wants to whoever he wants, I don’t care.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Eddie scoots closer, eyes shining with amusement as he leans in. “Thought you wanted to keep the secret for a little longer.”

Steve leans in a little, his eyes dropping to Eddie’s mouth on instinct. “Hm… I did, because it’s fun sneaking around and fool everyone. But now Wheeler and Byers know, so I don’t see what would be the point anymore.”

Eddie smiles. “Yeah? So I can…”

“Yeah, you can,” Steve nods, and that’s everything he manages to say before Eddie kisses him, right there by the poolside.

Someone wolf-whistles (Max or Robin, probably), there’re some giggles (Erica and El, maybe Will too, Steve bets) and then…

“What the actual FUCK!?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dustin!!” That one is Wheeler for sure.

Steve might let him have his R-rated movies after all.

[aakeysmash]

a favour from college!sukuna for teaching yuuji about female private parts? deal!

college!sukuna masterlist

Your house keys dingle from your pointer finger while you get your shoes off on your front door porch.

“Hello, I’m ho- what are you doing?” You stop walking, seeing a distraught Sukuna.

“The time has come,” he tells you gravely, not looking up. His hair is a mess and his eye bags are darker than usual.

“What time?” You ask confused, pit patting toward the kitchen to make yourself a hot chocolate. You ponder for a moment with the cabinet doors open, thinking about whether to make him one too or not, finally shrugging and deciding on picking up his cup.

“You know. That time. Yuuji. At school,” he deadpans, breathing hard between words.

“What are you even talking about?” You respond, still not grabbing the concept, swirling a spoon in both cups. You just get a grunt that sounds awfully close to a whine from Sukuna. That’s such odd behaviour from him.

“Are you going to faint? Do you have a fever?” You say, now worried, reaching his still crouching form. You gently lift his face with one hand, putting the other one on his forehead. The way he lets you do it, compliantly and so naturally, worries you even more. He just stares at you, a little frown between his eyebrows, eyes a little bit lucid and he almost looks… he almost looks cute.

“You’re alright, big guy,” you softly say, booping his nose, getting your hands off of his face and hurrying back to your hot chocolate cups. He is definitely in a moment, because usually he would've bitten your whole finger off. He wrinkles his nose, scowling, before apparently realizing something and hastily getting up. He grabs your wrist and spins you around, but the strength he does it with whips you around so suddenly that you bump into his chest quite hard.

“What?!”

“You do it,” he tells you, crazy eyes wide open. He puts his rough hands on both your shoulders, stabilizing you, keeping you close enough to be able to talk to you properly but not far enough you can get away.

“What the fuck do I have to do now?” You bark, trying to wriggle out of his hold, unsuccessfully.

“Teach Yuuji about your sex parts, I’ll teach him about mine,” he rushes out, pleading eyes turned on your face.

You gape up at him, stopping your movements, and you stay like that for what feels like an eternity. You raise an eyebrow, as if asking him if he’s serious, but his expression doesn’t change. A snort comes out of your throat.

“You mean to tell me you’re fussing about having to talk about vaginas?” You ask him, now full on laughing in his face. He pushes you a bit, releasing you and grumbling.

“I’m not doing it,” he tells you, crossing his arms. “I don’t even know where to start! He came home asking me where the fuck the urethra is in females and I crashed out,” he shakes his head, distraught, your laugh still ringing in his ears.

“Do you even know the answer to that?” You smirk, turning around to put some whipped cream on your hot chocolate, and giving him his cup (no whipped cream: it's "too unhealthy" for him).

“Want me to point it out on your pussy, baby?” He scoffs, taking one big gulp of his drink.

You gasp, punching him in the stomach. He doesn’t budge and his smirk widens.

“You’re so crude. That’s it, I’m not doing it,” you tell him, walking past him, trying to contain your laugh about how his face drops immediately.

“No, wait- baby, you know I was joking,” he complains, following you toward the couch. Like a lost kitten following its owner when it hears the sound of croquettes.

“Why can’t you do it yourself anyway?” You chuckle. “Are you afraid of vaginas?”

“I wouldn’t be afraid of yours, that’s for sure,” he says, alluring, giving you a once over while you sit. He licks up a drop of chocolate left on his lower lip.

You scoff again. "Boo, bitch."

He tries a different approach. “You’re smarter than me on the subject, you’d be better than me anyway,” The act of complimenting someone is taking a toll on him. He grits his teeth.

“What am I getting out of this?” You grin, getting whipped cream on your nose and crossing your legs.

“Whatever you want, baby. Please, come on,” he crouches in front of you. “I even said please, see? You complained about it last week and I listened,” he croaks, clicking his tongue on his palate. Being nice is harder than he thought. If he has to keep it up he’s going to have a heart attack, he thinks.

“Yeah, because you want something out of it. It doesn’t count,” you sigh, closing your eyes. He shrugs. “But I’m in. I’m helping Yuuji on the big bad wolf his brother is scared of and you’re doing me a favor. Deal?”

“I’ll always deal with you, baby,” he winks. He leans over you, swiping the tip of your nose with his thumb, proceeding then to put his finger in his mouth.

“Stop with the double entendres!”

"Why don't you do this color?" asks Yuuji, next to you. There are 3 different shades of pink nail polish in front of you, and you've been thinking of which one to use on your nails for the past 10 minutes.

"I don't know, isn't it a little bit too pink-brownish?" you respond, tilting your head, pondering.

"Then this one. It matches my hair, so we could be matching!" the little kid says excitedly. Then he turns to look at you properly, the tip of his ears turning a deep red. "Only if you want, though," he continues, shily, averting your gaze after uttering the words.

Your heart squeezes painfully. "Of course I want to, Yuuji. I think that's the prettiest color out of the three," you say, ruffling his hair sweetily.

"Can you not stink the whole fucking place?" grumbles Sukuna entering the living room, grimace present on his face, barely nodding at Yuuji's wave.

"It's just a bit of nail polish, Itadori," you roll your eyes.

"I don't even know why you bother with that," he scoffs, going toward the couch, grabbing the tv remote.

"Because I'm pretty and I'm not a hater like someone else in this room," you throw back, scowling. He stays silent. "What, you don't think I'm pretty?" you ask, baffled. Sukuna side-eyes you, raising one eyebrow, before turning his gaze back to the tv.

"I think you're the prettiest," answers Yuuji in his brother's place, smiling.

