#making david squirm a little bit pretending to read all the cross outs even though this uhaul lesbian had a folder with the completed forms

[alrightinbed-betterwithapen]

Blue — Part One — David Dobrik x Reader

A/N: Hey-yo to anyone reading! This is my first time posting my work ever and it’s about the king maker, D. Dobrik. I hope you all enjoy it, I’m open to all criticism. Lemme know if the posting is weird or off. Un-beta’d rn, but I try to heavily edit. This is the first part of prolly a few parts that are in the works. I almost have the second part done, so we’ll see how this goes. Anywho, Kisses!

Warnings: slight dub-con, dom/sub, lack of communication, roughness, language, slightly smutty.

Summary: You never did claim you were smart when it comes to David. He’s turning in his seat to look at you and, of course, you shudder slightly.

You won’t leave until he tells you to...

It really was a simple arrangement at first.

—- x —-

Blue.

You liked blue the best. Green was a close second though.

You could lose track of time while staring at the deep blue that the bruise on your upper thigh was changing into. The bruise that started as a murky, ink water looking black color, was now blossoming into a sickly navy around the edges, the center of it still dark and swampy.

The green would appear in the next half day, ease its way next to the bluish, blackish mess. The green would make itself a home where the blue began, right along the edge. Maybe they would mix and create a painful yellow, a yellow you’d push at.

Hard.

Deep.

Angry.

Yellow was pretty, but you couldn’t accept it. No. Because yellow meant almost healed. Yellow meant in recovery. And there was no way in hell you’d allow your bruises to heal.

No, not when the rest of you was so, so not ready to get better.

Not if this was what being hurt meant.

You loved blue.

—- x —-

The hands gripping your upper thighs is too much. Too painful. Too heavy.

You let out a whimper, even though your whole body is shaking as you try holding it back.

“Oh,” he says, emotionless, “Oh no,” then his hands are gone. Pushing back off your thighs, pushing so your balance sways from where you are seated on the edge of the black upholstered pool table. Your legs still spread from where he stood just moments before.

David stands in front of you, an arms reach or two away, still and unmoving. His eyes hold the same anger you’ve become use to with him, hands clenched at his sides. His lips are swollen, but probably not as red or obvious as the trail of biting, stinging kisses he was just leaving from your collarbone and up your neck.

“You made a sound. I thought we discussed this earlier”, he murmurs through almost closed lips. His eyes never waver, never blink. All you can do is try to lessen the squirm that makes its way out of you.

Disappointment radiates down his body as he tips his head to the left, cracking his neck, and bring his arms crossed on his chest.

“We- you did. I’m sor-“ and the words tumble out before you can stop them.

He hates apologies. He also hates when you disobey the very clear cut rules he has started laying out at the beginning of each of these visits.

“Eh!” He tuts, livid, successfully shushing whatever your half baked excuse was going to be. Then he’s moving forwards, faster than you can comprehend, to grip your jaw in his left hand. He uses enough force that his fingers slip up and make your lips purse, eyes going wide. You can’t stop them from tearing up.

You have a sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Your Uber will be here in a bit. Make sure you wait outside.”

His words hang in the air as he drops his hand from you, retracting sharply. Then there’s this sneer, slightly over drawn on his lips, but spitting venom nonetheless.

Then, there’s his back turned to you, walking across the living space and down his hallway.

Then there’s you, perched on the edge of a pool table, alone.

This is the first time he leaves bruises.

—- x —-

The only concealer that worked to cover the slight bruise on your jaw was expensive and you’re damn glad the worst of it was on your thighs. ‘Cause fuck, this is not something you wanted to add to your routine, financially or physical.

Your phone dings when a new message comes in. You finish wiping off the last of your days makeup, the deep yellow bruise appearing fully on the bottom half of your face.

Picking you up at 4am. Don’t make me wait.

