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nadvs · 5 months ago

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better off (part three) (end)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you and rafe take time apart to try to get better for each other. it’s harder than both of you expected.

warnings toxic relationship, smut

» part one / part two

» masterlist

Rafe knew he’d see you around. He figured that he’d spot you at parties. After all, a party is where you two met.

And he knew it’d be hard to act like strangers. But not this hard.

It’s been almost a week since the day at the marina. As he watches you in the crowd across the room, he’s afraid of breaking some unwritten rule by starting a conversation with you.

You said to give it a few weeks, then you’d talk. It’s been just six days. And he’s losing his mind.

The month of silence after your break-up was hard enough. At least he was just angry then, numbing the pain. But this? Having you at an arm’s length, but leaving you alone for the sake of ‘getting better’?

He felt so stupid getting home after your conversation. He didn’t even know where to start. Staring at his ceiling. Wondering what the hell getting better even looked like.

His friends would laugh their asses off if they saw his search history. ‘How to be a good boyfriend’ has to be among the most embarrassing searches.

That stuff should just come naturally, but he’s been filling up the album named after you in his phone with screenshots. Now, piled up after his favorite photos of you are snippets from advice columns and articles.

Rafe has always felt a twinge deep in his core that he doesn’t measure up. He’s missing something that would deem him good enough. He knew from a young age from the way his anger consumed him that there was something off.

That’s why it felt like a dagger to his heart any time you told him there was something wrong with him. He hated the confirmation. And that’s why he’d say whatever he could to hurt you just as bad.

It always seemed to hit you the hardest when he said no other person would want to put up with you. You shut down whenever he said that. It gave him a sick sense of power. But that’s what he’s trying to get away from. Being sick.

It’s nerve-wracking. Knowing he’ll have to prove himself to you. Wondering if maybe after all this, you’ll come to the conclusion that you shouldn’t be together at all. You said you were bad for each other countless times throughout your relationship.

The anxiety flooding his body sharpens when he sees a guy start talking to you. And you actually start talking back.

Hot, urgent rage flares in his chest. Normally, if you were together, he’d waste no time rushing over there, pushing the idiot away and yelling at you for entertaining him for even a second.

But are you even together? While he wouldn’t be interested in talking to another girl right now, you don’t seem to feel the same way, looking pretty with a smile on your face while you talk to the stranger.

His anger is just getting worse. He needs to get the fuck out of here. He pushes past the crowds and finds himself in a bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

He’s hunched over the sink and staring at the mirror, his lips parted as he breathes heavily. He has coke in his pocket. He wants to use it.

But it always just makes him more wired and paranoid. And he thinks part of getting better is not giving into these sorts of vices. It feels like his only option for some sort of release, though.

He stands up straight, the heels of his hands over his aching eyes as he paces back and forth over the tiled floor. Crying again. It’s all his body has been wanting to do since you broke up, but he usually can find a way to stop through a bottle or a line.

“Stop,” he whispers to himself. “You’re being a fucking pussy. Stop.”

Maybe that guy isn’t a stranger to you. Maybe you’ve been talking to him, planning to leave Rafe in your past. Maybe all this being healthy alone to be healthy together shit is a game you’re playing just to abandon him in the end.

Goddamn it. He’s spiralling.

A few rapid knocks on the door pull him out of his thoughts.

“Fuck off,” he shouts.

“Are you okay?”

He flattens his lips, his heart twisting once he realizes it’s you, the only person he’d open the door for right now.

He looks at his reflection. He turns on the tap to splash cold water on his face so you can’t tell he’s been crying. But in his haste, he wets the front of his shirt too, and lets out a frustrated groan.

He swings open the door. Your eyes are full of worry. And they’re beautiful and look like home. Six days is a fucking eternity.

“Hey,” you say, your brows furrowed. “Did I cross a line or something?“

“What?” Rafe says.

“Why’d you run off after I texted you?”

He feels for his phone in his pocket and pulls it out to see a text from you. Can you save me from this guy?

“I - I didn’t see this,” he stammers. He realizes this means you don’t have him blocked anymore.

“What happened?” you say, your eyes dropping to his chest, a dark, wet splotch spread across his t-shirt.

“Did he do something?” he asks at the same time.

“You first,” you say with a small smile.

“It’s just water,” he says, quick to shift the attention back onto you. “Did he?”

You look over your shoulder, back in the direction of the front room where the party is.

“No, he was just trying to hit on me and I wasn’t in the mood,” you say. You’re relieved Rafe didn’t purposely ditch you after you texted him, like you thought.

It feels so familiar, him being so protective over you. He’s thrown quite a few punches in the name of keeping you safe and claiming you as his.

Maybe it was toxic to like watching your boyfriend swing at guys who made you uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. Other girls would try to pull their boyfriends away from fights. You would watch yours with a smile on your face.

You meet Rafe’s eyes again. Even though you’re the one who told him you wouldn’t speak for a while, you were worried you messed something up by contacting him. But he looks anguished over missing a message from you.

For once, the struggle for dominance between you doesn’t feel like a struggle at all. He so obviously just wants to be good with you again. You hold all the power.

“Don’t stress. It’s fine,” you say sympathetically. “He finally left me alone.”

You don’t tell him you told the pushy guy you were going to look for your boyfriend. Because while you feel optimistic about what the future holds for you and Rafe, you can’t say you’re entirely confident you can both do this. And calling him your boyfriend again feels like too much right now.

The more you think about it, the more you realize just how broken you both are. You’ve been reading about how important it is to learn the underlying reasons for toxic behavior. And the two of you never liked facing your demons.

Rafe shuffles in place. It’s nice to be talking to him again, but by how stiff he seems, you’re doubting that he shares the sentiment.

“Why were you smiling at him?” he mutters.

The edge to his tone and the hard way he’s looking at you throw you right back to when you were dating. To the dread you’d feel when you knew an argument was starting.

“I was being polite,” you say.

“Polite,” he huffs. “If you want to keep your options open, you can just fucking say that.”

That. That’s what keeps you from allowing yourself to slip into the warm comfort of hope. You didn’t expect a change overnight, but this is the exact same man who left you on the marina.

Jealous. Domineering. Combative. No improvement at all.

“Are you hearing yourself?” you say, bitterness swirling in you. “I literally texted you asking you to rescue me.”

“You were giving him attention,” he says, “and then what, he said something you didn’t like and you decided to stop ‘being polite’? If you want to talk to other guys, own up to it.“

Frustration tenses through your muscles.

“I don’t want to talk to other guys,” you state. “I told you, I want to be healthy on my own first.”

“Sure,” he scoffs. You know this feeling all too well, the sense of betrayal when he dismisses you and acts like you’re making shit up.

“So, I’m lying?” you mutter.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says. He notices you flinch in embarrassment.

He’s still holding it over you, the way you let him believe you had someone new after you broke up.

You were wrong. The power struggle between you is still very much alive.

“This is exactly why we shouldn’t be talking,” you snap. The ugly impulse to be mean to him rises in you. “This is you trying to better yourself? Dick.”

You turn around to walk away. He hates himself for it. The fear of being left is such a powerful force, always taking him captive, always making him act possessively.

But he’s not wrong. You were smiling at that guy. And you have lied in the past.

He calls your name. You ignore him.

The next morning, you sit on your front porch with your phone in your hand. Rafe texted you early this morning.

Need to work on my jealousy. I know.

It’s weird, witnessing him admit to a wrongdoing. It’s not a sorry. But it’s something.

And despite your rash words, you’re proud of yourself for walking away last night. The old you would’ve stuck around for a screaming match. But you don’t want to be the old you anymore.

You finally reply: i shouldn’t have called you that.

He texts back: I deserved it.

You put your phone down. The exchange was stiff and almost formal, a far cry from how you’d normally speak to each other, but it feels like a step in the right direction.

Days pass. Rafe wishes you replied. He said he deserved it just so you’d say he didn’t.

But he used to do this a lot; saying or doing things just to get a specific reaction out of you. That might be part of what makes him sick.

The next weekend, you don’t see Rafe at your mutual friend’s beach party. It’s strange, considering he hardly ever misses an opportunity to get drunk with his buddies.

You look over to his group of friends for what feels like the hundredth time. He’s not there.

You were looking forward to seeing him. Maybe even talking to him. It’s been two weeks since you decided to try to better yourselves, and even though he hasn’t technically been your boyfriend for a month and a half now, missing him never gets easier.

You pull out your phone every so often, going back and forth between if you should text him. You check his social accounts, having unblocked him and refollowed him a few days ago, to see he hasn’t posted anything lately.

Step by step, you’re making space for him in your life again. Really, the space he once filled never went away. It’s just an empty void now.

This time apart idea is stupid.

You stop yourself from indulging in the thought. You did all the time back when you were dating - it becomes addictive to tell yourself whatever you were fighting over wasn’t a big deal. That you should just be happy to be with Rafe. That the issues don’t matter.

Maybe he didn’t ever really validate you, but you were bad at doing it for yourself, too. You need to remind yourself that this break is important.

But is it so bad to check up on him? Make sure he’s alright?

You pull out your phone and text him: You doing okay?

Your heart drops when the text immediately comes up as undelivered. He blocked you.

After every argument, if anyone blocked anyone, it always was you blocking him. He’d try to find other ways to contact you, sometimes even finding one of your friends on social media to ask to talk to you.

As you stand with your friends, you pretend to scroll through your phone, trying not to cry. One recurring theme in your relationship was that he always accused you of not really caring that much about him, at least not as much as he cared about you.

Your nasty habit of blocking him must be part of the reason why. Because this feeling of outright rejection, of someone clearly showing you they don’t want to hear whatever you want to say, stings.

You liked the power trip of when you blocked him because he always did whatever he could to talk to you again. And you realize just how fucked up that was.

You find an excuse to rush home, not wanting to even mention to your friends why you’re choked up. They’re already apprehensive about you and Rafe actually being able to have a healthy relationship.

You spend the rest of your night in your bed, crying because you and Rafe really did bring out the worst in each other. Because he might have decided he’s done with you and this idea of getting better for each other is not worth the effort.

Your pillow is wet with your tears by the time you finally fall asleep.

You try to spend the next day reading and journalling and imagining a life without Rafe. After the break-up, you were miserable, but you knew separating was what was best.

Now, after the promise you made each other to try to get better, it hurts so much more. You were hopeful. And he shattered that.

You’re desperate to feel the way you used to. When things were good. Your love could be bitter, but when it was sweet, it was incredible.

You once sat on the beach together well past midnight for hours, talking and laughing and cuddling as the waves crashed in front of you.

Now, every conversation turns into a fight. Why does this have to be so hard?

It’s a Thursday night when Rafe thinks about driving up to your spot. It’s a secluded, narrow trailhead that cars can’t get through.

You’d wrap your arms around him so tightly whenever he drove his motorcycle up the pathway. Once he reached the peak, which offers a vista of the island, boasting the beaches as well as the town, you’d sit on a blanket on the ground over the cliffside.

It was almost always quiet up there, a nice break from how loud things always feel for him. You two thought you were the only ones in the world who knew about the place, but other people have left pieces of their own memories there, empty beer bottles scattered around.

Thankfully, though, you’ve never run into anyone else up there.

He remembers one night, sitting next to you, thinking that he genuinely preferred you over everyone, even preferred you over being alone.

He realizes you never fought up there. Not once.

Rafe counts. It’s been eighteen days since your conversation at the marina. You said to take a few weeks. Almost three should be enough. He hopes.

He unblocks your number and texts you: Down to go to our spot? I can pick you up.

The anxiety as he waits for your response is almost paralyzing. Then, you reply: ok.

Holding Rafe again while on the back of his bike, smelling him, feeling his warmth, makes your chest tighten with the threat of tears.

You didn’t say much when you hopped on. You don’t say anything when you make it to the hill’s peak. You watch him grab the blanket he always carries in his bike’s rear trunk, bunched up in his big hands.

It’s all a fluid motion, working together how you always did before, flattening the blanket over the patches of dirt and grass and sand.

Rafe always got freaked out when you got too close to the edge, so you sit closer to the blanket’s far corner for his comfort.

He sits a foot away from you, his legs bent, arms resting on his knees. You haven’t looked at each other for longer than a second.

The sun is setting soon. The air is thick between you. It’s like you’re both afraid of breaking the silence.

You lick your lips, gazing out at the orange horizon of where sky meets sea. You see him look at you from your peripheral vision. You turn to meet his gaze.

You finally say what’s been turning over in your head for the past few days.

“Are we done?” you say weakly.

Rafe mournfully breathes your name, sounding defeated when he says, “You tell me.”

Normally, and probably aggressively, you’d ask him why he’s being difficult. But after so much time reflecting, you know he’s not trying to be. He actually thinks it’s on you.

Every time he muttered that you wouldn’t find someone who cared like he does. Every time he hounded you after you told him to stop talking to you. Every time he insinuated that you’re either considering cheating or have already cheated. It was his own poisonous way of trying to keep you.

Because now, you can see just how painfully insecure Rafe is. And it’s not on you to fix that. But it explains a lot.

And now, when he tells you that you’re the one who decides the fate of your relationship, you get why. He’s always been the one clinging onto you, but refusing to be vulnerable about it.

You hope he can be vulnerable now. And you’re willing to go first.

“How come you blocked me?” you say softly.

“You tried to text me?” He straightens. He looks genuinely surprised that you reached out first.

You get why. You never reached out first before.