"I can always count on you, Yuu," you coo, hugging him tight, and he chuckles, happy. Sukuna makes a weird sound, like he's actually disgusted about the topic.

"You know what? You're going to get some nail polish too," you say, pointing an accusatory finger in the oldest direction.

"Hell no," he immediately answers, glaring your way.

"Uhm, hell yes," you sneer.

"I said no, woman."

A light bulb figuratively pops up next to your face, and you grin, getting up and around the table to face him better. "Matter of fact, Sukuna, you owe me, so you'll do what I say."

He snaps his head toward you. "You wouldn't dare."

"Get your ass over here, big boy, you're getting your nails painted," you sing-song, doing a come here motion with your index finger. You see his jaw tick incredibly hard from where you stand, and he begrudgingly reaches you with his fists clenched.

"I hate you, bitch," he seethes when he's right in front of you.

"Can I get it too?!" screams Yuuji, bouncing up and down.

"Done," you say, delicately putting Sukuna's left hand on the table. After arguing for 15 minutes on the color, he only agreed to let you paint his nails black. If it was for you, he'd have at least 5 different colors on them. He hums.

"It's not that bad, is it?" you ask, wiggling your eyebrows. "I think I did a pretty good job. Black fits your hands really well," you ramble on, applying hand cream on his rough finger pads. Actually fucking training will do that to you, he barked when you complained about his callouses a few minutes ago.

"Stop acting like I'm one of your girls," sighs your roommate, shaking his pink roots.

"You're my main girl, Sukuna," you smirk, sending him a flying kiss.

He gags. "Never say that shit again or I'm pulling out your vocal chords with my new freshly done nails," he says, mocking you in the last part of the sentence, tilting his voice incredibly high.

"Ohhh. You actually like them, huh," you respond, seeing through his bluff, smiling with your full teeth on display. He scoffs, looking over at his now black nails. He has to admit, you did your thing with them.

"Like is a strong word."

"So, you... love them?"

"Shut up."

[makis-eyebrows]

Request: ♧

Paddock Walks

George Russell's very adventurous and curious daughter goes too far from home but makes friends with someone new.

The paddock at Imola was buzzing.

Cameras clicked, engines hummed in the background, and crew members scurried around with laptops, tire warmers, and espressos in hand. Amongst the chaos, one small human was on a top-secret mission — one that involved invisible maps, snack recon, and a grand sense of purpose.

Her name was Y/n Russell.

Three years old.

Full-time explorer.

Part-time snack thief.

And currently... completely, utterly lost.

It had all started innocently enough. George had brought her along early that morning, while Carmen was busy sorting out some last-minute ideas to keep the small girl busy. Y/n, ever the curious soul, had been holding George’s hand — until a glittery, spinning wheel cap caught her eye.

She followed it.

Then a butterfly.

And by the time she realized her tiny feet had wandered a little too far, the tall white garage walls all looked the same… and Papa was nowhere to be seen.

Instead of crying, Y/n did what any tiny adventurer would do: she adjusted her sunhat, hugged her bunny plush tight, and kept walking.

That was when she heard it.

“Leo, come on! Not into the McLaren motorhome again—!”

Around the corner, a short-legged dachshund came barreling toward her, ears flapping like flags. Behind him, a very breathless and mildly distressed Charles Leclerc jogged after him, sunglasses pushed up on his head, a leash flailing in his hand.

Leo screeched to a halt in front of her, sniffed her shoes with great enthusiasm, and promptly plopped down beside her like they'd been best friends for years.

“Uh…” Charles blinked. “Bonjour?”

Y/n looked up at him, blinked once, then declared with complete confidence:

“I like your dog. He’s sausagey.”

Charles stared. Then laughed. “Merci. I think he likes you too. Are you... alone?”

Y/n nodded cheerfully. “I’m lost. But it’s okay. I was finding snacks.”

Charles crouched down. “Ah… and where did Papa go?”

“Dunno. But I think he’s tall. Like, really tall. With big hair.”

Charles snorted. “Okay, that narrows it down to... one person. You must be George’s little one.”

Y/n gasped. “You know my Papa?!”

“I do. And I think he’s probably looking for you right now.” Charles gently took her hand. “Shall we go find him together?”

Leo barked in agreement.

So, the new trio — Charles, Y/n, and the now nicknamed “Sausagey” — began their slow parade through the paddock. Charles waved off every confused look from team personnel as they passed.

“Leclerc, you okay?” asked Lando, watching him shuffle past with a toddler and a sausage dog.

“Saving a Russell,” Charles replied like it was a military op.

Y/n waved proudly. “I’m the Russell!”

Soon, they turned a corner and spotted George frantically speaking with a staff member, Carmen close by with wide, worried eyes.

George turned just as he heard, “PAPA!”

A small rocket of pink crocs and energy launched at his legs.

“Y/n!” George dropped to his knees, scooping her up into the safest hug imaginable. “Where on Earth did you go? We were so worried!”

“I was with Sausagey and Cha Cha. We were looking for you!” she said brightly, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Carmen reached over and pulled them both in. “Oh, sweetheart. You gave us a heart attack.”

Charles smiled. “She’s a very capable co-pilot. We went on quite the adventure.”

Y/n wiggled in George’s arms and pointed at the dachshund. “Can we get a Sausagey too?”

Leo barked once, like he agreed.

George groaned. “Don’t start with her, Charles.”

“I didn’t,” Charles said innocently. “She named the dog.”

Later that day, a candid photo would surface online of Charles carrying Leo under one arm, holding Y/n’s tiny hand with the other, the three of them mid-laugh as they walked through the paddock.

The caption?

“Charles, Sausagey & their newest teammate.”

George reposted it with:

“The Great Russell Rescue: Thank you, @charles_leclerc — and Sausagey.”

And from then on, Charles never corrected anyone when they called Leo “Sausagey.”

Because as far as one tiny Russell was concerned… that was his name.

And just like that, my work is done.

I need to lock in and do my work. School's back in session on Monday. I LOVE BUT HATE SOUTH AFRICAAAA.

That's Gang Gang out!!!♡

[bowtiepasta]

HIGHWAY BOYS

a honey packet from a gas station. a bet with vi. someone’s about to eat their words — and get very right in the process.

smut! minors & ageless blogs do not interact. indulging: afab and f!reader (she/her), aphrodisiac, in car, slight exhibitionism, oral, hair pulling, semi switch!vi, dom!reader

it’s a flimsy little thing — most likely expired, the kind nestled between knock-off colognes and novelty sized lube in neon packaging, baked in the heat.

you notice it as soon as she sets it on the dash, with the rest of your gas station haul: sour candy, two ice-cold cans of monster, her choice of hot chip, and an absolute disgrace to breakfast subs.