It was fifteen past seven in the evening. You had a late lunch around four, and to be honest, your appetite hadn’t been right since you had been kicked out by him three nights ago. But, you weren’t ready for bed. You weren’t even that tired yet, but also, not nearly amped enough to stay up until the earliest of morning hours.

No. No way.

Fuck.

You’re already making your way to find pajamas to lay out, as you finished the internal struggle in your head. Why fight? It’s obvious which side wins.

Fuck him.

The octave skipping groan you let out into your bedroom does makes you feel a little bit better. It’s just slightly cathartic. It make you feel a little more in control of this evening.

Then, you’re walking briskly back to the bathroom to have a quick shower and jump into bed.

Fuck me.

Your desire to finish what was stopped so abruptly, is waaay out weighing your need to stand up for yourself. Not tonight.

Tonight, you’ll listen if it kills you.

—- x —-

The crisp air of the early morning makes your skin prickle. It charges every atom in your body for what you hope happens tonight... this morning. Whatever. It also helps wake your ass up.

It’s twenty til four. You had set your alarm for fifteen past three, because you’re pathetic and desperate. But you’ve never pretended to be anything less with David. Otherwise, this whole dynamic would never work.

Your hands itch for a cigarette, the menthol ones sitting in front of you on the sleek, white outdoor table on your balcony. They’re only a slight reach away, but that’s a fifty/fifty gamble, isn’t it?

David’s pulled a cigarette from between your lips and thrown it to the ground before. All while whispering obscenities about pretty girls who taste like tar in your ear. But later that night, he was licking into your mouth trying to chase the taste and then he fucked you stupid.

So, all bets are off.

You decide to not tempt fate as your phone starts beeping three shrill notes before pausing, getting ready to beep again. It’s sad how fast you answer, pathetic really.

“Are you up?”

It’s ten til four now. You breathe a sigh of relief and say, “Yeah, I’m waiting on my balcony. I’ve been up for half an hour.”

You literally cringe at yourself, so forthcoming with him, down to the most mundane details. You shrink in your seat and bring you legs up to your chest, and then back down, jittery with nerves. His deep, ringing laughter sounds through the phone and doesn’t help you relax at all.

“Good girl,” he purrs, amusement still thick in his low growling voice. “Now, get downstairs.”

The line dies before you can reply, thankfully. You would have betrayed yourself again, a sheepish Yes Sir bound to have come out of you weakly. And knowing your luck, he would be in a Yes Daddy mood and your night would start with a punishment that would get you off, but leave you empty.

You’re up, grabbing your phone and keys, bee lining for the door. With your old white Vans slipped on and black zip up hoodie pulled around your frame, you glance to the mirror just right of your front door. Your jaw bruise is more faded than a couple hours ago, but still noticeable. Your hair is tamed, but still a mess and there’s not a bit of makeup on your sleepy face. David doesn’t like make up on you. He hates the way the mascara and tears stain your cheeks.

The walk out your door and down to him feels equally like a short journey to salvation and a long crawl towards hell. You are always torn, it’s what you want, but not quite. He’s not enough and far too much, and you’re addicted.

As you make your way to the edges of the parking lot, you can see his blue light illuminated face tilted down towards his phone. His brow is furrowed and you have a feeling you’re in for it tonight. He doesn’t glance up as you wait for him to open the passenger side door of his white, shiny Tesla, but his fingers push the button. He doesn’t acknowledge you while you get seated and start to buckle up, except to prod at the same button to close the door. He pulls at neck of his red hoodie, and sits up to drive.

You could speak first, but the fear of setting him off stops you. He’s pulling out of the parking space, phone haphazardly being thrown into the center console. It’s when you’re pulling the seatbelt the final few inches around your body to secure, that he reaches over to grab your wrist, stopping you.

“You don’t trust my driving?”

What a loaded fucking question. It’s like he’s trying to get you to piss him off, and that’s a bad sign in itself. You’re stuck staring at his profile while he gazes out onto the road.

He means, you don’t trust me?

No. Not particularly. You barely trust him with your orgasms (and that has shown to be a bad idea lately), let alone your life.