“Yeah,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“It’s stupid,” he begins. “I wanted to text you but you said we can’t talk, so I blocked you and sent texts that couldn’t actually get to you.“

Your lips quirk in a sad smile. You did the same thing in your own way, writing down everything you wished you could say to him in your journal.

It was an exercise you read about online; saying what you want to say to your ex without committing to them actually hearing it. You wonder if he read that article, too.

“It’s not stupid,” you say. “Can I see them?”

“Some of them are…” Rafe looks away. “I was really pissed off when I wrote some of them.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “Mine aren’t all nice, either.”

His forehead crinkles, clearly taken aback again by the fact that you wrote him messages, too.

“I wrote what I wanted to say to you in a notebook,” you explain. “You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”

“I can,” he offers. “Just don’t get mad at me.”

You can’t promise that, so you stay quiet when he pulls out his phone. He hands it to you and you tap in his passcode, still the same numbers, and open his texts.

You see a glimpse of a message from his friends’ group chat. Someone simply texted: sure. And even though it’s mundane, it’s still so weird not knowing about Rafe’s day and his life and his plans.

You open your conversation. There’s a string of undelivered texts. You scroll to the top and take a deep breath.

Friday, 5:46 pm

It sucks not talking to you.

Saturday, 3:01 am

You think youre so mmuch better than me and it oisses me the fuck k off

You can tell he was drunk writing that one.

Sunday, 12:11 pm

I would take back a lot of the shit I did if I could

“What would you take back?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” Rafe says tensely. “A lot.”

Despite everything, you watch him through disappointed eyes. He would do this all the time as your boyfriend, act like an emotional conversation was corny and embarrassing.

He notices how sad you look. So, he pushes through for you.

“Like… I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says.

“I yelled at you, too,” you say, offering him anything you can during this moment of vulnerability.

“I scared you sometimes.” His eyes flit away. “You tried to act like you weren’t fazed, but I know I scared you. I’m sorry.”

The apology almost throws you off.

“Yeah,” you say after a beat. There’s no point in being dishonest.

You continue reading.

Sunday, 9:20 pm

I always fought to make this work and you never did. I always fucking cared more

Monday, 4:44 pm

I think about you every second. I’m going crazy

Tuesday, 9:57 am

I miss your laugh

Tuesday, 3:01 pm

I wonder if you noticed

You meet his eyes, immediately seeing the pink tinge on his cheeks, even though the sky is dark orange now that the sun is now seconds away from setting. He’s embarrassed, likely from how raw and exposed he must feel.

“If I noticed what?” you ask.

“That I wasn’t at that party last weekend,” he admits. He knew you were there because he asked his friends.

“I noticed,” you say. “That’s when I texted you. Where were you?”

“Home,” he says curtly as he reaches for his phone.

“I’m not done,” you say, looking back down at the screen. His body tightens in minor irritation. This just feels like humiliation now, especially if you’re not planning to stay with him.

Tuesday, 11:30 pm

Obviously I love you and it’s so annoying every time you say I don’t say it enough

Your brows pinch in sadness. Now that so much time has passed, you feel bad for every time you guilt-tripped him about not saying it back.

Yesterday, 1:20 pm

To be honest I would choose being sick together over being healthy alone because at least I’d have you

The next message is the last one.

Today, 10:22 am

I just wish I was good enough

You realize your eyes have started to burn with tears. Rafe’s not simply insecure. Now, you’re almost sure he feels a sense of inferiority.

It tracks. He likes to pretend he thinks he’s better than everyone, bragging all the time. But the more you think about it, the more it seems forced in retrospect.

He acts like he’s above people because deep down, he feels like he’s below them.

“You’re more than good enough,” you tell him. You give him back his phone. “I promise.”

Rafe nods, looking away, clearly tense and awkward.

You spent your whole relationship fighting each other for the upper hand, but now you’re trying to figure out how to give it to him so he’s not embarrassed.

“The last thing I wrote down was that I hope we find our way back,” you confess.

Blue eyes land on yours. His expression has softened.

“What else?” His voice is rough, almost strained.

“You want to know everything?”

“Yeah.”

You look out at the view again, crickets chirping, thinking about all that you’ve wanted to tell him. The breeze is gentle and the remaining sliver of the sun nestles into the horizon.

“I used to feel good about myself around you, and then at some point, I just… I really didn’t like who I was, Rafe.”

It makes everything in him hurt. But then, you continue.

“I blamed you and I shouldn’t have,” you continue. “We both fought unfairly, but you didn’t bring anything out of me that wasn’t already there. I’m sorry that I made it your fault when I was mean.”

He blinks, nodding, staring at your profile as you continue to speak.

“I didn’t like how controlling and jealous you could get,” you admit. “You didn’t trust me and it hurt. I never actually did anything to make you question my loyalty, did I?”

Rafe chews on his lip. Tears prick at his eyes.

“No,” he says.

“And we had a bad habit of, like… of trying to prove each other’s feelings wrong,” you say. “But if we hurt each other, we need to just accept it instead of arguing about it, you know?”

“I know.”

“We did bring out the worst in each other,” you say. “And I hope we can bring out the best. Because we were best friends before, remember? And then we just started trying to hurt each other. And I don’t want that for us.”

You feel the shift in the air between you immediately.

You meet Rafe’s gaze again in the dark summer air. Even though every other time he said this, it took effort, this time, he has to try not to say it. But why would he not say it?

“I love you,” he says.

Your lips part as you take in a short inhale of disbelief. It kills him to see how shocked you look to hear it.

But some things can never change and that includes how he prefers to show his love. He was always more action-oriented. So, he moves closer and gently cradles your jaw, his thumb rubbing over your cheek.

“Please let me kiss you,” he mumbles.

You leaning forward is your invitation and when his lips press on yours, your body feels weightless. You can’t remember the last time you touched this tenderly.

It’s the polar opposite of when you had what you thought was break-up sex. Your contact isn’t rough and angry at all. It’s soft like it’s the first time.

Rafe pulls back, his forehead against yours when a tear finally drops off his chin.

“I love you, too,” you whisper. His features crease in relief. You can tell he wasn’t expecting you to say it back.

“And you don’t have to say it to me all the time,” you say. “You’ve proven it. You’ve really been trying to get better for me. I can tell.”

He kisses you again, more impatiently this time. He missed this, missed you so much that it’s like he was lost without any hope of getting back home but now, he can breathe. Really breathe.

When he feels your tongue against his, his entire body reacts, getting hot and tight and hungry. He can sense that you feel the same when a whimper escapes you.

Rafe shifts and plants his hot mouth on your neck, still embracing your cheek as you tilt your head to give him full access.

The air around you is cool and dark now and you wonder if he wants to go all the way like you do. You’d hear someone coming up the trail and would definitely see headlights, so you’re not afraid of being caught.

You’re not afraid of anything. Not when he holds you like this.

You run a hand over the back of his neck, gently scratching the way you know he likes. He can’t take it anymore.

Rafe guides you onto your back, hovering over you, blanketing you with his weight.

“Should I stop?” he asks, breaths shallow.

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t stop.”

A rush rips through you when you feel his hard excitement against you.

He wants you completely bare, but he can’t risk being caught out here, so he shifts to take off only what he needs to.

When he sinks into you, you’re both breathless and kissing through his thrusts. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tilting your hips so he can fill you completely, be inside you as deep as possible.

“I’ll do anything,” he whispers against your mouth. “Just don’t leave again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “You’re everything I want, okay? You were always everything I wanted.”

Hearing that repairs the remaining cracks in his heart. He kisses you hard and for the first time in his life, he cries from happiness.

It’s slow and loving and the most gentle you’ve ever been with each other. Afterwards, he helps you get dressed again, kissing your skin wherever he can.

With your hearts still racing, you sit facing the view, his body curved behind yours as you lean with your back against his chest.

His fingers run over yours, stroking and rubbing and pinching, kissing your cheek again and again out of pure adoration under the moonlight.

“We won’t be perfect,” you tell him. “We’ll mess up. But I want to make sure you know I won’t give up.”

“Neither will I, baby,” he says. “I never did.”

Even though his methods weren’t always the healthiest, it’s true. He’s what kept you together, time and time again, as if he knew deep down that you two could be good together if you just tried.

You’ve never felt so solid with him before. You bring the back of his hand up to your mouth, kissing him.

It’s such a soft, loving gesture that Rafe has to tell himself not to cry again. It wasn’t a heat of the moment thing; he meant it when he said he’d do anything for you.

You own him. Completely. And he’s lucky that you want him back.

“I feel so lucky to have you,” you say.

“I was just thinking that,” he says with a chuckle.

You laugh and kiss the back of his hand again.

And you spend the next couple of hours talking and joking together just like that night on the beach months ago, except this time, you’re better people determined to get even better.

(the end) (alternate sad ending)

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#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe #rafe cameron

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whore4gwen · 5 months ago

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Everything & More･ﾟ･｡

Young!Larissa x Milf!Reader

A/n: I have a screenshot of the ask, but I can’t find the actual ask anywhere!?😭 I sincerely apologize & hope whoever gets to see it! Hopefully, whoever did ask, I hope you don’t mind that I changed the concept slightly.

It’s been way too long since I’ve written for dear Larissa. I hope this is acceptable.

Tags: age gap, slight guilt, oral sex, begging, humiliation, pet names, slights religious themes, brief face riding, volume control, slight orgasm denial, borderline obsessive Larissa, Larissa is NOT a minor, play it safe & go with 19, top Larissa, bottom reader, fingering, all consensual, down bad reader & a very down bad Larissa, I think that’s it lmk if I missed any!

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You knew it was wrong, but how could anything that wrong feel so good? A small gasp erupted from your chest as butterflies filled your stomach.

Larissa pulled your thighs, scooting you, as if possible, closer to her ravenous mouth. She feasted on your center voraciously, as if she had been starved.

“Ooh Larissa.” You moaned as quietly as you could, burying your finger tips within the strands of Larissa’s hair, riding her face.

Your legs clutched together, suffocating Larissa between your thighs; not that she minded though, eating you out was heaven, it was all she imagined that it would be and more.Larissa would gladly worship the very ground you walked on, expecting any fate you deemed fit. She just couldn’t get enough of you, your smell, taste, sound, it consumed Larissa’s every thought.

“I-I’m so so close, please!” You begged, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Smirking, Larissa pulled away from your soaping core, “I would be quiet if I was you darling, it would be a shame if your daughter woke up and walked in on her mother, with her legs wide open, whoreing herself out to her daughters best friend.” Larissa teased in fake pity.

Groaning at yourself, you look away from Larissa, regret washing over you. Before you could think too much more about it, a bolt of ecstasy shot through you as Larissa pumped two fingers into you eagerly.

You quickly slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sinful sounds threatening to fill the air.

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” Larissa asked, licking a broad stripe up your clit. Confused, your brows furrowed, as you gave her a questionable look. Smirking again, “It turns you on having your daughters’ friend fuck you for anyone to see, for her to see, doesn’t it?”

Blushing, you quickly advert your eyes away from Larissas. The weight of her words gnawing at your chest. You want to feel more than a tinge of regret, but it’s so difficult when a sexy blonde is knuckles deep inside you. Larissa watches a hoard of emotions sweep across your face. She smiles menacingly at her small victory.

Everything is going exactly as Larissa anticipated. She got close to your daughter so she could get close to you, everything Larissa did, she did for you.

#larrisa weems #larissa weems smut #wednesday netflix #larissa x reader #smut warning #i miss her #larissa #principal weems #gwendoline christie #principal larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #fem4fem #shameless smut

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sacrednova · 1 month ago

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Drive me home | SImon "Ghost" Riley | 9

fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. Contains fake screenshots with texts messages and calls!!!! Start reading from the beginning: Part 1

It was embarrassing to admit, even in the privacy of her own thoughts, but yes—she had been imagining what it would be like to be kissed by Simon.

And hell, that wasn’t weird, was it? Most people do that. Right?

Still, the reality of it—the absolute truth she had to swallow—was that whatever fantasy she had conjured up in her head was nothing compared to this.

Because she had been wrong. Completely wrong.

If she’d been waiting for something rough, desperate, and unhinged… Simon Riley was none of those things.

Oh, wait—are you still wondering? Are you waiting for confirmation that this wasn’t some fever dream?

Yes, he kissed her.

Right there. In that very moment.

His hands—those massive hands that could crush, could kill—were cradling her face as if she were made of glass. Thumbs brushing against her skin, steady, reverent.

And his lips? God, his lips.

They moved.

Firm. Decisive. Not hurried or impatient but unrelenting in their purpose. There was no room for her to doubt, no room for hesitation, as his kiss pulled her under. Deep. So deep that breathing felt impossible—not that she cared.

Between the pressure of his mouth, the heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth against her lower lip—fuck, her chest burned like she’d forgotten how to inhale.

And then there was that sound. That sound.

A faint, gravelly groan, ripped from his throat when she instinctively pulled back to gasp for air. It was so quiet, so raw, but it sent shivers tearing down her spine.

There were no words.

No words for the way his scent—cologne and warmth and a hint of bourbon—wrapped around her like a drug.

No words for the way his fingers tightened, just slightly, against her jaw, as though grounding her.

No words for the way he made her entire body hum, alive in a way it had never been before.

Simon Riley kissed her like no one else ever had.

And maybe—maybe—no one else ever could.

And, as some wise old soul had said before, good doesn’t last.

The kiss ended.