“honey?” you say, holding it up. “really?”

“you planning to sweeten your hot cheetos?”

she smirks. “no. I was thinking of sweetening you.”

you raise an eyebrow but you don’t argue, flicking on the A/C as she pulls back onto the road. cornball.

the sun’s starting to dip, painting everything in gold — the kind that makes even cracked pavement and faded fast food signs look warm.

“climb over and sit on my lap.”

you blink. “what?”

she nods to the car in front of you. it hasn’t moved. “we’ve got time.”

“you are not serious-”

“I’m starving,” vi says, patting her thigh.

your pulse beats in places it shouldn’t while you’re still technically clothed. “come feed me, sugar.”

you don’t realize you’re moving until you’re halfway over the console. the steering wheel digs into your back, and the seatbelt locks for a second, but then her hands are on your hips and she’s dragging you down.

“…it looks like it came out of a bunker.”

“that’s the charm,” she laughs, taking it from you. “end-of-the-world fallout shelter cuisine.”

you roll your eyes. “what-fucking-ever. you do realize this is an aphrodisiac, right?”

“no, it was 55 cents. next to the condoms.”

“do you hear yourself?”

she gives you a look. “you’re full of shit.”

“you’re about to be full of something,” you say sweetly. she swats at your shoulder but turns away and breathes out of her nose the way you know she does when she’s trying not to laugh.

she tears it open, tips her head back, and squeezes the thick syrup into her mouth. it’s warm from your palm, malty, sticky, ridiculously sweet. she drags her thumb along the edge and sucks it clean.

you clear your throat. “okay, if I start moaning in five minutes, you’re driving us straight to jail.”

vi snorts. “baby, if you start moaning in five minutes, I’m not letting you stop. plus, nothing’s gonna happen.” she adjusts in her seat. “just regular honey.”

“wanna bet?”

you snatch the half-crushed packet from her hand.

“..bet?” she tilts her head, grabbing your other and kissing the back of it before she lets you get to work. “bet on what?”

you peel the flap open with your teeth and draw a line of it straight down your tongue while she watches. it’s cloying and weirdly metallic — god knows how long it’s been sitting on that shelf — yet you don’t flinch when you swallow. you even moan a little, just to sell it.

vi nearly chokes on her own spit.

you lick a glob off your lip. “you good there?”

she tries to laugh, but it cracks in the middle. “pfft. yeah. keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

you do — dragging a finger through the golden mess and licking it clean like you’ve got all the time in the world. her gaze drops to your mouth, then flickers back up like she’s trying not to react, but her grip on your waist tightens, a dead giveaway.

“you sure you don’t wanna tap out?” you almost coo, leaning forward enough to put pressure where it counts. “you’re looking a little-”

“stop being a tease,” she mutters, voice low.

you laugh into her neck. “what’s wrong?”

somewhere between “fuck” and “please,” she realizes she was wrong. very wrong.

when you tug her boxers aside and put your mouth on her for real, the sound she makes punches straight through you. her thighs tremble around your shoulders as your tongue moves in her, and she lets out a breath that sounds like a prayer and a threat all in one.

you swear she tastes like honey.

there’s a knock on the window — the drive-thru worker, deadpan and holding a tray of paper bags. vi’s voice is hoarse when she leans forward to grab them, one hand still buried in your hair.

vi huffs, rolling her hips in a desperate attempt to gain control, but you’re not having any of it. “you’re so stubborn,” you murmur, before sucking her clit into your mouth, tongue circling, then flattening, then flicking in that perfect rhythm that makes her fall apart every time. her hips jerk forward, and you let her grind against your mouth, messy and uncontrolled.

the way her stomach clenches when you suck harder, the way she jerks when you add your fingers, curling them just right—

she may not be winning this bet. but she’s definitely getting lucky.

you’re in the parking lot now, and she’s close. you feel it in the way her thighs shake, in how she’s cursing under her breath, “baby, baby, baby, fuuuuck-”

the car rocks faintly with every twitch. her jeans are pushed down, the windows fogged up around you both, cocooning you in.

you stay with her through it, mouth gentle now, coaxing every last shudder from her until she’s sagging boneless against the seat, chest heaving.

“jesus,” vi says, voice shaky. she glances down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, a lazy, crooked grin tugging at her lips. “get your ass back up here.”

“you wanted to prove a point?” her thumb swipes at your chin while you readjust on her lap. and you move to kiss her again, but she swerves.

vi slides down to her knees on the floorboard. “let’s see how long that smug little mouth of yours holds up.”

“now you drive.”

listened to roses by the chainsmokers while writing this i’m on a weird nostalgia kick recently. vi nation are we alive and well

i might start writing for cait because i’m tweaking the fuck out i can’t keep pretending i wouldn’t throw everything away for her (and mel)

[junicult]

!! the bachelors after their first kiss with you

contains ; fluff! gn!(but written with fem in mind)farmer for most. implied male in alex’s. non canon setting (for most). unestablished relationships—pre dating. alcohol usage. smoking (cigarettess).

note ; i had a nice time in my imagination with this one

harvey.

he stares at you, stunned at how easily you were able to do the thing he’s been thinking about for weeks. how soft your lips felt, how comforting your hand on his chest was, and how genuinely intoxicated just one simple kiss from you was already making him feel.

he clears his throat, and almost like you just sucked every word out of him, all he could muster up was a mumbled, “thank you.” he thanked you. for kissing him.

you purse your lips, trying your darnedest not to laugh watching his face just drop, realizing the first thing he said to you after you kissed him for the first time was a thank you.

“oh no, it was my pleasure.” you tease, allowing a small giggle to slip. he sighs like his blood has run cold, too embarrassed to even respond. luckily for him, you’re just too perfect, and you cool his sting by leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. you pull back with a smile, hand cupped over the opposing one, “goodnight harvey. i’ll see you tomorrow. you can thank me for that one, then.”

sam.

he acted almost as quick as you did, the moment he saw your eyes fixate on his lips and lean in, he wasted no time to fill in the gap between you two.