But that’s not a wise answer. That’s a very stupid answer. Especially since his knuckles are slowly growing white as his grip tightens on the wheel. He’s growing impatient while waiting for a response.

You drop the seat belt from your hand, the hand David hadn’t dropped yet, and let it snap back to where it rests near the door. The beginnings of a smirk make his lips tilt up. He still doesn’t look at you as he pulls his hand back. You want the ground to swallow you whole.

The red imprint of his fingers around your wrist where his hand had held you moments ago was already fading away. Not a bruise this time. Why did that make you ache?

“Besides, you can’t blow me with your seat belt on,” he says so, so casually, you have to stop yourself from recoiling.

He still doesn’t fucking look at you. And you have to make your eyes stop being so god damn wide as his left hand goes to push down his black sweatpants, past his hips to settle on his upper thighs. He’s just slightly hard, and you salivate. You’re pushing your self up on the seat and across the console in two long blinks (and far too quickly to be called anything other than needy). Your eyes look down to his growing member and then up to his face, over and over. You’re licking your lips before pooling the saliva in your mouth to the front, getting ready to sloppily and messy take him in.

His right hand sharply stops you, quickly tangling itself in the back of your hair and pulling you to a stop. There might have been a beep from the car signaling self drive mode was activated while you made your way over the console, but you can’t be sure. What you are aware of is the hand still gripped in your hair and the other reaching to your jaw, fitting nicely onto the bruise still lingering, to pull your face level with his.

He looks right through you.

“I didn’t say you could start,” he says with an adoring tilt to his voice that is counter active to the way he pulls at your hair harder and grips your jaw tighter. You’re being pushed forcefully back into the passenger seat like a rag doll and then he’s back to his natural position at the wheel. Staring straight ahead as goes to enable control of the vehicle and swiftly pull up the waistband of his pants. His amused, smitten voice unchanging when he says, “So eager that you don’t wait for my orders. Should I turn around, drop you back off?”

His left index and middle finger tap the wheel pointedly, staggered. The sound looms in your silence. You shake your head and murmur the quietest No you can muster. You back is flat against the passenger door where he tossed you. You can only stare ahead at him. Frozen.

“Tonight, you do not take initiative, you do what I tell you. You don’t speak or make noises unless I allow you to. You don’t think for yourself, at all. Starting now.”

You think his words should be a question. You think there should be a negotiation and an open line of communication. You think, this is the moment where you should be able to say “no,” and “please, not tonight,” and “I just want to make you feel good, I want to be good for you but I can’t under those terms.”

But that’s not how this works. That’s not how this had ever worked.

He watches you, from the corner of his eye, nod twice in your seat. His tilted smirk lights his face up with mischief. He doesn’t look at you for the rest of the ride to his house.

—- x —-

This whole arrangement had been perfect for the both of you, and casual as hell. It was the ideal way to compartmentalize the hectic schedules you both survived every day. You each had your own busy lives that neither of you felt the need to mix and complicate with a full functioning relationship. Not when it was really only the lack of sex that put you both on edge and unable to focus on your own lives and careers. The two of you were similar in this aspect, workaholics with control and self care issues.

This though, the pain and dominance or whatever, this was newer.

He had started this several weeks ago, with a simple request to not move a fucking muscle after he changed positions. He repositioned you on your knees, elbows bracing your weight under you and ass pulled up high. Even after his brutal thrusts had returned, you didn’t tremble or shake. You didn’t shift your weight or adjust your elbows. You were still. And David came embarrassingly fast.

But you’re one to talk, you came twice before he did, sweating profusely with the exertion of not moving.

From then, it was in everything you did. The requests became bolder and started appearing earlier in the nights you spent together. His requests quickly turned to orders over the course of three and a half weeks to the point you’re at now.

Just waiting, silently, in his car for the instructions to get out and follow him as he kills the engine.

You can’t remember the last time you were able to ask him how his day was. Even if it was an empty pleasantry, you did kind of miss it. You missed feeling like every thing you did around him wasn’t a fuck up.