Her lips, still tingling, parted as if to chase after him, to bring him back. But the moment was already slipping between her fingers like grains of sand.

Her eyes opened, searching—aching—for that soft gaze he’d given her throughout the night. That fleeting glimpse of vulnerability, of humanity, that seemed to crack through his carefully constructed armor.

But she didn’t find it.

Instead, Simon buried his face in her shoulder, the warmth of his breath brushing her skin, uneven and shallow. His broad shoulders, towering and imposing, were hunched as if bracing against a storm.

His hands came up, planting themselves on the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in—but not in the way that made her heart race with anticipation. No, this was different.

His chest heaved with deep, deliberate breaths, as though he was trying to wrestle control over something he couldn’t quite contain.

He was close—too close—but it wasn’t enough.

Not like this.

The silence between them felt heavy, like it carried the weight of something unsaid, something he didn’t have the courage to speak.

She wanted to reach out, to run her fingers through his hair, to coax him out of whatever war he was fighting within himself.

But she didn’t.

Because she could feel it—the invisible wall slamming back into place, shutting her out.

Her throat tightened as she whispered, “Simon?”

His body stiffened at the sound of his name, but he didn’t move. Didn’t look at her.

Instead, his voice came low, raw, muffled against her shoulder.

“Shouldn’t’ve done that.”

It felt like one of those movies—the bad romantic ones. The ones where the girl somehow “gets” the bad guy, the one who couldn’t love anyone.

Was that this? Was he the bad guy? And was she supposed to be the fool who tried anyway?

Her heart thudded unevenly in her chest as the words slipped from her lips, quiet and careful.

“What do you mean?”

She already knew. Or at least, she thought she did. Simon wasn’t like other men—wasn’t like anyone she’d known. If she wanted anything with him, anything real, she’d have to take her time. Go slow.

But then doubt twisted in her chest, the sharp edges of insecurity cutting into her voice.

“You didn’t like it?” she asked softly, hating how small she sounded.

“I did,” he said, the words landing heavy between them, like they carried a weight even he couldn’t quite bear. His head dipped lower, his breath brushing her neck, and when his nose grazed her skin, she nearly melted on the spot.

“It’s… different,” he admitted, voice rough and raw.

Her breath hitched. “Bad or good?”

Simon went still. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. That he’d let the silence swallow them whole.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he muttered, “…Never been good at it.”

Her lips curved into the smallest, faintest smile, her courage rising as her hands dared to slide up, just barely grazing the edges of his jaw.

“Well,” she said, her tone light but her heart hammering, “there’s always a first.”

Her words hung in the air, daring, inviting. A challenge.

And for a moment, Simon just stood there, his breath warm against her skin, his fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Like he was caught between wanting to run and wanting to pull her closer.

But then his hands shifted—uncertain, almost hesitant—resting lightly at her hips, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of her shirt.

His voice dropped even lower, a gravelly whisper against her ear.

“You shouldn’t make it so easy for me.”

"I am not making it easy for you," she admitted, her voice trembling just enough to betray her nerves. She tried to fake calmness, tried to steady herself under his gaze. "I want this. I want to try this... Do you want the same? Do you want to try?"

Fear hung between them, unspoken but heavy.

Not the fear of danger, but the fear of giving too much. Of laying herself bare like an open book. Of being honest with someone who could so easily crush her if he chose.

It wasn’t easy for her, this kind of honesty. The vulnerability felt sharp, like a knife cutting through her defenses. And it stung, realizing just how much she cared whether he answered yes or no.

Because people were supposed to take care of each other’s hearts, weren’t they? That’s what she’d always believed. But life had taught her that not everyone saw it that way. Not everyone cared as much about the weight of compromise or the fragility of feelings.

Did Simon?

Could Simon?

Would he be able to hold her heart—and his own—without breaking both of them in the process?

Past the kisses. Past the electric waves rushing through their bodies. Past the rush of heat and the vibrant swirl of emotions.

Could he stay?

“I do,” he finally said, his voice low, almost cautious. “But I can’t promise you for it to be good.”

Her lips twitched into a small, almost teasing smile. “Hm, are you some kind of crazy man?”

He paused, tilting his head slightly, his lips curving into that faint, almost-smile of his. “Well—”

“Wait, do not answer that one,” she cut in, raising a hand as if to stop him mid-thought.

And there it was—a sound she hadn’t expected but instantly craved to hear again. A soft, muffled laugh, more breath than sound, but it still warmed the air between them.

It worked for her.

It worked too well.

It started with another kiss. Or maybe two. No—too many to count. Each one blurred into the next, her mind spinning in a haze of heat and sensation. His hands roamed her back, strong and steady, pulling her closer every time she thought she'd manage to pull away. And when she finally broke free—almost free—she could still feel his breath on her lips, his grip lingering on her hips, like his touch had marked her somehow.

“I—uh, gimme a sec,” she stammered, stumbling out of his hold, practically tripping over her own feet as she backed toward the bathroom.

She closed the door behind her, pressing her back against it as she tried to catch her breath. She glanced at herself in the mirror—flushed cheeks, wide eyes, hair slightly mussed. God. Get it together.

But instead of calming herself down, she grabbed her phone and immediately texted Millie.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as a new wave of panic set in. She could picture him out there—tall, calm, probably standing there like he owned the place. What was he even doing? Just waiting for her?

Her phone buzzed, and Millie’s reply came through almost instantly.

Breathe. Right.

She set her phone down, splashed some water on her face, and opened the door—only to find him standing in her room.

“Simon?”

He didn’t answer right away. His back was to her, and he was holding something in his hands. She stepped closer, her heart racing as she realized he was looking at one of her photos.

He glanced over his shoulder, holding up the frame. “This you?”

It was an old picture—her and Millie at some party, laughing at something stupid. She wasn’t sure why it felt so embarrassing, but it did. Maybe it was because he looked so... normal about it, like standing in her room and picking through her life wasn’t a big deal at all.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she said, crossing her arms as her nerves crept up again.

His eyes wandered. Not in a leering way—he wasn’t looking at her so much as everything else. Her books. Her clothes draped over a chair. The half-open drawer with socks spilling out.

“You don’t mind me snooping, do you?” he asked, completely deadpan, as if he wasn’t already doing just that.

“Mind? Are you serious right now?” she shot back, trying to sound annoyed but mostly sounding flustered.

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk, and he set the photo down. “Relax. Just... getting to know you.”

“By going through my stuff?”

“Better than askin’ questions you don’t want to answer,” he said, his tone light but carrying just enough weight to make her heart skip a beat.

She didn’t know whether to scream at him or kiss him again.

"Better than asking," he repeated, his voice low, almost teasing, and she knew it was an indirect. Of course, it was.

"Huh! I knew you didn't want me asking," she quipped back, tilting her chin up in mock defiance, though her heart was doing flips in her chest.

The corner of his mouth twitched, his cocky expression settling into something so effortlessly hot it made her knees weak. Shit, did I say that with my face?!

"You can ask," he replied smoothly, stepping closer. "Just don’t wait for me to answer all of 'em."

The air thickened. His steps were slow but deliberate, and before she could think too hard about what was happening, his hands were on her again. It was natural now, like something between them had shifted, something fragile had finally given way. That invisible thread keeping them close but never close enough had snapped, and now nothing was holding him back.

He touched her like he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it. His hands clenched the fabric of her dress, pulling her in, anchoring her to him. His lips found her neck, slow and deliberate, and she swore she felt her heart stop.

It was too much. Too good. The way his breath brushed her skin, the way his stubble scraped lightly against her collarbone, the way every sigh she let out seemed to spur him on.

Her hands found his shoulders, gripping tightly as if to steady herself, but it only pulled him closer. His lips moved lower, and she felt her head tilt back of its own accord, giving him more space, letting him in without a word.

And God, the little sounds she made—the soft, shaky sighs, the unsteady inhales—they undid him. He wasn’t sure what he was chasing anymore: the sound of her breath, the feel of her against him, or the rush of finally having what he’d craved.

“Simon,” she whispered, and it wasn’t a plea or a question—it was a breaking point. For both of them.

Oh. God.

OH. FUCKING GOD.

She had seen naked men before. Sure, it was a thing that happened. Nothing special, nothing to write home about. She’d never really felt like it was something to admire, to worship, to actually see.

But now?

Hell itself had grabbed her ankles, yanked her down into a fire she didn’t know she could burn in, and whispered, "Naughty little thing," in every possible way.

Simon wasn’t naked. Not yet. He was just taking his shirt off.

JUST THE FUCKING SHIRT.

And yet here she was, back arching slightly against the bed, legs pressing together at the sight. It wasn’t just about the skin. It was about him, about the way his body moved as he pulled the fabric over his head. He wasn’t overly defined, not the kind of body you’d see in magazines. He didn’t need to be. He was something else entirely—raw, powerful. His body wasn’t built to be admired; it was forged to be a weapon.

Dangerous.

And yet, somehow, she couldn’t help but think... it was made to protect, too.

Her eyes traced the scars littering his skin, each one a story carved into his body, and for a moment, the heat of the room cooled just slightly. A twinge of worry crept into her thoughts. She wasn’t a medic, but she knew enough to understand that a bullet to the chest wasn’t something you just shrugged off.

“Few stories you have here…” she murmured, her fingers itching to reach out but hesitating.

“Hm, some…” His voice was low, almost casual, but when he turned his gaze to her, that stare nearly broke her. It was like he could see straight through her, but not in a way that unsettled her. It made her feel known. "Problem?"

“Not at all,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

The marks on his skin would never be a problem.

But the ones inside him?

Those were a different story entirely.

Another way to make her freeze.

That was what this was, wasn’t it? Another way of making her blood run cold and hot at the same time. Her eyes grew wide, her cheeks flushed crimson, her lungs filled with shaky breaths, and her stomach... God, that weird, fluttering feeling that tied her insides into knots.

It wasn’t until he took the last piece of her clothing away that she truly felt it—completely exposed.

Not exposed as in no clothes. No, this was deeper, more intimate. It was like he had peeled her open, layer by layer, until there was nothing left but her. Every insecurity, every thought, every feeling laid bare under his gaze.

She had never felt like this before—like she was completely at someone’s mercy—and actually wanted that person to like what they saw.

“Gorgeous,” he said, his voice low, thick, full of something she couldn’t quite name.

But what caught her wasn’t his words. It was his eyes. He wasn’t staring at her body, though she had expected that. No, his gaze stayed on her face—on her wide, shining eyes, the curve of her flushed cheeks, the soft part of her lips as she tried to catch her breath.

Simon saw her.

And it made her feel more naked than anything else ever could.

She didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at her, the way he felt about her. But Simon? Simon was discovering something entirely new, a terrain he’d never stepped foot on before.

New feelings, new emotions.

And there was no unknowing it now.

How could he un-learn the way his heart tightened when she smiled? The way his entire body burned with the need to protect her, to care for her? How could he stop liking her, stop wanting her, stop craving the way she looked at him like he was someone worth staying for?

How could Simon Riley stop wanting to be around her?

He couldn’t.

There was no turning back.

But there was never really any turning back, was there?

If Simon thought about it long enough, he’d see it. The exact moment it all started. That first night she texted him. A simple, stupid message. And then? His mind just wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

What happened to him being empty? Being cold?

There used to be a hollow point in his chest—a dark, unfeeling void he’d relied on for years. But now? Now, it felt... strange. Unfamiliar. Like something had started to fill it.

Not all at once, but in pieces.

Doubt. Wanting. Waiting.

Waiting for something more. For something bigger than the bullets, maps, and blood that made up his life.

And now here he was, staring down at her—her skin glowing in the low light, her chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths as his lips trailed along her collarbone.

Her body moved under his hands, and it made him feel... whole. Full. More alive than he’d ever been.

There was nothing in the world that could compare to this.

Nothing.

Nothing close to the sound of her gasping his name, to the feel of her gripping his shoulders like she’d drown without him.

And definitely nothing close to how badly he wanted her to see him.

Not just his body. Not just his scars. Not the mask he wore every single day to keep the world out.

No, he wanted her to see him.

Him and only him.

HEY YOU! The next chapter will be the last one before I take a break—I want to take some time to work and think properly about where I want this story to go. Thank you for your patience! ❤️ (In the meantime, requests are open!) If you want to stay updated about the comeback, let me know, and I’ll add you to the tag list! 😊 I don’t want anyone to miss it!