“you kissed me.” he says, face washed in amusement and adrenaline. he remains a solid grip where his hands rest on your lower waist, clear he has no intent on letting you go anytime soon.

“i might’ve.” you murmur, flickering your gaze to and from his. if he didn’t know any better, he’d think—

“are you all shy now? did i make you nervous?” he angles his head to chase your nervously wandering eyes, mischievous grin and tease in his tone. his hand consciously cups the side of your neck, thumb pressing into your jaw to gently force your chin up and maintain eye contact.

you huff, shaking your head. “well, a little! we just kissed!” you try not to sound too whiny—though, the way his grin spreads almost makes you forget that plan.

“aha! i made you nervous! am i so handsome? am i such a good kisser?” he muses, snickering in triumph.

“sam,” you test, narrowing your eyes through your eyelashes.

“what? you dunno know the answer? wanna kiss again to find out?”

shane.

he didn’t actually think you’d lean in, much less keep it going for so long that he’d have to push against you a moment later to give him a second to breathe.

but you shake your head, misinterpreting it all so quickly. “i’m sorry—i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have kissed you, i don’t know why i did that, i’m sorry—“

“whoa, i wasn’t pushin’ you away,” he immediately rouses, “i’m not mad that you kissed me.” and he snickers lowly, “more like pounced on me.”

“you’re not?” you hum breathlessly, straightening your pants and tucking pieces of your hair back. now your chest bubbles with a new kind of embarrassment. you nibble on your lower lip, attempting to ease your breaths. “i—i dunno why i did that. i don’t usually drink…much less makeout with people while i do.”

you slouch back down on the old, creaky dock next to him. he snorts, tilting his head, “‘m just too irresistible, huh?”

you shoot him a glower. “yeah,” you say like it’s sarcastic, but really, you’re well aware you aren’t drunk enough to start behaving irrationally. “i just didn’t mean to do that.”

“i don’t mind that you kissed me.” he shrugs.

you watch as he takes a swig from his beer can. his eyes focus on the overall still lake in front of you both. “you don’t?”

he almost wants to tease you for all your disbeliefs. he chooses to scoff out a laugh instead, shaking his head. “mm-mm.”

you turn to face the water, gently swinging your dangling legs over the edge. “hm,” you hum back, “maybe we should talk about that when we’re both sober.”

sebastian.

he’s borderline shocked at how easy it was for him to kiss you back—no hesitation after your fingers brushed the back of his hair to pull him in. he’s almost loopy, too, and he’s never been the type to swoon so hard from these kinds of affections. but he’s also learned a lot has changed since he first met you.

“you taste like cigarettes.” you murmur as you step back, licking your lower lip as if to repeat the taste. you turn towards the city lights, and for the first time he’s finding it nearly impossible to follow your gaze.

“i’m sorry,” he truthfully says, absentmindedly stepping down on the previously tossed cigarette butt at his shoe. “i’ve been trying to stop.”

“tastes like you, too. mixed in, i guess.” you note with a smile, “it’s not terrible though. but good, you should try and quit.”

he honestly doesn’t know how to take that—in his mind, he can’t imagine that tastes good, much less the combination any glorious. yet you turn to him again, stuffed hands unfolding from your pockets to reach across for his.

all you had to do was to give him a tiny tug, sliding your hands up his shoulders before he repositioned his own back to where they previously sat on your waist.

“let me bask it in while i can, though.”

alex.

you’ve almost never seen him with this soft, content look on his face. you’re half expecting him to burst into laughter, try to justify his actions with a teasing lilt and offer to pretend like it never happened.

but no. all he does is look at you, watching the way your eyes shift between each of his, evaluating. like he’s waiting for one of you to break.

you take the bait. “why’d you do that?” you murmur, quiet enough the wind almost picks it up.

he shrugs. “i dunno. it felt right.” he hums, and despite his uncertain words, he says it with sincerity. “was that the wrong choice?”

you think for a moment. for you, you surely thought about it for weeks. but the timing certainly didn’t feel appropriate. vulnerability changes a man like him most of all, and the last thing you’d want to do was take advantage of that. you absentmindedly swirl the grains of sand under your fingertips.

“no, i don’t think so.” you respond easily.

he nods. you’ve never seen him this quiet, but despite that, you’ve got an idea of what’s exactly going through his mind. when he turns away, you’re certain.

“you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“of course not.”

elliott.

he had almost forgotten why he invited you over—just for inspiration on the last couple chapters of his novel, or did he honestly plan for it to go like this?

“so…what happens after they…kiss?” you coyly murmur, still held in his embrace so close you can smell the drop of pomegranate on his lips.

“well, i haven’t written that far just yet,” he pauses to take a breath, “i was hoping they’d finally confess their love.”

he’s so handsome this close, your head still reels and lips feel fuzzy as you struggle to bring back in your even breaths.

you nod, slow and computing. “yeah—no, that sounds good.”

your plump lips hold him in a trance, as do his, making it so hard to concentrate on his words all the while you feel you’re too fixated on them.

“so you believe they love each other? that they should finally tell the other?”

the kiss rendered you thoughtless—what can you expect from a romantic like him? however, the metaphor is not lost on you. and had he let you go at this point, it wouldn’t have been so easy for you to eagerly nod, “absolutely. two people in love should tell each other they’re in love.”

[hsnlv]

“all mine.” (altered) | s.jy

pairing: boyfriend!jake x fem!reader

synopsis: a moment of doubt clouds your mind, but jake’s gentle touch and heartfelt words remind you just how loved and perfect you truly are in his eyes.

warnings/others: insecurity, jake is sickeningly sweet in this one :(

wc: 1.04k

a/n: as written, this is actually my old work that i decided to re-write! i hope this will give you comfort like it does to me <3 reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!! happy reading my loves🎀 here’s my masterlist!

🎧now playing!🎧: take you there- h.e.r

“c’mere,” jake pats his lap with that playful grin you can never resist, the one that makes your heart do flips. his voice is soft but teasing, like he’s already expecting you to curl up in his arms. it’s your spot—his lap, his warmth, his everything. it’s where you feel safest, where you always feel loved.

but today, you hesitate. something in you feels… different. heavier. you glance down at your thighs, your stomach, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror out of the corner of your eye. it’s silly, really. you know it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but the thought sneaks in anyway.