You’re not sure if he’s gotten angrier or just accepted himself more, but the sudden changes in him has given you emotional whiplash along side the marks he physically left. You hated this as much as you loved it.

And if you were smart, you’d cut this shit off right now. You’d get out, call your own Uber and fucking wait for it at the curb outside the gates to his property, like you did last night. You’d cut your losses and high tail it before you broke completely under his will.

Well, you never did claim you were smart when it comes to David.

He’s turning in his seat to look at you and, of course, you shudder slightly. You won’t leave until he tells you to.

It really was a simple arrangement at first.

—- x —-

Part Two — Part Three — Part Four — Part Five

#david dobrik #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik x reader #david dobrik smut #vlog squad imagine #david dobrik x y/n #david dobrik fanfiction

[truthofherdreams]

is this clickbait? (1)

also on ao3 + read the first instalment

SURPRISING MY GIRLFRIEND’S SISTER WITH A SHIBA PUPPY!!

Peter Kavinsky • 3.5M views • 4 days ago

 “Hello Catherine,” he greets her the moment she opens the front door, putting the camera in her face to distract her from what is happening in his minivan behind her.

Thankfully for him, Kitty eats this shit up as the resident extrovert of the Song-Covey household. “Well hello there, Vogue.”

“Are you ready to answer 72 questions?”

“Sure, let’s go!”

Lara Jean was the one to submit the idea, to have an excuse for Kitty to parade in front of the camera without her suspicions being raised. Peter can’t believe it’s working so well – she accepted the idea immediately and even pitched him questions he could ask her, to the point where he actually kinda feel bad about tricking her into believing all of this shit is real.

Kinda. Not really though.

“Where are we exactly?”

“This is the house where Lara Jean and I live and work. Pretty, right?”

“Amazing,” he agrees, playing along. “So, what’s your favourite thing about video editing?”

“Having a special folder for bloopers,” she replies with an easy grin. She’s apparently been compiling bloopers about him too, and he’s not exactly looking forward to what she’ll do with the footage. “But mostly the storytelling process. How editing and music can change an entire video.”

“Any interesting projects beside LJ’s cooking videos we should know about?”

“Maaaaybe,” she teases. She sent an application for a film school last week, but the information isn’t public yet, not until she gets an acceptance letter. “I’m working with Chris on her gaming videos, too.”

“Woah, that sounds fun!”

By now they’ve made it to the kitchen, Lara Jean in the right corner of his camera, sitting at the island with her laptop. He winks at her and she grins back. He wonders how long it will take before people comment on that – probably five minutes.

“Are you ready for a little dare?” he asks, focusing back on Kitty.

Bless her little kitten heart, she doesn’t notice anything wrong yet, simply offering him and smile and a shrugs as she exclaims, “Sure!”

With the hand not holding the camera, he grabs the small scarf tucked into the back pocket of his jeans and shows it to her. “I need you to lie down on the floor and put that on your eyes.”

She freezes.

Her face falls.

“What’s this? David fucking Dobrik?”

Peter can’t help but laugh out loud, especially with how Lara Jean is laughing too now. So much for keeping this video PG, thank you very much Little Covey.

“What is it? Is it a spider? Is it a snake? Is it a spider?! Cause we found out I’m allergic to spider bites when we were in Korea so–”

“It’s not a spider,” he replies, trying but mostly failing to be serious. She cracks him up so much. “Just cover your eyes, okay?”

“I hate you,” she states coolly, even as she snatches the scarf from him and wraps it around her head. Immediately, Lara Jean dashes outside to help Gabe. “I hate you so fucking much.”

Still, she sits down on the floor of the dining room, arm stubbornly crossed over her chest, and pouts in his general direction, before she lies down. She doesn’t move, only startles a little when the front door slams – well done, guys – but otherwise doesn’t even reach for the piece of fabric above her eyes.