Tags: @sleep101 @all-by-myself98 @h0ney-mushroom @beelzebee @momowhoo @sheepdogchick3 @sleepisfortheweakpooh

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #cod modern warfare #ghost fanfiction #cod headcanons #fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ghost cod #fem reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #x reader

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dcvina-claires · 11 months ago

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saw this screenshot on twitter earlier and wanted to elaborate on it. more specifically, i wanted to elaborate on the order i think the remaining survivors will die in if this theory is true. to start off, i think the next to die will be lottie. while lottie isn’t the pinnacle of innocence like laura lee or the moral compass like jackie and nat, she’s not completely irredeemable either. she does bad things, yes, but most of her actions (starting a cult, manipulating the group) come from a place of wanting to help others. she’s horrified when she finds out that the others hunted nat and let javi die instead and she’s willing to get beaten half to death just so shauna would feel better. that being said, she’s the one who leads in sexually assaulting travis, making her more guilty than laura lee, jackie, and natalie who didn’t partake. after lottie, i think taissa will be the next to die. it’s undeniable that tai has done some horrible things. she sacrificed dogs, purposely injured allie because she wasn’t a good enough player, and abandoned her comatose wife and child to hook up with her ex. that being said, a fair amount of the horrible things she does are when she’s the other version of her. tai wants to be good, but whatever is possessing her won’t allow her to be. out of all the yellowjackets, she’s the only one who was not conscious during jackie’s cannibalism, and was disgusted when van told her that she ate someone. which brings us to the third death: van. now, i know that this may seem odd. after all, what has van, who’s actions (affectionately) have had very little impact on the plot done to make her worse than tai or lottie or even nat? the answer is that van is the only one who doesn’t feel any guilt over what she did in the wilderness. it becomes especially apparent in her conversation with travis (“you should be ashamed” “i’m not ashamed travis. i’m glad i’m alive”) that she will do whatever it takes to survive. when javi is dying, the look that van gives him is bloodthirsty, eager. while she may not seem like the most important player at the moment, i believe that van will continue to go down a very dangerous path that leads her to being one of the more amoral survivors by the time of her death. as for misty and shauna, it definitely seems like shauna will die first. yes, they’ve both killed people, but shauna isn’t the abusive kidnapper that misty is. however, shauna is the main character, and i simply cannot see any version of the show where she isn’t the last to die. this leads me to believe that something is going to happen later on in the show that somehow makes her worse than misty, and she will be the last survivor following misty’s demise. and even then, at the end of the show, she will die too

#yellowjackets #yj #lottie matthews #taissa turner #van palmer #misty quigley #shauna shipman #shauna sadecki #laura lee #jackie taylor #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio

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mushroominaforest · 1 month ago

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Why did wenda hit oren with the tennis racket

That seems rude

Okay so, I’m gonna give you a bunch of background lol.

It’s very long sorry 😭 I’m also kinda bad with explaining stuff, so I’m just gonna say stuff and hope it’s coherent

Basically Wenda sees Pinki as her rival, since Pinki’s also pretty popular. Wenda has of course been an asshole to Pinki to try and bump her down a few spots on the social ladder, which mostly consists of gossip/rumours and mean-spirited pranks. But she does have to be strategic about being a jerk to Pinki, because anything to obvious or too mean could have people turning against her.

Oren on the other hand, is a much easier target. Wenda can get away with a lot more when it comes to him, and it’s a convenient way to indirectly hurt Pinki. And to be honest he’s just pretty easy to throw around in general lol. I mean, look at the height difference from my references. Bro doesn’t stand a chance.

Most of this is curtesy of @letdownthepainful, we were messaging a while ago about my hs au and we were cooking fr lol.

I’m bad with words but uh have some screenshots that might give more context lol

While the bullying is partly to try and reinforce the social ladder she’s so carefully made her way to the top of, and make sure everyone knows she isn’t one to be fucked with, Wenda is also essentially trying to break Pinki and Oren up. Either she’ll make Oren miserable enough that he’d rather be single than have to deal with Wenda, or she’ll finally prove to Pinki just how pathetic her boyfriend is, so she won’t like him anymore. Wenda can’t stand to see Pinki being happy, not to mention that Pinki being able to get a date while Wenda can’t could possibly effect her social status. And she can’t have that.

And then there’s the issue of Wenda being elitist. Because she’s very rich, and Oren is not, she doesn’t really think that his life is as valuable as hers. So Wenda doesn’t feel bad about what she does- that’s just how the world works, in her opinion. Its the pecking order, like @letdownthepainful said.

Here’s another image to help explain this all, Oren from Wenda’s POV

So yeah, pretty good target for someone like Wenda. He’s not very strong, not very tall, and not very rich.

Unfortunately for Wenda, she can’t seem to bully Oren hard enough to ruin his relationship with Pinki. And believe me, she tries. The more frustrated she gets with Oren still happily dating Pinki no matter what she does, the more extreme she gets with her bullying. And by the time Oren realizes that she might actually be genuine threat, not just a regular old highschool bully…

Tennis racket to the face!

#Oren is literally the chillest guy ever #Bro did not ask for any of this #Sprunki au #Sprunki Oren #Sprunki Wenda #Uh also I had to censor her lol #Use your imaginations #Anyways uh #Hi chat #Sprunki

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bad-surprise · 2 months ago

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i find many people in fandom incredibly annoying. that is not a secret and it is not a sin. it is far better, in my opinion, to talk through these feelings privately than to approach said individuals because being annoying is a) not a crime in any way, shape, or form, and b) fully subjective. i am sure other fans find me annoying, and they have every right to talk through their frustrations privately with trusted friends. they also have every right to block whoever they’d like or to share whatever i’ve posted that’s upset them with their friends in order to provide context for their emotions. it might hurt my feelings sometimes and i may not like it, but that doesn’t make it wrong.

as a queer black woman, i find it extremely upsetting when the language of social justice is used in bad faith by those looking to evade accountability for shitty behavior. that is the context of those remarks.

everything i said in that conversation i would state publicly. i didn’t, though, because it seemed pointless at the time. conversation with those involved (not any of the accounts who have centered themselves in this discussion) had already been attempted and the deliberate misrepresentation of events, warping of words, and bad faith tactics that followed rendered the situation hopeless.

fandom is not a monolith. we are allowed to have different opinions on everything, and i really enjoy productive conversations with those who have differing views, so long as they’re rooted in a genuine desire for mutual understanding. people i am friends with are free to be friends with people i dislike, i have never policed that and never will.

i am always open to conversation and will offer clarifications if they’re requested in good faith. i would also point out that the screenshots being shared are very carefully selected excerpts of a broader conversation— it might be wise to ask why those specific quotes (which were poorly worded at times, sure— that makes sense considering that they were part of private conversations between supportive friends who understood each other’s context, values, and intent) were decontextualized and used for this purpose.

initially, this fandom was a very creative place, filled with diversity of thought and opinion, characterized by a sense of curiosity, imagination, and collaboration. the occasional bad actor popped up, yes, and there have always been issues with antis (which i define as those who believe there is a moral component to shipping, though it seems like in this case it is being applied to people who simply have differing opinions about a ship beloved by both parties) and those outside of the fandom who dislike the ship, but generally it was a pleasant space in which to exist alongside others. that has slowly diminished to the extent that it’s now very difficult to find reasons to remain involved. i worry that the point of all this is to push people out, but i also hope that isn’t the case.

there is no right or wrong way to ship sauron and galadriel. there is no right or wrong way to ship, full stop.

i’m so fucking exhausted by this conversation and by the fact that accusations of racism or homophobia in this fandom so often target black and queer individuals, misrepresenting our response to circumstances where our lived experiences are repeatedly decontextualized, devalued, disregarded, or manipulated in the service of something as petty as a ship war. it’s not leftism, it’s not social justice— it’s tone policing as an attempt to stoke moral outrage, and it feels a hell of a lot like an effort to dictate the rules of participation in a ship.

but i genuinely believe there’s enough room here for all of us, including those individuals i personally find disingenuous and/or annoying.

#fandom shit #it’s been an exhausting two years but i am still grateful to be part of this community

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niallerspayno · 14 days ago

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Troublemaker - Part 4

Masterlist

Management has been keeping a close eye on your relationship with Liam, and they’re far from thrilled. Determined to maintain control, they step in to interfere. Can you and Liam withstand the pressure, or will the challenges of a public romance prove too much to handle?

Tags: Liam x reader, mainly angst and fluff

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

...

The tension in the meeting room is suffocating. You and Liam sit side by side, your hands clasped tightly under the table. Across from you, the management team sits with polished precision, their stern expressions unyielding. Paul, seated near the end of the table, looks slightly uncomfortable but resolute, his arms crossed.

“We need to talk about your relationship,” the woman at the head of the table begins, her voice sharp and clipped. “It’s gotten out of hand.”

Liam straightens, his jaw ticking. “Out of hand how? We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“It’s not about right or wrong, Liam,” another manager interjects. “It’s about optics. The excessive PDA, the onstage kisses, the marks—it’s unprofessional. This is a brand, not a romance novel.”

You feel your stomach drop as the accusations pile on. “We’ve had nothing but love and support from fans,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Not entirely,” the woman counters, pulling out a folder. Inside are clippings of tabloid headlines, screenshots of tweets, and candid photos of you and Liam. “There’s growing chatter about favoritism and distractions. Fans love a good romance until it threatens what they’re really here for—the music and the band’s cohesion.”

Paul clears his throat. “Let’s be fair here. The public reaction has been mostly positive. A few bad headlines don’t mean the whole ship is sinking. Liam and Y/N are good together, and you know it.”

“It’s not just about headlines,” the woman snaps. “The PDA is becoming a distraction. And if this continues, we’ll have to take measures to separate you two professionally.”

Liam bristles. “Separate us how?”

“Separate hotel rooms. Separate flights. Even staggered schedules where possible,” another manager lists coldly.

You feel Liam’s hand tighten on yours under the table. “You can’t do that,” he says, his voice hard.

“We can, and we will,” the woman says flatly. “If this continues, we’ll have no choice. And if that’s not enough to stop the chaos, we’ll explore further options, including Y/N’s position in the band.”

The air leaves your lungs as the threat lands like a physical blow.

Paul sits forward, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s not get carried away. Y/N is an integral part of this band, and everyone knows it. Removing her isn’t a solution; it’s a mistake. They’re young and in love, yes, but they’re also smart enough to know where the line is.”

“Are they?” the woman counters. “Because from where we’re sitting, it doesn’t look like it.”

Liam leans forward, his voice sharp. “We’ll tone it down in public. Fine. But you’re not separating us. And you’re definitely not threatening her place in the band.”

“Liam,” Paul says gently, trying to calm him. “No one’s saying we want that to happen. But you both need to meet us halfway here. The marks, the kisses on stage—they’re making things harder than they need to be.”

You swallow hard, meeting Paul’s steady gaze. “We’ll be more careful,” you say quietly, even as your chest tightens with anger.

The woman’s eyes narrow. “You’d better be. Consider this your final warning.”

Liam stands abruptly, pulling you to your feet. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, his voice low but furious. “You can’t control how we feel about each other, no matter how hard you try.”

Paul gives you a small nod of encouragement as you and Liam leave the room, his hand protectively at your back. The hallway outside feels like a sanctuary after the suffocating meeting, but the weight of their words still lingers.

“They’re not separating us,” Liam says fiercely, turning to you. “I don’t care what they say. We’ll figure this out together.”

You nod, your heart swelling with determination. If they think they can break you, they have no idea who they’re dealing with.

...

You and Liam sit in the common area of the suite later that evening, the tension from the meeting still weighing heavily on you both. The rest of the band is scattered around, laughing and relaxed after dinner. Louis is sprawled out on one couch, Harry and Niall are sharing snacks on the floor, and Zayn is perched in an armchair, scrolling through his phone.

Liam clears his throat, his hand brushing over your knee for reassurance. The sound grabs everyone’s attention, and their laughter dies down as they notice the seriousness in his expression.

“What’s up?” Louis asks, tilting his head curiously.

“We need to talk to you guys about something,” Liam starts, his voice steady but firm. He glances at you, silently asking if you’re ready. You nod, and he continues. “Management pulled us into a meeting today.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About us,” you say, your voice more bitter than you intended. “Our relationship.”

Louis sits up straighter, immediately defensive. “What about it? Are they still stuck on the PDA thing?”

“More than stuck,” Liam mutters, running a hand through his hair. “They’re threatening to separate us—different hotel rooms, different flights, separate schedules. And worse, they’re threatening her spot in the band.”

The room falls silent. Even Zayn sets his phone down, his dark eyes narrowing.

“Wait, what?” Niall says, his voice tinged with disbelief. “They can’t just kick her out. She’s part of the band!”

“Exactly what I said,” Liam replies, his voice tight. “But they’re convinced the relationship is a distraction. They think the PDA is too much and that it’s affecting the band’s image.”

Louis’ face twists with anger. “That’s absolute bollocks. If anyone’s been a distraction in this band, it’s me. Should I be worried they’re kicking me out next?”

“I’d like to see them try,” Harry mutters, his tone dark as he crosses his arms.

Zayn leans forward, his expression unreadable. “So what’s the plan? Are they serious about this?”

“They are,” you admit, swallowing hard. “But we told them we’ll tone it down in public. No more hickeys or onstage kisses.”

Louis snorts. “Good luck with that.”

“Yeah, I give it two days,” Harry quips, his smirk cutting through the tension.

You can’t help but laugh softly, even as the weight of the conversation presses on you. “We’ll have to try. But honestly, the worst part was the way they made it sound like I’m disposable. Like I don’t belong here.”

“Absolute rubbish,” Louis says fiercely, his hand clenching into a fist. “You’ve been with us since day one. They’re idiots if they can’t see that.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Zayn adds firmly, his rare show of emotion reassuring.

“Thanks, guys,” you say, your voice softer now. Liam’s arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“Don’t worry,” Niall says, trying to lighten the mood. “If management tries anything, we’ll all show up to the next meeting covered in hickeys just to prove a point.”

The room bursts into laughter, and for a moment, the tension lifts. But as the conversation drifts to other topics, the band’s quiet determination to stand by you lingers in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.

...

A few days later the Late Late Show set is alive with energy as the band settles onto James Corden’s iconic couch. The audience cheers wildly, the buzz of excitement filling the room. You’re seated between Liam and Niall, close enough to feel Liam’s arm brushing against yours. The warmth of his presence is comforting, and when he glances your way with a soft smile, it’s impossible not to smile back.