“i’m fine,” you mumble, staying rooted in place. your arms fold over your stomach as you avoid his gaze, hoping he won’t push.

but he’s jake.

he notices everything.

his teasing smile fades just a little, replaced with that soft, tender look he gets when he knows you’re feeling off.

“baby,” he says, his voice gentle as he scoots closer. his arms reach for you, wrapping around your waist and pulling you to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, trying to brush it off. “nothing. just tired.”

“hmm.” he doesn’t buy it. not for a second. instead, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin as he murmurs, “tired of what, hmm? me? ‘cause if that’s the case, you’re breaking my heart here.”

you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, though you try to smother it. “jake…”

“there she is,” he teases, pulling back just enough to look at you. his fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “there’s my girl. now, are you gonna tell me what’s really going on? or do i have to guess?”

you hesitate again, biting your lip, but the way he’s looking at you… like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters. it’s too much.

“i don’t know,” you finally mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i feel… different today.”

his brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face for a moment before realization dawns.

“oh,” he breathes out, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “it’s one of those days, huh?”

you nod, feeling a little silly now. “yeah.”

jake sighs, but not in frustration. it’s that soft, loving sigh he does when he’s about to say something that’ll make your heart melt.

“baby,” he starts, pulling you closer until you’re practically sitting in his lap, your legs draped over his. his hands settle on your waist, holding you like you’re something precious. “you know none of that stuff matters to me, right? like… at all. i don’t care if you think you feel different or look different. to me, you’re always gonna be my favorite person.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not!” he insists, looking mock-offended. “do you want me to prove it? i’ll prove it. actually—hold on.”

before you can stop him, he’s reaching for his phone, typing furiously with one hand while the other keeps you firmly in place. a second later, he holds up the screen.

“you’re literally the prettiest person i’ve ever seen and i will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

“there,” he declares proudly. “proof. now you can’t argue with me.”

you snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re gorgeous,” he counters, his voice dropping to that soft, serious tone that always makes your chest ache in the best way.

his hands trail down to your thighs, squeezing gently. “see these? i love these. and this?” he taps your nose lightly, grinning when you scrunch it up. “adorable. and don’t even get me started on your smile. do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on anything when you’re smiling at me?”

“jake…” you mumble, your face heating up as you try to hide your grin.

“nope. not done,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “this face? my favorite. this laugh?” he pokes your side, earning a giggle. “even better. and don’t even think about arguing with me, because i’ll just keep going until you agree.”

you laugh again, the sound light and genuine this time, and jake’s smile grows even wider.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice warm and full of adoration. “that’s my girl.”

he leans down, guiding you gently onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he peppers kisses across your face.

“mine,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“all mine,” he adds, brushing his lips against your nose.

“the most perfect girl in the whole world,” he finishes, punctuating his words with a kiss to your lips.

you can’t help but giggle. “jake.”

“yeah?” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours while his face is plastered with that stupidly handsome boyish grin he has always had.

“you make it really hard to stay upset, you know that?”

his lips twitch into a smile. “good. that’s kind of the point.”

“so beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your features like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. “it’s actually unreal.”

“stop,” you mumble, your cheeks heating up again.

“never,” he replies, grinning as he leans down to press kisses all over your face. each kiss sends a flutter through your chest, the warmth of his lips chasing away the lingering insecurities in your mind.

“you’re impossible,” you manage through a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“and you’re perfect,” he counters, his voice soft and earnest.

his hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know that.”

it’s in the way he says it—like it’s not just a compliment, but a promise. and for the first time all day, you feel the weight of your doubts start to lift.

wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and love, you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Plus one 1/9

Summary : When Lando Norris realizes he's the only F1 driver attending the Monaco F1 movie premiere without a girlfriend, he panics and convinces Oscar to help him find a last-minute plus one.

Author note : I get this story idea after the private projection of the F1 movie with all the drivers in Monaco (also can we imagine they weren't wearing their team kit and actually did dress up).

Genre : pure fluff

Series masterlist

Main masterlist

Lando Norris had never minded being alone.

Not in the way that people always made it out to be, he wasn’t lonely, he just… liked his space. Relationships, for all their affection and comfort, always seemed like too much work for someone who barely had time to unpack his suitcase before flying off again. So no, he didn’t crave candlelit dinners or Sunday mornings entangled in sheets. He had freedom, and for the most part, he liked it.

But this week in Monaco, it hit differently.

The private screening of the much-hyped F1 movie was set for that evening: an exclusive, glitzy event organized as part of the Grand Prix weekend. Invitations had gone out to every driver on the grid, along with the sly note that "plus ones are welcome." Lando hadn’t thought much of it at first. He figured he’d just show up solo, shake a few hands, maybe take a few pictures, and go home. Simple.

That was until yesterday afternoon, when Carlos asked if they were all meeting beforehand.

"Sure," Lando had said, "you bringing anyone?"

Carlos grinned. "Rebecca, of course."

And that was the beginning of the end.

Oscar was bringing Lily. Charles mentioned Alexandra in passing, like it was obvious. George was already coordinating outfit colors with Carmen.

Lando had laughed, brushing it off with a "Well, someone’s got to be the mysterious bachelor," but the joke didn’t quite land.

Now, it was the morning of the event, and he was on a padel court near the port, sweating under the mid-May sun and trying to shake off the odd itch in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat.

He hated to admit it, but showing up alone tonight sounded... depressing. And for once, he didn’t want to be the guy arriving solo while everyone else walked in, hand-in-hand, whispering in each other's ears and giggling at inside jokes. He wanted someone next to him. Someone who looked at him like he belonged.

The ball thudded off the glass behind him. Match over.

He slung his racket onto the bench and tugged off his wristbands, then dropped onto the seat beside Oscar.

"You're coming with Lily tonight, yeah?" he asked, more casually than he felt.

Oscar shot him a look. "Yeah, of course. And you, you have a date?"

"Nah."

Oscar raised a brow. "Do you want to? Like, actually?"

Lando blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I could ask Lily. I’m sure one of her friends would say yes if I told her you needed a plus one."

Lando snorted. "What, like a matchmaking service?"

Oscar shrugged. "I’m just saying. Might be nice to show up with someone on your arm. Lily’s friends are cool. I could text her right now."

Lando hesitated, visibly squirming. "It’d be super awkward. I mean, if I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me? What would we even talk about?"

Oscar grinned. "That’s what small talk is for."

"And there’ll be cameras. A little much for a first meeting, don’t you think?"