Gabe shows up with the puppy, the cutest little furball he��s ever seen in his life, all roasted marshmallow levels of adorable. Gabe moves closer to Kitty, whose head moves at the sound. Thankfully, the puppy doesn’t whine.

“Okay, we’re gonna put it on you so don’t be scared.”

Which is exactly the opposite of what she does, wiggling a little as she gets herself worked up again. “I don’t care that you’re dating my sister, if it’s a snake I’m going to – oh my GOD, PETER, WHAT IS IT?” She breaks into a scream when Gabe drops the puppy on her chest.

The puppy starts sniffing around, wet nose against her neck, and she yelps again. Even Lara Jean is losing it now, leaning against Peter for support. He doesn’t even think twice about it when he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

She all but ripes the scarf from her face, only to freezes at the sight of the puppy’s face so close to her face. It sniffs her a little, then licks her chin, but she’s too shocked to properly react.

“It’s a puppy,” she says, slowly.

“She’s about to cry,” Lara Jean whispers, low but now low enough that the camera won’t catch it. “Just watch.”

Kitty is sitting up, puppy now in her arms, and she looks up at Peter with wet eyes. If she starts crying he might do too, and it’s only going to end up messy and overly emotional.

“Merry Christmas, Little Covey.”

“You got me a puppy?!”

And then, yeah. She’s crying. Big tears and loud sobs, hugging the puppy to her as it licks her face and whines happily at being cuddles. Its little tail won’t stop wiggling, which is the cutest.

Lara Jean laughs, and it comes out wet too. When he looks down at her, she has tears in her eyes. He kisses her temple without really thinking about it, holding her a little bit closer.

“Do you like her?” he asks Kitty.

“It’s a girl?” she asks back, holding the puppy up to check. “This is so much better than a spider!”

 CovinskyIsLove 5 hours ago

like if you’re crying

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 HearMeRoar 3 days ago

when lj started crying too and peter comforted her i felt that

View 8 replies v

 groffsauce 2 days ago

My sister’s boyfriend is a dirtbag who doesn’t even pay for their dates and this motherfucker gave Kitty a puppy? What the shit???

View 15 replies v

…

 QUEER IS THE WORD

Lucas Krapf • 1.8M views • 5 days ago

 “So people have been blowing my mentions since last video because of point three seconds of Peter and LJ in the background,” Lucas announces to his camera, one hand holding it while the other rises to rub against his hair. “And people keep asking if they really are that cute all the time. So, here. Look what we have to deal with on a daily basis.”

He’s walking toward the kitchen now, where most of the gang is gathered. Unsurprisingly, Peter and Lara Jean are side by side, bodies glued to each other. It’s nothing unlike what has been going on during the past few months, but Lucas still noticed the slight differences since New Year’s Eve – they’re more comfortable around each other, especially LJ. It’s almost unnoticeable, especially when you don’t know they were faking it before that. But Lucas knows. And he notices.

“Look at that,” he exclaims, camera zooming in on Peter’s hand in the back pocket of LJ’s jeans, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. Which, it isn’t. They’re the only two idiots in this world to be that lovely cosy with each other all. the. freaking. time. “What kind of heterosexual nonsense?”

LJ and Peter both turn at the same time, and his camera zooms out and moves up to capture their twin expressions of surprise. Peter’s hand still hasn’t moved, because they’re disgusting like that.

“Who are you calling heterosexual?” Peter asks.

Chris lets out the uglier, loudest cackle in the history of humanity, because that’s just how Chris rolls on a daily basis. Homegirl has no sense of modesty or etiquette, she’s wired like that. And he loves her for it. “Peter Pan!” she exclaims, holding her hand up for Peter to high five.

“Peter Pan!” he replies in the same loud, cheerful voice, hand slapping hers above the kitchen island. He turns back to Lucas then, more serious. “But don’t film my girlfriend’s butt, thanks.”

“Why?” LJ asks, falsely innocent. “It looks great on camera.”

Lucas cuts on Peter’s dumbfounded face and another cackle from Chris.