James dives straight into his usual playful banter, teasing Louis about his relentless pranking streak and poking fun at Zayn’s mysteriously cool demeanor. Zayn smirks, leaning back against the couch, but even he can’t hold back a chuckle when James brings up an incident involving a misplaced microphone and Harry’s impromptu stand-up routine.

The room is filled with laughter, the camaraderie between the six of you palpable. You lean into Liam slightly, enjoying the ease of the moment, when James suddenly shifts gears with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Now, I have to say,” James begins, addressing the crowd as much as the band, “this group has been making headlines for years, but lately, it seems like a certain pair in this band has been stealing the spotlight.”

The audience erupts into cheers and whistles, and your cheeks burn as you instinctively duck your head. Liam laughs beside you, his arm brushing yours as he shifts in his seat.

“Don’t leave us hanging, James,” Louis pipes up, grinning devilishly. “Who’s the lucky pair you’re talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Louis,” James fires back, his grin widening. “We all know it’s Liam and our fabulous Y/N. Care to comment?”

Before either of you can respond, Louis jumps in, throwing a dramatic arm across the back of the couch. “Honestly, it’s about time. These two have been making eyes at each other for years. It’s been like watching paint dry waiting for them to figure it out.”

Zayn, who had been sitting quietly, smirks and adds, “Yeah, I’d say we were more surprised it didn’t happen sooner. The tension was killing us.”

Harry chimes in, his voice dripping with faux exasperation. “I mean, how many times did we have to deal with awkward lingering looks across the room? We should get a medal for surviving it.”

“And now,” Niall says with a grin, “we get to watch the rom-com in real time. It’s great entertainment.”

James turns to Liam, clearly enjoying the moment. “So, Liam, how does it feel knowing your bandmates have been your biggest cheerleaders in this love story?”

Liam laughs, his arm slipping casually around your shoulders. “It’s... something, I’ll say that much. They’re not exactly subtle.”

Louis snorts. “Subtlety’s overrated. We’re just happy you finally got it together.”

“And what about you, Y/N?” James asks, turning his attention to you with a kind smile. “How’s it been balancing band life and, well, this?” He gestures broadly between you and Liam.

You smile, steady despite the flutter of nerves. “It’s been amazing, honestly. I think having these guys around makes it easier. They’re like family.”

“Aww,” Niall coos, clutching his chest dramatically. “We’re the best family, aren’t we?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you tease, earning another round of laughter.

James nods, his expression softening. “Well, I think it’s safe to say the fans love you two together. And judging by the hashtags trending right now, the support is overwhelming.”

The crowd cheers in agreement, and Liam’s arm tightens slightly around your shoulders. He leans closer, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head, and the room seems to melt away for a moment.

For the rest of the interview, Liam keeps his arm draped around you. Louis is the most vocal, constantly steering the conversation back to the two of you, while Harry, Niall, and Zayn chime in with their own teasing comments. Even James seems genuinely happy for you, adding the occasional playful quip about young love.

As the segment wraps up and the applause swells, you glance up at Liam, and he squeezes your hand under the table. Whatever challenges lie ahead, this moment—surrounded by love and support—feels unshakable.

...

The steady hum of the tour bus is soothing in its own way, the faint rattle of the wheels over asphalt lulling you toward sleep. You’re curled up in your bunk, the thin curtain drawn to shield you from the dim overhead lighting in the hall. Sleep, however, refuses to come.

It’s been a long day, the high of the Late Late Show interview fading into a bittersweet ache. The weight of management’s scrutiny has settled heavily on your shoulders, dulling your usual spark. The fun—the pranks, the chaos, the lighthearted teasing with Louis—feels stifled, like a distant memory.

A quiet rustling draws your attention, followed by the sound of your curtain sliding back slightly. Liam’s familiar silhouette appears, his features softened in the low light.

“Couldn’t sleep either,” he whispers, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You scoot over without hesitation, making room for him. The bunk is cramped, but Liam slides in effortlessly, pulling the curtain closed behind him. His presence is warm, grounding, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as his arm wraps around your waist.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You press your face into his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne, and he strokes your back gently.

“I miss it,” you murmur after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Miss what?”

“All of it.” You sigh. “The fun. The chaos. Pulling pranks with Louis. Getting under your skin.” You glance up at him, a wry smile playing at your lips. “It feels like I can’t do anything anymore without management breathing down our necks.”

Liam’s brows furrow, his hand pausing mid-stroke. “You still get under my skin,” he says softly, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly at him. “You always do.”

There’s something in his gaze—tenderness mixed with an undeniable heat—that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah?” you whisper, your voice catching slightly.

“Yeah.” His lips brush against yours, a slow, deliberate kiss that leaves you breathless. “But maybe I need to remind you just how much.”

Before you can respond, his hand trails down your side, slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts. Your breath hitches, and your fingers clutch at his shirt instinctively.

“Liam,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’ve got to stay quiet, love.”

The soft glide of his fingers against you sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, and you bite down on your lip to stifle a gasp. The bunk feels impossibly small now, every inch of him pressed against you as his hand works its magic.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “Every single day.”

Your reply is a muffled whimper, your head tipping back as he quickens his pace. The rhythm of the bus beneath you matches the pounding of your heartbeat, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to let your voice slip.

Liam’s lips are everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—as he murmurs soft, encouraging words that only heighten the tension coiling in your stomach. When you finally break, your body trembling against his, he kisses you deeply, swallowing your quiet cries.

As you catch your breath, his hand withdraws, and he pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest.

“Feel better?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand stroking your back again. “And don’t worry. Management won’t stop us from being us. We’ll figure it out.”

His words, paired with the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, are enough to soothe the lingering unease. For now, in the safety of Liam’s arms, everything feels right.

...

The smell of coffee fills the air as you step into the lounge area of the tour bus the next morning. It’s a cozy chaos of mismatched pajamas, messy hair, and the quiet murmur of early conversations. The boys are sprawled across the couches and chairs, mugs in hand, and Louis is already mid-rant about something that has Harry shaking his head with a grin.

Liam is close behind you, his hand briefly brushing the small of your back as he moves to grab a mug from the counter. He’s been like that all morning—quietly attentive, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary, his eyes soft whenever they meet yours.

You plop down next to Louis, stealing a bite of his toast before he can protest. “Morning, sunshine,” you tease, grinning as he swats at you halfheartedly.

“Oi! Get your own breakfast!” he exclaims, but there’s no heat to his words.

“Why bother when yours is right here?” you reply cheekily, taking another bite.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes that’s impossible to miss.

Liam settles on the couch across from you, his eyes flicking between you and Louis with a bemused expression. He shakes his head slightly, muttering something about “starting too early.”

It’s Zayn who breaks the peaceful morning with a question. “So, what’s the plan for today?” he asks, leaning back in his seat.

Louis perks up immediately. “Funny you should ask, mate.” He turns to you, his grin widening. “Y/N and I were just saying how much we miss causing chaos. Management might be watching, but that just means we need to get creative.”

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “What’re you thinking?”

Louis leans in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a mock whisper. “Pranks. Big ones. I’m talking legendary.”

The suggestion earns a few groans from the others, but you’re already grinning, your mind racing with possibilities.

“I’m in,” you say, sitting up straighter. “What’s the target?”

“Who’s the target,” Harry corrects, eyeing Louis warily.

“Why limit ourselves?” Louis counters, spreading his arms. “The world is our oyster.”

“We’re on a bus,” Niall points out, deadpan.

“Details,” Louis replies dismissively.

“Okay, okay,” you cut in, laughing. “What about something harmless but memorable? We could...” You pause, looking at Louis for inspiration.

“Saran wrap on the toilet?” Louis suggests.

“Classic, but predictable,” you reply, waving a hand.

“Switching sugar for salt?” Zayn offers, earning a chuckle from the group.

Liam clears his throat, giving you both a pointed look. “Whatever it is, just don’t drag me into it this time.”

“Oh, come on,” you say, leaning forward with a smirk. “You love it.”

Liam arches an eyebrow. “Do I?”

Louis nudges you. “I say we do something epic during soundcheck. Sneak silly string onto the stage or swap Harry’s mic for a kazoo.”

The mental image makes you burst into laughter, and even Liam’s lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

“You’re both a nightmare,” Liam says, shaking his head, but there’s no mistaking the warmth in his gaze as he looks at you.

“Maybe,” you reply, grinning. “But we’re your nightmare.”

The planning continues, a mix of wild ideas and hysterical laughter filling the lounge. For the first time in days, the weight of management’s interference feels like a distant memory. You catch Liam’s eye from across the room, and the small, knowing smile he gives you sends a flutter through your chest.

Chaos may be brewing, but at least you’re in it together.

...

The arena is electric, a sea of glowing phone lights and deafening cheers as the band takes the stage. You’ve always loved this—being part of the magic, the energy, and the sheer joy of performing. Tonight, though, there’s a spark of mischief buzzing under the surface.

You glance at Louis as he adjusts his earpiece, a sly grin creeping across his face. He catches your eye and wiggles his eyebrows, mouthing, “Ready?”

You nod, barely suppressing your laugh. This is going to be fun.

The show starts like any other, the boys nailing their harmonies and playful banter between songs keeping the crowd engaged. But as you transition into the third song of the set, Louis leans into your microphone, his voice ringing through the arena.

“Alright, everyone,” he says, his tone dripping with mischief. “We’re spicing things up tonight. On three, the game is tag, and Y/N is it!”

The crowd erupts into laughter and cheers as you gape at him in mock outrage.

“Louis!” you exclaim, your mic catching your voice as he darts away with a cackle.

“You better run!” he calls over his shoulder, weaving through the stage props.

You don’t hesitate. The music continues in the background, the band adjusting their positions as you chase Louis across the stage. Niall is the first to join in, sprinting past you with a teasing grin.

“Tag me if you can!” he shouts.

Before long, Zayn, Harry, and even Liam are caught up in the chaos, dodging and weaving as you try to catch one of them. The crowd is loving it, their cheers and laughter nearly drowning out the music.

“Get back here, Payne!” you yell, zeroing in on Liam as he slows just enough to tease you.

“Not a chance!” he calls back, his voice warm with amusement.

Louis darts past you again, but you ignore him, your sights set on Liam. He’s fast, but you’ve always been quicker, and with one last burst of energy, you grab his arm, spinning him around.

“Gotcha!” you say breathlessly, grinning up at him.

But Liam doesn’t let go. Instead, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as the rest of the band gathers around, panting and laughing.

“Oh, come on!” Louis groans dramatically. “That’s not fair!”

“Looks like he’s been caught,” Harry says, his voice dripping with faux seriousness.

“And you know what that means,” Niall adds, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Louis starts chanting, his hands cupped around his mouth.

The other boys quickly join in, their voices amplified by their mics. It doesn’t take long for the crowd to pick up the chant, thousands of voices echoing through the arena.

You glance up at Liam, your cheeks burning, but he’s already smiling down at you, his expression soft and adoring.

“Should we?” he asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“As if we’d let them down,” you reply, grinning.

And then he kisses you—soft at first, but it deepens quickly, the cheers of the crowd swelling around you. His arms tighten around your waist, and you can’t help but smile against his lips, the moment feeling both rebellious and perfect.

When you finally pull back, the arena is roaring, the boys whooping and clapping behind you.

“Now that’s a show!” Louis shouts, throwing an arm around your shoulder as Liam reluctantly lets you go.

You glance at him, his eyes shining with pride and something deeper, and you know you’ve made your stance clear.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s a declaration—your relationship, your choice, no matter what management says.

...

The green room buzzes with post-show energy, the air filled with the smell of sweat and the faint hum of muffled music still reverberating through the venue. You’re curled up on the couch next to Liam, his arm draped around your shoulders as you rest your head against his chest. His fingers trace absent patterns along your arm, the comforting rhythm grounding you after the whirlwind of the concert.

“That was insane,” Niall says, collapsing onto the armchair opposite. “The crowd tonight? Absolute legends.”

“Legends who love a bit of drama,” Harry teases, holding up his phone. “Look at this—#TeamY/NandLiam is trending. Fans are losing it over the kiss.”

Louis leans over Harry’s shoulder, his grin widening. “Oh, mate, they’re obsessed. ‘Finally, the power couple we deserve.’ ‘Liam and Y/N giving us main character energy.’ This is gold.”

Your cheeks heat up as you glance at Liam, who chuckles softly, pulling you a little closer. “Told you they’d love us,” he says, his voice warm with pride.

Zayn, lounging on another couch, smirks. “Management’s gonna flip, though. Between the kiss and the trending hashtag? They’ll have steam coming out of their ears.”

You stiffen slightly at his words, a pang of worry settling in your chest. It’s not like you don’t know he’s right. Management had already been breathing down your neck about the public nature of your relationship, and tonight was practically a giant middle finger to their warnings.

“They can’t actually do anything about it, though, can they?” Niall asks, frowning.

“They can try,” Louis mutters darkly, his usual humor replaced with a rare seriousness. “They’re good at trying to control everything.”

Liam notices the tension in your posture and presses a kiss to your temple. “Hey,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. “They’re not gonna touch you. I won’t let them.”

You tilt your head to look up at him, his eyes filled with quiet determination. “I just... I don’t want them to have a reason to push me out,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Liam’s jaw tightens, his grip on your hand tightening in response. “If they try, I’ll quit. All of us. We stick together.” His gaze shifts to the rest of the boys, unspoken words hanging in the air between you. “We’ve been through too much together. I won’t let them force you out.”