Oscar laughed. "You’re the one acting all moody about being the only single guy tonight. I’m offering solutions."

Lando exhaled through his nose. "Maybe. I mean, just hypothetically. Who is this girl?"

Oscar grinned. "Hypothetically?"

"Yeah. Just tell me her name."

Oscar chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Her name’s Y/N. Actually, you’ll like her. She’s calm, which is good for you, keeps you from spiraling like a feral cat. Funny, too. And pretty. It could be a solid match.”

Lando sat back on the bench. “And you think she’d actually want to go? With me?”

Oscar’s tone turned teasing. “What, suddenly shy? I thought you were Mister Confidence.”

“Not when it’s someone I’ve never met. You know what, thanks for helping, but no. I’m good."

Oscar held up his hands in surrender. "Suit yourself. Just don’t sulk when we’re all paired up and you’re third-wheeling with the press."

Lando walked away with a grunt, heading toward the trailers to cool off.

Later back at his place, after his shower, he kept remembering Oscar proposition, then he took his phone and his thumb moved almost involuntarily to Instagram. Curiosity was a hell of a thing.

He looked into Lily’s followers and typed the name in the search bar. Only one profile popped up and it was a public one. Lucky him.

@your_usurname

"Sun-kissed, plant-blessed 🌸🌿"

❤️ liked by @oscarpiastri, @lilyzneimer, and 247 others

@lilyzneimer: stop being the main character every time we hang out it’s rude 😩💐

@your_usurname: someone had to do it. you were late 💅

@_user2: petition to ban you from looking this photogenic in real life too

@your_usurname: petition denied.

@oscarpiastri: my allergies make this my ultimate nightmare

@your_usurname: you're allergic to aesthetics??? @oscarpiastri: no pollen

@_user3: i love the cottage vibe

@_user4 : do you even know how soft your entire vibe is?? this is criminal 🌾

@your_usurname

"Busy life lately ☕️"

❤️ liked by @lilyzneimer, @_user5, and 403 others

@lilyzneimer: you seriously live in a movie

@your_usurname: only if you’re the soundtrack 💛

@_user7: how do you look good in every single vibe??

@your_usurname: camera magic and coffee 😌

@_user8: slide 2 made me instantly hungry

@your_usurname: I’ll make you some next time 👩🏻‍🍳

@_user9: this is the softest post I’ve seen all week 🫶

@_user6: this post feels like a warm hug and a quiet playlist

It wasn’t even ten minutes later that he called Oscar.

Oscar answered with a lazy, “Changed your mind already?”

"Just, maybe your right, maybe it could be nice to have someone with me for change. You really think she will accept to come ?" Lando ask nervously.

Oscar laughed. “Well we will see, let me text her. Be right back.”

And now Lando felt… nervous. Which was rare. He could race at 300 km/h and barely blink, but asking a stranger to be his date to a glamorous event with cameras and attention? Suddenly that felt like a lot.

What if she said yes and regretted it? What if she didn’t know anything about F1 and thought he was dull? What if he said something awkward and ruined the whole night?

His phone buzzed with a new message.

Oscar: She said yes.

Lando blinked.

Oscar: Well, she said “Sure, why not?” which is basically a yes. You’re welcome.

Lando’s stomach flipped. That was fast.

He stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Lando: Wait… she really said yes?

Oscar: Yeah. Chill. Just don’t be weird about it.

Too late for that.

Permanent taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @hi26loveie

Let me know if you want to be add or removed from the taglist :)

[arkaiveofurown]

Carrying Your Love With Me

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader

Ace always carries the ones he loves—Dadan’s bead necklace, a hat that reminds him of Luffy’s, a jolly roger tattoo for Whitebeard and a crossed-out “S” for Sabo. He doesn’t talk about it, but it’s written on him. So when he asks you for something to carry, it means everything.

Word Count: ~2,300

tags: fluff, ace is sentimental

my masterlist here ♡

The thing about Ace is—he doesn’t say much when it matters most.

He’ll laugh louder than anyone, challenge five men at once, eat half a kitchen’s worth of food, and fall asleep mid-sentence in a sunbeam like a cat.

But when it comes to love? He wears it quietly.

Ace was half-asleep in the sun, back resting against the mast, a soft breeze teasing his black hair. His hat tipped down, shielding his eyes, but his hands—calloused and sun-worn—were fiddling with the red-beaded necklace around his neck.

You’d seen him do that before.

He’d trace the beads slowly when he thought no one was watching. Each one had a scratch, a mark, like it had been through battles with him. You didn’t know much about it until Marco once offhandedly mentioned it was from Dadan—his foster mother. She’d shoved it into his hands the day he left.

The hat wasn’t just a fashion choice, either. He’d picked it up because it reminded him of Luffy. It made him feel closer to his little brother, even from across the sea.

The “S” in his ASCE tattoo? You didn’t need to ask twice. The answer came quietly when he talked about Sabo—his voice a little rough, his thumb brushing over the ink like it kept a piece of his brother alive.

And the bold mark on his back—the Whitebeard tattoo—wasn’t just pride. It was loyalty. Family. Proof that he’d found something worth following. Worth protecting. He bore it like a banner, never once hesitating to call Whitebeard “Pops.”

Ace didn’t talk about his life often. But he wore it. Carried it. Clung to it.

Just like how he chose to carry the name “Portgas”—a quiet, powerful tribute to the mother who sacrificed her life so he could live.

He loved hard. Deeply. Fiercely. And even when he didn’t say the words, he wore them—for the people he never wanted to forget.

And it made your heart ache in the best way.

——

You sat together on the edge of an island cliff that evening, looking out over the sea. The sky was painted in orange and crimson, the kind of colors that matched the fire in his hair and soul.

“I don’t usually ask for things,” Ace said suddenly.

You turned to look at him. “Okay…”

“But I’ve been thinking,” he added, eyes still on the water. “I’ve got stuff from my brothers. Dadan. Pops gave me this tattoo. But I realized I don’t have anything from you.”

Your heart stuttered. “You want something from me?”

“Something small,” he said. “Something I can carry.”

You tilted your head. “You’re sentimental.”

He snorted. “No I’m not.”

“You are,” you teased. “You literally never take off that necklace.”

“That’s different,” he mumbled, ears going pink. “She’d kill me if I lost it.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “So what do you want from me?”

“Anything,” he said quietly. “Just… something that’s mine.”