 …

 Calling Chris’s bedroom a “bedroom” really is about semantics. Like, yes there is a single bed in a corner, so technically it qualifies. But Chris’s room is her video games room, first and foremost. Her TV setting takes over most of the space, what with how many consoles she owes. Two full walls are floor-to-ceiling shelves of video games in their boxes, Funko Pops and other geeky paraphernalia. There’s her computer and her gaming chair in a corner. More cameras and recording material than Lucas knows what to do with it. So, really. Not a bedroom.

And the best thing is, she always has snacks for when she’s playing and for when people are playing with her. She’s taken to stocking Pocky boxes for LJ, next to her own gummy bears. Freaking adorable, how close those two girls are now. Like sisters. White and Asian sisters.

They’re playing Mario Kart, and Lucas is just filming, ‘cause he’s bored and he needs content. LJ getting competitive over nothing is always fun, not to mention clickbaity. So yeah, Mario Kart, camera, Japanese snacks. The best of the best.

Chris is getting worked up over the Rainbow Road, like you do, when her phone starts lighting up like a Christmas tree. Which is weird – she’s usually so very good at not having her phone around when she’s playing, because it keeps her focused not to have to worry about her notifications. The only times she purposefully has her phone around is when she’s doing a special Twitch live and she needs to check her donations.

So Lucas’s attention zooms in on her phone, obviously. “Who’s Veronica?” he asks.

It’s an innocent enough question, but Chris tenses and LJ is distracted enough that her Yoshi falls down the Rainbow Road. “Wait, Veronica Veronica? RomanticRonny Veronica?”

Chris does a very bad job of pretending to be chill, her eyes never leaving the TV screen but her shoulders tense as shit, her knuckles white around her controller. “Yeah, we’re texting,” she replies, fake casual. Damn.

“Didn’t she make a come-out video like, three months ago?” Lucas asks, just to watch her squirm. He can always edit this part out if Chris asks him to, that’s chill. She’s just as open with her sexuality as Peter and Lucas are, but it doesn’t mean he will post about her crush if she doesn’t want him to. Privacy and all that, they’re pretty good at this stuff with each other.

“Did she now?” Chris replies-asks, with a shrug. Bad Acting 101. “Not that it matters or shit.”

“She’s texting again,” Lucas points out, when her phone lights up again.

“How about you shut up, Krapf?”

He only laughs.

 SapphoBitch 2 hours ago

is2g if any of you comes with a ‘queer is a slur’ because of the title i’m going to cut a bitch bc Peter identified as pan AND queer in his coming out video and Lucas and Chris are both chill with it too so stfu u ignorant terf-sounding assholes

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 Song Bakery ✓ 4 days ago

7 billion people in the world to choose from and he picked me. Of course I am okay with that aspect of Peter’s identity, why wouldn’t I be?

View 73 replies v

 PizzaSlut 3 days ago

we stan one (1) progressive, unproblematic squad

View 9 replies v

 …

 Who knows me better? challenge (boyfriend vs sister)

Song Not-Bakery • 3.7M views • 2 days ago

 “Hi everyone and welcome to my second channel!” Lara Jean greets the camera with a little wave. “It was a long time coming, and it’s all because those two right there bullied me into doing it.”

“Kindly,” Peter clarifies. “We bullied her kindly.”

“Cause that makes it so much better,” she tells him, forcing herself not to grin when he wrinkles his nose at her adorably. This man will be her undoing. “Anyway, it’s all Kitty and Peter’s fault and they’re both extra competitive, so what better way that to start this channel than with a competition about me?”

“Which I’m going to win, because I’ve known her the longest,” Kitty chimes in.

“We’ll see about that,” Peter replies, hand already hovering above one of the two call bells Lara Jean bought for the occasion. Peter was playing with it for ten minutes before they even started filming, and she made a mental note to hide them well once they’re done, for her own sake.