Louis immediately stands, his stance firm. “Same here. If they push you, they’re pushing me too. No way I’m sticking around without you.”

Niall raises his hand in agreement, leaning forward from his seat. “I’m with you guys. Doesn’t matter what management says. We’re a team.”

Harry and Zayn follow suit, both nodding resolutely. “We’ve got your back, Y/N,” Harry adds, his voice calm but resolute.

Zayn leans back in his chair, looking between the group with a small, proud smile. “We don’t need anyone telling us who belongs here. You’re part of this band, always have been.”

The room falls quiet for a moment, the weight of their words sinking in. You feel your chest tighten, the emotions welling up as you take in their unwavering support. They’re not just your bandmates; they’re your family.

A tear slips from your eye before you can stop it, and Liam immediately brushes it away with his thumb. “Hey, no tears. We’ve got this, all of us. We don’t let anyone break us apart.”

You manage a shaky smile, the lump in your throat hard to swallow. “I don’t deserve all of you.”

Louis grins, reaching over to give your shoulder a comforting squeeze, “You do, Y/N. You always have.”

You snuggle closer to Liam, his warmth enveloping you as he kisses the top of your head. For the first time in a long while, you feel truly at peace despite the looming threat of management. With Liam and the band standing by your side, there’s no way they can break you.

...

The tension in the air is palpable as you make your way to the meeting room, your steps hesitant, but you’re trying to keep it together. You’ve been summoned alone, a fact that makes your stomach churn. You know exactly what it’s about: management is furious about the kiss, the trending hashtag, and the blatant disregard for their rules. They’ve warned you and Liam before, and it’s clear that this time they’re not going to hold back.

You’re about to open the door when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to find Liam standing behind you, his expression set in stone.

“You’re not going in there alone,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You shake your head, trying to hold back the nerves. “Liam, they’ve asked for me, not all of us.”

He doesn’t budge, and soon, Louis steps up beside him, a determined look on his face. “If they want to talk to you, they’re talking to all of us. We’ve been through this together.”

One by one, the rest of the boys join, each one making it clear that they’re not letting you face this alone. Zayn, Harry, and Niall stand side by side, and you can’t help but feel a rush of emotion at their support.

“Management can’t dictate who we are,” Harry says with a quiet defiance. “If they want to say something to you, they’ll have to say it to all of us.”

“We’re not letting them pull us apart,” Zayn adds, his gaze steely. “You’re not going in there alone. We’re a team.”

Your throat tightens as you look at each of them, gratitude and affection swelling in your chest. You know this isn’t just about the relationship—it’s about the bond you all share, the loyalty that goes beyond music and fame.

Paul arrives a moment later, having heard the commotion, and he gives you a knowing look. “They’re not getting away with this,” he mutters. “You’re all sticking together, I see that. Good. Let’s go.”

With no more words, the group makes its way to the meeting room. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, but now, with the full support of your bandmates, you can face whatever management has planned. You all stand side by side as the door opens.

Inside, the air is thick with frustration. The management team is seated around a large table, and as you enter, their eyes narrow, surprised at the sudden appearance of the entire band.

“Y/N,” the head of management says, his voice icy, “we asked for a meeting with you alone.”

“You’ll have to talk to all of us,” Liam interrupts, his voice unwavering. “We’re a package deal. No one gets to dictate how we live our lives or what we do.”

“There’s nothing to discuss here,” Louis adds, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you’ve got an issue with Y/N, you’ve got an issue with the rest of us.”

The head of management opens his mouth to protest, but Paul steps forward, giving them a pointed look. “Enough. We’re not going to play this game. If you’ve got a problem, you talk to all of us.”

The room is silent for a moment, the tension thick in the air. You stand there with the boys, and even though you can feel the discomfort of the situation, their presence gives you a strength you didn’t know you had.

The head of management finally speaks up, his voice colder than before. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he says, his eyes scanning the group. “We’re not here to break you up, Y/N, but we need to consider the bigger picture. This... relationship is drawing too much attention. We can’t risk it damaging the band's image if it ends badly.”

Liam stands even straighter, his jaw clenching. “So what do you want, exactly?” he asks, his voice clipped, but unwavering.

The manager leans forward, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. “What we want is simple. You two are obviously serious, and we’ve seen the fan support—it’s undeniable. But that’s the issue. Fans don’t want to see a couple fall apart. They need security, stability. If you’re truly committed, we need to solidify this relationship for the public eye. We need an engagement, marriage, maybe even talk about starting a family.”

The words hit you like a brick to the chest. You glance at Liam, trying to gauge his reaction. His grip tightens on your hand, but you can see the shock in his eyes as he processes what’s just been said.

“You’re asking us to... get engaged?” you ask, your voice incredulous. “Married? Have kids?”

The manager nods, his expression firm. “Yes, exactly. Make the relationship official in the public’s eyes, make it real. You’ve already got the attention—use it. Turn it into something lasting and undeniable. We’re talking about making the relationship as public as possible to keep the fans invested. If they see you both tied down, committed, no one will question the legitimacy of your relationship again. They’ll back off.”

You can feel your heart racing in your chest. This is a level of manipulation you didn’t expect. It’s not about love. It’s not even about you and Liam. It’s about control—about using your relationship for the sake of image and brand.

“I won’t do that,” you say, shaking your head. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about Liam and me. We’re not going to get married just to make a point to the public. That’s not what we’re about.”

Louis steps up beside you, his eyes sharp and protective. “She’s right. This whole thing has always been about us, not about some corporate agenda. We’re not going to give you a fake wedding or engagement just to appease fans and make you feel better about your plans.”

The manager’s eyes narrow, frustration creeping into his voice. “Do you really think you can go on like this, without any kind of commitment? You two need to be an example to the rest of the band, to your fans. This... public spectacle can’t continue with no clear direction. You need to make a choice. Either you solidify this relationship, or we’ll have no choice but to end it and have Y/N leave the band. If the relationship is a distraction, it’s not worth it. We can’t keep her here while you two play games. This is the only way forward.”

You feel the room spin for a second. The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. “What?” you gasp, your eyes darting from the manager to the rest of the boys. “You’re asking me to leave the band if I don’t go along with this?”

The manager doesn’t flinch, his tone final. “We need stability. The band can’t keep up the uncertainty. If this relationship is going to be a problem, one of you has to go. If you’re not going to give us what we want in terms of solidifying things—engagement, marriage, whatever—it’s best to move forward without the distraction. We’ve tried to be lenient, but this has gone too far.”

Louis, Niall, Harry, and Zayn all speak up at once, their voices laced with frustration and disbelief.

“Are you really saying she should leave the band over this?” Niall asks, his tone incredulous.

Zayn shakes his head. “This is outrageous. Y/N’s been part of this band for years. We’re not going to let management throw her out just because they can’t control her relationship with Liam.”

Paul, who’s been silent up until now, speaks up, his voice quiet but firm. “This is ridiculous. You’re asking them to make a decision that isn’t theirs to make. It’s not about your control, it’s about what’s right for them.”

The manager stands his ground, his eyes cold. “You can argue all you want, but if they’re not willing to make this work for the band, there’s no place for Y/N here. We can’t afford to let personal drama tear the group apart.”

You feel the weight of the words settle in your chest, but Liam’s hand on yours anchors you. He squeezes gently before speaking, his voice low but filled with resolve. “We’ll think about it,” he says, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. “But there’s no way we’re going to rush into something just because you’re pressuring us. This isn’t about you. This is about us.”

You nod, your heart racing in your chest, but the boys’ unwavering support makes you feel a little more certain. This is your relationship, your decision, and no matter what management tries to throw at you, you’ll face it together.

...

The hum of the tour bus fills the air, the gentle rocking of the vehicle as it moves down the road almost soothing. It’s late, and most of the band members are either in their bunks or chatting quietly in the lounge area, but you and Liam have retreated to the back, away from the chaos of the day. The stress of the meeting with management still lingers in the air, but here, in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

You’re curled up against him on the leather couch, his arm around you, and his warmth is a comfort. His hand idly traces soft patterns on your arm as the two of you sit in the quiet, letting the weight of the world outside fall away, if only for a few moments.

“I hate that they’re trying to control us like this,” you mumble, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. The silence that settles around you feels different than it did earlier. There’s no pressure now, no looming threat. Just the two of you. You’ve always loved how you feel when you’re with him like this—safe, calm, and completely at peace, even with the storm raging around you.

“I know,” Liam replies softly, his fingers continuing to trace lazy circles on your skin. His voice carries the weight of his own frustration, but there’s an underlying sense of determination in it. “But I’ll never let them tear us apart, Y/N. Whatever they want to do, however they want to control us... I won’t let you go. Not for anything.”

You feel his words sink deep into your chest, and a small sigh escapes your lips. His support, his unwavering belief in you, has always been a source of strength. But this—this commitment, this promise—feels different. You know he means it with everything in him.

Liam shifts slightly, turning to face you more, his eyes locking with yours. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart skip, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as he holds you close.

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I need to know something.” He pauses, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, any hint that he’s pushing too far, but you just nod, silently urging him to continue.

“How would you feel about taking that next step?” His words are deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve told you before, I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for years. And I want to be with you, however that looks. I don’t care if it’s tomorrow, or ten years from now. I’ll wait. But I want you to know that I’m ready to marry you, whenever you are. I don’t need a huge ceremony or a fancy wedding, I just need you by my side.”

His words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you can’t find your voice. The sheer sincerity in his eyes, the depth of emotion behind every word he’s spoken, takes your breath away. You can’t help but feel your heart swell with love for him—love that’s been there all along, just waiting to be acknowledged.

“You mean that?” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. The vulnerability in his eyes, the openness, makes your chest tighten. “You really mean that?”

Liam smiles softly, his thumb continuing to caress your cheek as he leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “More than anything in the world,” he murmurs. “I want to build a life with you, no matter what happens. If we need to wait for it, I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need, Y/N. But just know, I’m ready when you are.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you close the gap between you, pressing your lips softly against his. The kiss is slow, tender, as though he’s offering you the entire world with it. When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your hand finding his and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m ready too,” you admit quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know when it’ll happen, but I know I want to spend my life with you, Liam. I just... I don’t want anything to change us. Not now, not ever.”

Liam’s smile is soft, filled with so much love that it nearly overwhelms you. “Nothing will change us, Y/N,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. “You and me, we’re unstoppable. We’ve already been through so much together. Nothing’s gonna tear us apart.”

You let out a soft laugh, the weight of everything starting to lift, if just for a moment. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Always,” he responds, his thumb gently brushing away the stray tear that’s fallen down your cheek. “Always.”

Liam’s hand gently brushes a strand of hair from your face as you both sit in comfortable silence. You feel the weight of everything that’s been said, but there’s something calming about his presence. His fingers trace the outline of your jaw, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at you with affection.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low, the concern in his eyes evident. He still doesn’t want to let you go, doesn’t want anything to change. But he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you feel secure.

You nod, the soft smile on your face not quite reaching your eyes as you replay the conversation in your head. "I’ll be okay," you whisper, but the uncertainty lingers.

Without saying anything more, Liam leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, tender kiss. It’s a kiss filled with warmth and understanding, a promise that you’re not alone in this. His hand gently cups your face, his thumb sweeping over your skin as if memorizing every detail.

As the kiss deepens, it’s as if time slows down around you both. The pressure of everything, the expectations, the scrutiny, fades into the background. His lips move against yours, soft and insistent, as though he’s trying to reassure you that no matter what happens, he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

You pull him closer, your hands threading through his hair, your fingers tugging him toward you. The world outside this small space feels distant, irrelevant. All that matters is him, the warmth of his body against yours, the way he makes you feel seen, heard, loved.

His lips move down to your neck, trailing soft, slow kisses down your skin, and you gasp softly, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. He lingers near your pulse point, his lips grazing the delicate skin there before he presses a kiss that turns into a mark—a reminder of this moment, of him.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips as you feel the mark, the subtle possessiveness that comes with it. It’s his way of saying that you’re his, and he’s yours. And in this moment, it feels right.

Liam pulls back slightly, looking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. "Screw them," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the mark on your neck, his voice filled with a quiet defiance. "You’re mine, and nothing’s changing that."

You smile up at him, your fingers tracing the marks on his skin, your heart swelling with love. No matter what management throws at you, you know this—what you have with Liam is real, and nothing can take that away.

And for the first time in a while, you feel truly at peace.

...

The day feels like any other on tour—rehearsals, sound check, and Louis being his usual chaotic self. He drags you around with exaggerated urgency, claiming he needs your input for a prank that, according to him, must be executed perfectly. You roll your eyes but go along with it, thinking it’s just another day of Louis causing mayhem while you egg him on.

What you don’t know is that behind the scenes, Liam is a bundle of nerves. The boys, the stage crew, and even Paul are all in on his plan, their quiet collaboration pulling everything together. Every moment, every detail has been meticulously chosen—the photos, the transitions, the timing—all leading up to this.

The concert begins, and everything feels normal. The energy from the crowd is electric, the music flows seamlessly, and you’re in your element. Then the familiar intro to "Once in a Lifetime" fills the arena, and you smile as the lights dim, casting the stage in soft blues and whites.