You looked at him—this wild, flame-hearted boy who tried so hard to seem carefree while his whole heart was full of love he couldn’t say.

“Give me a night,” you said. “I’ll make something.”

He turned, brows lifted. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “If you promise to keep it.”

“I never break promises to people I love,” he said. Then, flustered, he added quickly, “Care about. People I care about.”

But you caught it.

And you smiled.

——

You stayed up late in the ship’s workshop, using scrap bits of red and white metal you’d bartered for on a past island stop. The pieces weren’t perfect—one side was a little dented, and your hands shook slightly while linking the thin plates together with wire—but it was solid. Clean. Strong.

Like him.

You shaped the metals into a linked, band-style bracelet—red and white alternating, polished until they gleamed. When the light hit it, the colors glinted like fire and bone.

You made two.

The next day, Ace met you in your usual spot on deck. The wind tugged at his open shirt, and the sun made his freckles glow.

You held out the bracelets. “Here.”

He blinked. “You made these?”

“Metal, so they won’t burn,” you said, placing one in his hand. “Yours is slightly lighter. Mine’s got the dent on the fourth plate.”

He turned it over, slowly—fingers careful, reverent. “Red and white,” he murmured. “White for the crew… Red for—?”

“You,” you finished. “The color of fire. Passion. And—”

He looked at you.

“Love,” you said.

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

Then, with trembling hands, he slid it onto his wrist and looked at you like he was seeing the sun rise for the first time.

“Help me put yours on?”

You nodded, and he carefully clasped it around your wrist, fingers lingering. “This means a lot,” he said, voice thick. “More than I know how to say.”

“You don’t have to say it,” you whispered.

You already knew.

“We match,” he said, voice warm and soft. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you replied.

Because you wanted to carry him too.

——

It became a habit.

Before meals, he’d touch it.

Before battle, he’d glance at it.

When he was nervous, his thumb would rub over the plates—red, white, red, white—like counting seconds.

“Hey, firefly,” you teased one day. “You keep petting that thing, it’s gonna shine right through the deck.”

He shot you a look. “It helps me focus.”

“Really?” you asked, leaning in. “Or does it remind you of someone?”

Ace flushed but didn’t deny it.

“It keeps me steady,” he said. “When I’m scared, I remember you made it. And then I’m not.”

Your teasing fell away.

You stepped forward and placed your hand over his.

“You’re never really alone, you know,” you said. “Not as long as I’m around.”

Ace looked at you like the sun had risen for the second time that day.

——

He was gone for three weeks.

Scout mission across the Calm Belt. You stayed behind on the Moby Dick, bracelet clinking against your wrist like a whisper.

You touched it when you missed him. Slept with it curled under your hand.

And then, on the 15th night, it cracked.

A single metal plate split down the edge with a soft ping. Your stomach dropped. You didn’t know why—but you felt it in your chest.

Far away, Ace stumbled during a fight. Mid-flame.

He winced and looked down—his bracelet glowed red, the smallest spark skimming its surface.

“Ace!” someone yelled. “You good?”

He caught his breath. “Yeah. I just… felt something.”

He touched the bracelet. It was warm. Warmer than it should’ve been.

He gripped it tight.

“I have to go back.”

——

You waited at the harbor, wind biting your cheeks.

And when you saw him—bruised, exhausted, hair wind-tossed—you ran.

Ace caught you mid-stride, lifting you off the ground like a lifeline. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands gripping his back.

“You felt it too?” you whispered.

He nodded, face buried in your neck. “Cracked. I thought something happened.”

You pulled back enough to show him your bracelet. “It did. I missed you.”

He touched the crack reverently, like it was a scar you both shared.

Then he kissed it.

“I’m not letting it break again,” he promised. “I’ll fix it. Even if I have to melt it back together with fire.”

You smiled through your tears. “You’ll burn it.”

“I’ll burn everything else first,” he said. “But not this. Never this.”

——

Years later, the bracelet was a little darker, a little scratched. But it was still there.

He never took it off.

Not even in storms. Not in fights. Not when the fire got wild. The red and white gleamed like memories.

People thought the beads were his style. The hat, a statement. The tattoos, just ink.

But those who knew him—really knew him—understood.

Everything he wore was love.

And when he glanced at his wrist, when his fingers brushed metal and his eyes softened—you knew.

He was carrying you with him.

Always.

[amirawrah]

⭐︎ Not yet but soon

with JUDE BELLINGHAM . blurb

synopsis: When Jude casually calls you his wife in a live interview, the internet is like huh?? You’re panicking, he’s unbothered.

You were lying on your couch, robe on, green face mask setting, a bowl of strawberries in your lap and one sock half-off your foot. Pure chaos and comfort. A cozy Sunday.

The TV was on, but muted. Jude’s new interview was playing on a loop on every sports network and social platform—you figured you’d catch it live.

You were in the middle of texting your best friend about brunch plans when it happened.

Interviewer: “You’ve been glowing lately. Life’s treating you well off the pitch too, yeah?” Jude (smiling in that too knowing way): “Yeah, life’s good. My wife keeps me grounded.”

Record scratch. You blinked. Paused.

“...my wife keeps me grounded.”

You sat up so fast, your bowl of strawberries nearly went flying.

WIFE?!

The group chat popped off within five seconds like they were waiting to pounce, texts like WIFE!!?? to tell him to chill to am i a bridesmaid or what???

You buried your face in your hands. “Jude,” you groaned, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up.

He looked unbothered on screen, all charm and soft curls and casual ‘yeah, my wife’ energy like you hadn’t spent months dodging rumors and keeping things private-ish.

Your phone started buzzing again—this time, it was him. Speak of the devil.

You answered without a hello. “Are you mad?”

He chuckled. “So you saw it?”

“I heard it. Wife?? Babe, we’re not married.”

He paused, and for a second, you thought maybe he’d panic, walk it back, say it was just a slip. But instead, he said—

“Yeah, but… we’re basically married, aren’t we?”

You opened and closed your mouth. “That’s not how it works!”

“You have a drawer at my place, I have one at yours. My mum calls you her daughter already. You know my bank PIN.”

“Okay—first of all, I only know your PIN because you forget it under pressure. Second of all, the world thinks we probably eloped in Vegas now!”

He laughed again, but it was softer this time. “Sorry, babe. It just slipped. Didn’t realize it’d blow up that fast.”