“Each question gives you one point,” Lara Jean explains, all business, ignoring how Kitty and Peter are flexing and silently talking shit at each other from across the table. Most competitive people she knows, indeed. “And the winner gets one favour from the loser, as long as it’s decent.”

“Peter buying me Taco Bell every day for a moooonth,” Kitty singsongs.

“And healthy.”

“Peter buying me by Chloe every day for a moooooonth,” Kitty amands.

“Better,” Lara Jean replies, while Peter tries his hardest not to burst into laughter, all tight-lips and puffed cheeks. “Okay, get ready! Question one! What’s my Hogwarts house?”

Kitty hits the bell so fast it flies across the table. “Hufflepuff!”

“Point Covey!” Lara Jean agrees. “Which movie did I quote in my high school yearbook?”

Peter and Kitty share a look, before he tentatively rings the bell. “Amélie?”

“Correct! Point Kavinsky,” she replies, smiling at his preening.

“How do you even know that?” Kitty asks him, suspicious.

“Your dad showed me all your embarrassing childhood pictures,” he replies with an easy shrug. They went to visit two months ago for her dad’s birthday, his official meeting with Peter. Which went really well for the two of them, not so well for Lara Jean when he dad got all the family albums out. She had to steal Peter’s phone from him so he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like share with the world. “You look cute with pigtails, by the way.”

Kitty pokes her tongue out at him.

“What’s my birthday?”

They both attack the bell, but Kitty is faster. “May 15th.”

“Point Covey. What’s my favourite colour?”

Peter is faster. “Blue.” Then, turning to the camera, “And she looks super pretty in blue.”

Lara Jean barely manages to hide her blush behind a laugh as she moves on the the next question. As expected, Kitty and Peter get more and more worked up with each question, yelling their answers and sending the bell flying more than once. She can’t help but laugh when Kitty throws herself above the table to try and steal Peter’s bell, to prevent him from winning. He holds it above his head, too high for her to reach even when she jumps.

They go on like that for half an hour, Lucas keeping track of points behind the camera and holding his laughter back all through filming. Not all heroes wear capes, after all. She’s almost done with her questions when he shows her the mini whiteboard, announcing 12 points each.

“Okay, it’s a tie, so last question to win the game.”

Kitty points to her eyes with two fingers, then to Peter, then to her eyes again. Both their hands hover over the bell, ready to pounce on it. The tension is thick in the room.

“Who’s my dream guy?”

Peter yells the answer before he even hits the bell, “Gilbert Blythe!” Then, ignoring Kitty’s look of pure disbelief and horror, he turns toward the camera with a smirk that shouldn’t be quite as smug as it is, given what he is talking about. “Because he’s smart, and handsome, and loyal, which makes him Lara Jean’s dream Hufflepuff boy. Kavinsky out!”

“Kavinsky win!” she agrees, grabbing his wrist to hold it like he just won a boxe match instead of a little Youtube competition.

Kitty makes a big deal of pouting and folding her hands on her chest, the perfect image of a sulking child. It only makes Peter laugh harder, of course, because he can be a real jerk when he puts his mind to it. Not a mean jerk, but he knows how to push Kitty’s buttons, how to make her snap just enough to make it entertaining to everyone involved, even Kitty.

“So that’s it for today, guys. Check out Peter’s channel and Kitty’s Instagram account, links in the description, and don’t forget to like and subscribe for more videos like this one! Bye bye!”

 CovinskyIsLove 2 hours ago

Smart, loyal and handsome? Wonders who that describes perfectly hmm hmmmmmm… Not fooling anyone, LJ!

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 TeenageNinjaTurtle 9 hours ago

Kitty is so fucking hilarious she needs to be in all the vlogs! More Kitty!

View 6 replies v

 MrsKavinsky 2 days ago

The Gods of Youtube have listened and given us LJ’s second channel, we are so blessed!

View 12 replies v

#covinsky #covinsky fanfic #covinsky ff #to all the boys I've loved before #fanfic #ff: tatbilb #ff: do it for the views