You take your place on one of the stools, the song beginning like it always does. But as you sing, something catches your eye. The giant screens behind you light up, and instead of the usual visuals, a photo appears—a grainy snapshot from the X Factor days.

Your heart skips a beat, your voice faltering for a moment as you take it in. The photo fades, transitioning to another: you and Liam backstage during one of the early tours, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world.

More photos follow, each one hitting you harder than the last. There’s one of you and Liam in matching onesies, another of him kissing your cheek as you blush, and a candid shot of the two of you sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, lost in conversation. Memories flood your mind, and your chest tightens as realization dawns.

Your breath catches. This isn’t just a montage. This is about you and Liam.

You turn to him, your heart racing. He’s already looking at you, his eyes locked on yours, his expression a mix of adoration and vulnerability. The crowd roars, catching on to what’s happening, but it’s all background noise now.

By the time the final chords of the song fade, the arena is vibrating with anticipation. Liam stands, holding up a hand to quiet the cheers. The other boys step back, giving him space, and your pulse quickens as he moves toward you.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice steady despite the raw emotion in his eyes. “From the moment I met you, you turned my world upside down in the best possible way. You’ve been my partner in every sense of the word—my best friend, my muse, my anchor.”

You feel tears welling up, your hands trembling as you press them to your mouth.

“You’ve seen me at my best and at my worst, and somehow, you’ve loved me through it all,” he continues. “I don’t want another day to go by without making this official.”

The crowd gasps as Liam drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. Your breath catches, tears spilling over as he opens it, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen.

“Will you marry me?”

For a split second, the world seems to stop. All you can do is stare at him, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment—the love in his eyes, the cheers of the crowd, the way everything else has faded into the background.

Then you’re nodding, your voice shaky but sure as you blurt, “Yes. Yes, of course!”

The crowd erupts, their cheers deafening, but all you can focus on is Liam. You barely wait for him to slide the ring onto your finger before you throw yourself at him, knocking him flat onto the stage. He laughs as you bury your face in his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around you as the audience goes wild.

The boys rush in, hooting and hollering as they help you both up. Louis slings an arm around your shoulders, grinning. “It’s about bloody time! I was starting to think I’d have to propose for you, mate.”

Harry smirks, leaning into his mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, the future Mr. and Mrs. Payne!”

The audience screams, the energy in the arena reaching new heights. Liam pulls you close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Forever, yeah?”

“Forever,” you whisper back, your heart full to bursting.

As the concert continues, you’re on cloud nine. The boys tease you relentlessly backstage, Zayn joking that he hopes he gets to officiate, and Niall declaring himself in charge of the bachelor party. But every time you glance at Liam, the chaos fades, leaving only one thing clear: this is the start of forever, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

...

Author's note: I hope you enjoyed this mini series! If you'd like drabbles based on this series or have me rewrite it as a proper series - let me know!

#liam payne x reader #liam payne x y/n #liam payne fanfiction #one direction fanfiction #liam payne x you

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nanaminokanojo · 8 months ago

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ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE | part 18

-meet cute? a cheesy musical number? forget it! love makes itself known to you through a minor car accident, a broken arm, and a treacherously charming temporary chauffeur

CHARACTERS: sukuna x you/reader | jjk characters

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 18 next>>

A/N: This contains prose and panels in between. Same for Part 19. This part is just too long to put on screenshots.

If looks could kill, Haibara Yu will be on the kitchen floor in a pool of his own blood with the way Sukuna was looking at him like he was going to pop a vein on his forehead. It was almost comical since he was holding onto a bottle of strawberry milk and looked like he was about to squeeze it broken with how tight his fists were.

“Man, she seems different from the stories is all I'm saying.”

Sukuna eyed him enquiringly, a menacing hint to it as he breathed out slowly. As far as he was concerned, he never heard any bad rumor about you. “What stories?” He noted the defensive note in his tone, his protective side coming out.

“You heard me.” Yu lifted his shoulders slightly to express uncertainty. “She gets invited to all the parties but she declines all of them and everyone thinks she’s a two-faced snob. And I also heard someone claiming that she said she doesn't mix with commoners.”

It explained why Sukuna has never seen you in any of the parties he has been in. He only knew you from school, and if he did see you at any party, he wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity to approach you at least once. He knew himself, and he appreciated beauty. But maybe that was for the better because then, you probably wouldn’t have liked to be in the same breathing space as him with the way he acts in those gatherings.

His facial muscles suddenly rearranged into a scowl, causing the other male to back away. “Who said that?” he hissed. He couldn’t accept what he was hearing. At the same time, he doesn’t understand where the irritation was coming from. He just can’t take it hearing the slander being thrown at you. You didn’t deserve it at all.

“Do those people even realize how busy she is?”

“Dude, I just heard that.”

“I know, but she’s the real deal. Don’t go listening to what those pricks at school are saying. She’s the kindest person I’ve ever known. She’s so nice to me. Me!”

“Figures,” Yu said slowly, smirking.

“Go talk to her. Get to know her. You’ll get the proof you want,” Sukuna challenged but Yu shook his head. “If she’s being nice to evil little Ryomen, then that’s proof enough.”

"You wanna die?"

"Man, I believe you! Geez!"

Sukuna still shot Yu a dirty look as he walked back to the living room, unable to wrap his head around the fact that there were actually people who disliked you. It made him sick.

TAG LIST: @catobsessedlady @kyo-kyo1 @junehasnotbeenfound @lavender-hvze @guacam011y @eyered @hellomeow12 @its-princessmara @light-yagami-l @domainofmarie @mythoscalliope @noble-17 @pheonix-eclipses @weebbuscuit @sukunasbudussy @lu-c1na @vinnieswife @the-haitani-baton @iaminyourfloors @needtoloveoutloud @r-ryuko09 @somestardeww @swirlingcurses @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @bronze-metal @iluv-ace

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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dontworryihaveyourblorbos · 1 year ago

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Fuck it, King Peppy analysis.

I see a *lot* of Peppy hate, and I get it, but I also have to break my silence. I really do not think he’s as bad as people say he is. In fact, I kind of like him! “But he lied about the strings!” “But he didnt rescue the snack pack!” “But he lied about Viva!”. And to that I say ladies and gentlemen, let me cook.

1. He lied about the strings. OF COURSE he did. Peppy knew three things: one, like Branch said, the strings coming together leads to fighting. Two, if Poppy knew there were other trolls, she’d immediately apply the cupcakes and rainbows and hugs method until they were besties. Three, the strings and ensuing fight+whatever Poppy was cooking would be too much for the tiny tiny Pop troll population to handle. They can’t fight, so they do what pop trolls do best, hide. That’s exactly what Peppy was trying to do. Next.

2. He didn’t go to rescue the snack pack in the first movie. First of all, mans is ancient. Second, someone needed to stay behind and watch the villagers while they were in Branch’s bunker. He’s not built for long ass physically intensive adventures, but he can run a village and hold authority and keep everything from being trashed completely, which he did. We can safely assume that the bunker was fine after the first movie and not completely destroyed, likely thanks to Peppy. If he hadn’t stayed behind and kept everyone in check, the place would have been uninhabitable. But nah, Peppy kept everyone safe and stable. Hell yeah brother.

3. He lied about Viva. Can you imagine how devastated Poppy would be to learn that she has a sister, only for that joy to be crushed when he has to tell her that said sister is dead? Poppy wouldn’t be able to let it go, especially with her longing to have a sister. Why make her mourn someone she doesn’t know when she doesn’t have to? Why give her that trauma when she, in all reality, is fine not knowing? Because even if it was messed up because she found out, before she found out Viva was alive she was…completely fine. And he said it himself, he was heartbroken. Pop trolls don’t process their feelings, they repress and sing a happy song a little louder than usual. How was Peppy supposed to heal from his own loss and sadness, only to then turn and inflict it on his only remaining daughter, while still in survival mode? He couldn’t. So he didn’t.

Look, I’m not saying King Peppy is perfect or that he didn’t make mistakes. I’m just saying that he did his best, and he’s not a bad character, person, or dad. He raised Poppy to be the amazing Queen she is, he brought his people out of a horrific and dangerous situation and kept them safe, and when he couldn’t protect them anymore he knew his limits and passed the torch on to his daughter while still supporting her, and he went to therapy and began to change his mindsets and heal from everything. He’s definitely not as bad as some people say he is.

One last thing I noticed about him while rewatching TBT. When a Pop Troll is happy, consistently, their ears stay pointed upwards. When a Troll is sad, their ears droop down. And if they’re sad or gray for long enough, their ears droop down permanently. (Cough cough see my Floyd and Branch ear post cough cough.)

Peppy’s ears are the only ones that just…stick out flat. Forgive me, I couldn’t find any good screenshots from tbt.

Not sad, not happy. To me, this means repressed. He wasn’t just chilling in the background like teehee I’ve made no mistakes ever :3. No, he didn’t like that he had to do those things. He had major trauma and probably a ton of issues he was hiding or repressing, and is only just now beginning to work through them. Why only now? Because he’s not in survival mode anymore. Poppy is queen, strings are destroyed, bergens are chilling, okay, now he can begin the healing process.

Sorry for the novel, but I just really like Peppy and I think a lot of people don’t cut him enough slack or give him enough credit. He’s doin his best.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #trolls world tour #King peppy #trolls king peppy #realizations #can’t hide anymore #I like peppy and I think he’s an interesting character #I don’t like how people bash him so easily but then immediately give veneer or creek excuses or babygirl-ify them #peppy is doing the best with what he had #he walked so Poppy could run and look how fast she is running #so. yeah.#go Peppy.

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necros-writing-stuff · 10 months ago

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3 AM thoughts keeping me up at night. Who the HELL hurt Eden? Where in the fuck did this man learn about caging and collaring? Where did he learn about “training” people? Where did his infatuation with hunting PC come from? Why is he so okay with violating PC, the object of his affections, when he hasn’t ever done so to anyone else before? Is he seriously oblivious? Does he not understand his actions are abusive? He uses the word “train” when first kidnapping PC, which means he’s somewhat aware of what he’s doing.

With the way Vrel phrases it, it sounds like Eden doesn’t enjoy hurting PC but thinks it’s necessary which makes me wonder how??? Why??? What or who broke this man’s psyche?

The only explanation I can come up with… someone might’ve done the same thing to Eden. Maybe, as punishment, he was sold during his time at the orphanage, and the person who bought him treated him like a pet. Maybe they did unspeakable things to Eden that skewed his views on love and obsession.

Is it possible… PC LOOKS LIKE the person who fucked him up big time? Hence, why he can’t or really refuses to have anyone else? It might also explain why Eden treats PC as both an object and a lover. He’s drawing a line between himself and his “abuser.” Is Eden secretly dealing with Stockholm syndrome himself?

Or maybe Eden reads some seriously fucked up erotic novels.

I mean… it can’t merely be he randomly picked up on all of these “techniques,” can it? I wonder if Bailey is aware of what Eden is capable of?

I haven't seen the screenshots, but apparently on the subscribestar Vrel has, one of the people who has hurt Eden include Leighton, who may have been their English teacher.

Now, on to my theories. Eden grew up in the orphanage, and (as per my younger au that I wrote over 2 years ago now) the previous caretaker (Bailey was also an orphan in my headcanon) (we know they're the same age as Eden) abused the orphans the same way Bailey does now. Maybe even worse, as he's heard from Vrel that Eden wasn't allowed to do certain things like listening to music or watching TV.

Bailey says that the orphanage used to have ties with the kennel, right? How far back are we guessing those ties go? Far enough back that the previous caretaker may have utilised it and sent Eden there?

Also, I don't think PC looks like a specific abuser that stuck with Eden. Eden avoids the things that make them uncomfortable, they don't keep them around to punish them. They wouldn't take PC in if that was the case.

It also has to be remembered that Eden thinks they're saving PC, and that every ounce of training is for their own good. They think PC doesn't realise how dangerous town is, that Eden is the far safest option. That and their possessive love makes it easy to excuse it. Vrel has said that Eden doesn't enjoy physical abuse, using it as a complete last resort, and that mental and emotional abuse aren't Eden's thing at all. Just restraining PC when they'd gone past the lines Eden has drawn.

And also, yeah. Eden been alone for well over a decade now, only their thoughts and books to keep them company, with the occasional Bailey visit or town trip for supplies. Their sense of normal is going to be heavily skewed here without regular, normal feedback from people correcting their bad habits. Ironically, Eden touched too much grass and needs to go chill in a public space and talk to normal people.