You sighed, flopping back onto the couch, phone pressed to your ear. “I’m wearing a face mask and eating strawberries like a fool while the world thinks I’m somebody’s wife.”

There was a pause, and then, just barely. “You’d make the prettiest wife, though.”

You froze. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be sweet after making me panic.”

Jude snorted. “Too late.”

Then, quietly. “I’ll say it again one day. The real way. Just not with cameras around.”

You felt your heart melt and your stomach flip, all at once.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he echoed.

A beat of silence.

“Still wanna come over later? I’ll cook.”

“Will my husband be there?”

“Stop,” he groaned, laughing. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance, Bellingham. Not a chance.”

[lov3notts]

amora congratulations on 1k babes!! i’m so happy for you and your celebration is so pretty ♥️!

i was thinking cupids arrow w/ theo nott + "i think it's time we take a break." (feeling all the angst with theo lol)

1k Celebration!!! ;Navigation

i missed writing angst!!! thank you for this brooke😽

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone—at yet another unread message, another unanswered “Are we still on tonight?”

You stared for a while. Then stood.

Because you had grown tired of his games.

But by the time you found him, he was in the common room, backlit by firelight and hunched over a book he clearly wasn’t reading, something inside you snapped.

He didn’t even notice you at first.

That used to be impossible.

You stood there for a second too long, waiting for him to look up, to say “hey, love” to smile like he used to.

He didn’t.

You finally spoke. “So, are you going to keep pretending I don’t exist, or is that just how things are now?”

He sat back slowly, eyes narrowing. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” you snapped. “Because I’m tired of guessing.”

Theo blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve been distant, Theo. You barely speak to me, you cancel plans without a word, you act like I’m bothering you just by being here.”

He closed the book sharply, standing. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being honest,” you said. “Do you even care anymore? Or are you just too much of a coward to tell me you’re done?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve got a lot going on, alright?”

“So say that!” you shouted. “Say something! You just shut me out like I don’t matter anymore—like we don’t matter. And I’m sick of making excuses for you.”

“I don’t know, alright?” His voice rose. “I don’t have some neat answer to make you feel better. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’m overwhelmed. Maybe I just need some space without being accused of falling out of love with you every five seconds.”

That hit you like a slap.

Then he moved closer to you, tension sharp in his shoulders. “You don’t get it.”

“Then talk to me, Theo! Let me in! That’s what people do when they’re in love!”

His mouth opened—then closed again.

And that silence burned more than anything he could’ve said.

You laughed bitterly, wiping at the tears starting to slip. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I didn’t say I don’t love you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A beat passed, heavy and quiet.

Then Theo muttered, “Maybe I just need time.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Time? Theo I’ve been giving you nothing but time.”

“Well, apparently not enough,” he snapped.

You nodded slowly, chest burning, eyes stinging. “Fine.”

You turned, this time not waiting for him to stop you. Not hoping.

Because you had lost hope a long time ago.

At first, he thought it would help.

Space.

It sounded reasonable when he said it. He told himself he needed air, time to think—some distance to quiet the noise in his head. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He just… didn’t know how to explain what was going on inside him. And you were always there, asking, worrying, caring—and he couldn’t live up to it. Not then.

But now?

Now it was too quiet.

You stopped walking with him to class. Stopped waiting for him outside the library. Stopped sliding into the seat next to him at lunch like you always used to, shoulder brushing his, warm and familiar. He didn't even realize how much he'd relied on those moments until they disappeared.

Now there was an empty seat beside him. Every. Single. Day.

And that seat was louder than any fight you’d ever had.

At first, he tried to pretend he was fine. He shrugged it off when Mattheo raised an eyebrow and said, “You look like a kicked dog.”

He ignored Blaise’s snort when he muttered, “Mate, you asked for this.”

But he saw the way they looked at him when you walked past without sparing him a glance. He felt it—the hollow ache when you smiled at someone else down the corridor, your eyes never even flickering in his direction.

He thought he’d feel lighter. But he just felt lonely.

So one afternoon, he found you alone by the edge of the Black Lake, where you used to sit together and talk for hours about everything and nothing.

You were sitting on the grass, picking absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve. The sunlight caught the side of your face, and for a second, it hit him all at once—how much he missed you. Your voice. Your warmth. Your presence.

He cleared his throat softly.

You looked up.

Theo hesitated, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey.”

“Hey.” It wasn’t cold. But it wasn’t warm, either. It was… careful. Like you were building a wall and choosing not to let him through.

“I, uh…” He shifted. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He hated how polite you sounded. He hated that he didn’t know how to fix it.

“I know I said I needed space,” he started, eyes locked on the water, “but—”

“But now you’re ready for me to be here again?”

His head snapped to you.

You weren’t angry. That’s what made it worse. You were calm. Resigned.

“I gave you space, Theo,” you said softly. “And in that space, I had time to think too.”

He swallowed hard. “Think about what?”

You shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “About how much of our relationship was me trying to hold it together while you pulled away.”

Theo’s chest tightened.

“You said you needed time, but you never said why. You didn’t trust me enough to let me in.” Your voice cracked, just a little. “And maybe that was my answer all along.”

“I do trust you—”

“Do you?” you asked, finally looking at him. “Because it didn’t feel like it.”

Silence settled between you. Cold and final.

He didn’t know what to say. He’d thought the distance would give him clarity—but all it did was show him how much he’d taken you for granted. And now… now he wasn’t sure if there was anything left to come back to.

“I’m not mad, Theo. I just… I don’t know if I can keep trying for someone who won’t meet me halfway.”

You took a shaky breath, fingers digging into the sleeves of your jumper.

“I think it’s time we take a break.” The words tasted like betrayal in your own mouth.

Theo’s breath caught. “No. Don’t say that. Please.”

“I’m tired,” you whispered. “I’m so tired, Theo. Of chasing after someone who keeps running.”

“I’m not running,” he said quickly. “Not anymore. I’m here—I’m here. I messed up, but we can fix this. Just—don’t give up on me.”

You looked at him, eyes glassy and throat tight. “I didn’t give up on you. You gave up on us. I just finally listened.”

He reached for your hand, and for a moment, you let him take it.

“I love you” he said, with every ounce of fear and hope in his chest.

You gave a sad smile, eyes dropping to the place where your hands touched.

“And I…..loved you.” You stood slowly, gently pulling your hand away.

He didn’t stop you when you walked away.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to.

But maybe this time, he didn’t deserve to.

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