#spill your guts #anonymous #eden the hunter #gn reader #cw abuse #cw noncon #cw pet play

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rhiannonsknife · 2 months ago

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THE EMOJI ANON LIST IS GROWING. i am so very proud, both of the good users of tumblr who love your blog as much as i do and of you 🤞🤞 it's been a while but im back with more thoughts, baby

first of all, thank you for indulging in my rhiannon clothes stealer realness. it is real to me, ok?

i am lowkey fixated on what you said about making her get off while she inhales your scent from your underwear... i believe i saw this in a lottie fic i read on here so credit where credit is due but rhiannon sneaking into your room before you're together to steal your underwear and get off? yes please

you're about to head to bed when you notice a rustling from your closet, something that doesn't sound at all like the normal noises of your house. so you go to investigate and who do you see but rhiannon lewis, one hand holding a pair of your panties up to her nose, the other underneath the waistband of her pants.

you probably should be more scared than you are, but you can't deny that you're absolutely dripping for her, and you decide to have some fun. so you watch intently as you make her touch herself, forcing her to admit all the dirty fantasies she thinks about when she sneaks in and gets off with your panties

this thought is making me go insane 😇 pervy!rhiannon save me pervy!rhiannon -🪐

once again, shoutout to @lottiesgrl for the screenshot!! obviously: nsfw content so mdni!!

rhiannon who’s so insanely obsessed with you that she needs to have you in literally every possible way! maybe you haven’t had sex yet (though she wants to. desperately), or perhaps you aren’t even in a relationship yet. but, either way, rhiannon wants you. she wants you so bad it’s driving her madder than she already is…

touching herself to the thought of you does get her off, it’s her go-to fantasy, but -after a while- it’s simply not enough anymore. picturing you with her hands shoved down her panties still turns her on beyond words, but something is missing. she can conjure up dirty images of you all she wants, but it’s no use if she doesn’t know the taste of your arousal, the sounds you’d make when she puts her mouth on you, the scent…

so, with no other options left, she sneaks in the next time she’s made sure you’ve left your place. rhiannon has watched you enough times to know where you keep your spare key so technically it’s not breaking and entering. just entering. and that’s alright, right? it’s tolerable. besides, it’s not like she’s planning on taking anything! she will only do some…exploring. you won’t know that she’s been there at all, rhiannon tells herself, as she quickly unlocks the door to your apartment building and slips inside before anyone can catch her.

once inside, she takes her sweet time exploring your place, not expecting you to be back anytime soon.

she avoids your bedroom, looking at everything else first, and getting embarrassingly wet with her plan in mind and the scent of your perfumes and shampoos filling her nostrils. she feels like a pervert for getting off to these seemingly harmless little things. maybe she is. it’s not like rhiannon cares anymore, being this close to where she’s been wanting to be for the longest time: your bedroom. ideally, with you in it as well. but she’ll settle for whatever she can get, and if that’s being in there all by herself, going through your underwear drawer…then who is rhiannon to complain?

and, because she’s got time, she doesn’t stop there. not when she’s found a used pair, right atop a pile of shed clothes. when she can smell you on the fabric, still wet to the touch. you must’ve changed before leaving the house, she concludes, as she strides through the room until she reaches the bed. rhiannon is already pressing the fabric to her face, inhaling your scent and sighing into the underwear eagerly as she walks.

she’s spread out on your bed before she can reconsider it. sure, she could leave the place, taking the underwear with her. it’s what she should be doing. but your scent has thrown all rational thoughts right out the window, replaced only by the need to get off as soon as possible (preferably in your space. in your bed.)

maybe, rhiannon thinks as she swings her legs over the edge and leans back against your pillows, you’ve touched yourself in this exact place. against these exact same pillows, with your legs spread out on the mattress, your arousal dripping onto the sheets.

just like that, she can’t hold herself back any longer. instantly, without wasting even more time, she puts her hand beneath her skirt. a purposeful outfit choice, with easy access. wandering your place, it turns out, had been the perfect foreplay. rhiannon is soaked, her underwear clinging to her throbbing center. she exhales a shuddered breath -doesn’t trust herself enough to be loud, afraid one of your neighbors could hear- as she presses two fingers against her clit. her other hand still holds your underwear, which she quickly presses against her nose as she breathes in.

the rest of the world fades out altogether when she pushes her fingers inside herself for the first time that day.

when you enter through the front door, you don’t immediately notice that something is off. sure, you’d been certain that you had turned off the lights before leaving, but that alone doesn’t raise any suspicions yet. it’s when you approach the door to your room that you notice the movement.

your first instinct is to flinch. there’s clearly someone in your apartment. the stranger's presence makes you freeze in your tracks. but then, as you stumble backward as slowly as possible, you hear it. the quiet sounds, the stifled sighs, the familiar voice. with your brows furrowed, you walk back towards it all over again.

what you see, through the small gap, confirms your suspicions: there, rhiannon is, kneeling on your bed. she’s got one hand between her thighs, bouncing her weight on her own fingers, whilst the other is clamped over her mouth, both to stifle her noises and to press the fabric of what is unmistakably your underwear against her nose.

you should be scared, you should confront her and ask what she’s doing here and how she got inside. but you’re, honest to god, dripping at the sight in front of you and too busy watching the way she’s riding her hand like her life depends on it. despite her efforts to be ‘quiet’, the bed is creaking under the constant shift of her body and she’s drawing obscene squelching sounds from between her spread thighs.

so, instead of confronting her, you decide to have some fun with her first. she’s the one who owes you a lot of answers, and you’re confident you’ll receive plenty of them when you finally push the door open and make your presence known.

rhiannon’s eyes widen comically when she sees you standing in the doorway. still, she seems too turned on to think; her hand stills and she stops rocking against her fingers, but she doesn’t look like she’s able to withdraw it from underneath her skirt all the way. instead, she sits on it, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“i can- i can explain-” she stammers immediately, dropping the panties down from her tight grip.

“can you?” you ask, approaching the bed slowly. rhiannon’s legs tremble and you’re not sure whether it’s arousal or the fact that she’s been caught. either way, you like it,

“i-” she doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. you furrow your brows at her as you sit down by her side. the mattress bounces a little under the added weight, forcing rhiannon’s hand to move. she bites her lip and your eyes dart between her legs -more or less voluntarily. she’s dripping to the wrists. this whole scenario must turn her on a lot more than rhiannon would ever verbally admit.

“who said you could stop?”

rhiannon whimpers.

“come on” you encourage, getting a bit more comfortable. you’d be lying if you said the sight in front of you wasn’t turning you on, too. after holding the eye contact for another moment, as if to make sure you’re being serious, rhiannon picks up where she’s left off: she starts rolling her hips against her two fingers that are knuckle deep inside of her.

“how long have you been here?” you ask conversationally.

“a while” rhiannon sighs, head falling back.

“have you done this before? sneaked in and got off with my underwear?”

“no!” she exclaims, though it comes out more like a whine. “no”

“no…?” you can’t help but pout, mockingly, as you pick up the panties from where she’s dropped them, unfolding them and holding them out to her. “you forgot these”

rhiannon glares at you, bewildered but never without moving her hips simultaneously.

“what?” you ask, holding it out to her again. “it’s not like i’m gonna go ahead and sit on your face to give you a taste after you’ve broken in. so if you want a taste…”

she doesn’t have to be told twice. when rhiannon reaches for them and eagerly holds them to her face again, you’re not so sure about whether or not you can actually deprive yourself of letting her eat you out later. you’ll have to reconsider. for now, watching her is enough. you don’t turn your eyes away once as rhiannon bounces on her fingers, nose pressed into your underwear. she’s no longer bothering to be quiet either, her moans echoing through the room with every erratic roll of her hips.

who would’ve thought your sweet rhiannon was such a pervert…? breaking in just for a sniff of you…? she’s looking breathtakingly beautiful, now that she’s rutting against her hand right before you. you’ll have to do something about that, you decide, once she’s made herself cum like this.

for now, you’ll make the most of this opportunity and enjoy the opportunity to watch rhiannon touching herself for you…

#rhiannon lewis Ღ #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni #🪐 anon #rhiannon lewis x reader #sweetpea

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whoisneo404 · 10 months ago

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I need me some angsty story abt enemies to lovers with an oc or y/n that is coming to terms with his sexuality x nick. it should be messy and juicyyy. have fun with it!! I love ur writing x

Our Secret

Summary: you and Nick have a weird relationship, you are very good friends in front of everyone, but behind closed doors you are lovers… kind of, you still don’t know if you like guys.

Tw: angsty); cursing, mentions of alcohol.

‘’I can’t do this anymore.’’ Nick muttered against my lips, my hands rest on his legs, his hands around my neck. It’s not the first time this happens, and it won’t be the last. I know it. He does too.

‘’Nick…’’

‘’No. I can’t, it’s hurting me. I know you are figuring things out but… it’s really messing me up.’’ I give him a small, sympathetic smile. I don’t want to hurt him, I’m just scared, he’s too, but for a different reason. This is hard, I can’t promise him that I’ll change, that we will be together and this will end, because I don’t know If that’s true.

‘’It’s okay, I get it. I’m leaving then, good night.’’ I stand up, and I can’t even turn around, his hands are on my arm.

‘’I didn’t told you to leave…’’ and it was this, always this, again and again. ‘’Don’t leave me.’’ I sit down next to him; he hugs me and I kiss his head while rubbing his back. I feel him tremble and I feel bad, I feel like shit.

It has been a while since I kissed Nick for the first time, I just did it and he didn’t stopped me, I told him I didn’t knew what was happening and he said he didn’t cared… but he cares now, now that we have bee like this for a while he cares, and I’m scared of still not knowing what’s happening. Nick eventually falls asleep on my chest, and I leave, I text one of my friends and told him that we should go out to a party.

I got drunk, I had to, I wanted to not think about Nick, I needed to stop thinking about his lips, and hands all over me. I couldn’t stop, not even filled with alcohol. Not even when a girl was flirting with me, not even when I cried on my bed. The next day I woke up with a headache, and a thousand messages from Nick. Oh shit.

>>Who is she? Is she your girlfriend? Why is she sitting on your lap?

what the fuck… I look at the messages and see a screenshot of my friends history, I’m sitting in a couch, my head throwed back looking at the celling a bottle of beer on hand and the girl who was flirting with me on top… shit. I change my clothes quickly and brush my teeth, rushing out of the house I call him, missed call, try again, he doesn’t answer. I practically knock the door of his room down when I arrive to his house. Lucky me the it was only him this morning.

He’s on the floor, crying, his phone on the other side of the room, it’s like he throwed it at the wall.

‘’Nick…’’

‘’NO, I don’t want to hear it! It going to be the same, again and again. And I want it, I want it god dammit. I need you…’’ he screams, he’s crying. My breath is uneven, I walk slowly to him and kneel in front of him putting my arms around him, he melts into me, screaming, punching me. ‘’Don’t leave… if you need to kiss someone, kiss me. If you need to fuck someone, I’m here. If you need to use someone, use me. I can take it, I’m strong. I can’t do this….’’

‘’Nick… I’m sorry.’’ He keeps punching my chest, I keep rubbing his back and shushing him.

‘’Don’t leave. I’ll kill you.’’

‘’I won’t. I’m here.’’

Eventually he stops punching and screaming, but the tears take more time to leave. When stops I clean his tears, I kiss his hands, his forehead and wet cheeks.

‘’I won’t do it again… It wasn’t what you think, I was drunk, I don’t even remember that happening…’’

‘’Why?... am I not enough?’’

‘’It’s not that, you know it.’’

‘’No, I don’t. I’m scared, and I don’t know how you feel, I love you and you… you just want to experiment, you want to know what it feels to kiss a boy and play pretend with me.’’

‘’No, it’s not that. Nick, you know it’s not like that… I like you; I do. I’m just scared, please, don’t say I’m using you because I’m not.’’

‘’You don’t like me.’’ His voice breaks and my heart aches.

‘’I do…’’

‘’I don’t believe you.’’

‘’You don’t have to, I’ll show you.’’ I grab his jaw with one hand and gently make him look at me in the eyes, I kiss him, slowly, gently, with all the love he needs. ‘’I swear, no more heartbreaks, no more tears, no more fights. I hate knowing that I’m the reason your pretty faces fills with tears.’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ he looks confused, his teary eyes break my heart.

‘’I’m yours, Nick. No matter what I do I can’t stop thinking of you, from the moment I wake up to the moment I sleep you are in my mind, you even appear on my dreams, you don’t leave me alone ever… I’m yours, I want you, just you, no one else. I know it I have been a piece of shit, but let me be yours, one last chance.’’

He nods his head, puts his hands around my neck and kisses me. ‘’I’m yours.’’ I mumble between kisses. I’m truly and fully his, no matter how much I try not to be, he is the only one I want, the only one I need, the only one I love.

----

i felt so bad writing this); i hate writing sad Nick);

#nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo x male reader #sturniolo triplets x reader

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boyfhee · 2 years ago

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⌕ TAKE TWO ━━ 19 : all you want

PRECIS. while riki constantly assured you that him being an idol under a different label wouldn't be an issue in your relationship, you start getting second thoughts when fans start shipping him with his co-mc at music bank.

n : written part after the screenshots

w : slight angst, mild fluff ( finally ) - 1.6k

the cityscape stood open in front of you, cold winter winds sneaking under your sweatshirt, a scarf from jungwon that has been keeping you warm for the past fifteen minutes doesn’t seem to suffice as the skies turned darker. looking at the horizon, there’s a certain calmness that soothes your heart, the violets and vermillion hues reflecting ever so majestically over the glass panes of skyscrapers. down below lays the distinct city noise, the honking of cars, tires screeching— a near miss. the cat walks across the road safely, and behind you, jungwon lets out a sigh of relief.

“i’ve never been here,” he chuckles.

you hum, letting a soft smile climb up your face. “me either,” you look at him. he seems to have loosen up. when he arrived, jungwon definitely looked uneasy, or rather, nervous, in case you didn’t want to talk or even see him. but you’re here, and he’s resting his elbow above the railing, letting himself relax. “are we even allowed to be here?”

“not sure, but even if we aren’t, no one has to know,” it’s an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, to make you feel better even if it’s only for a brief second. he wishes to hold your hands and tell you that it will be okay. sometimes, words aren’t enough, and jungwon doesn’t want to ask the words, “how have you been?” but alas, he does anyway.

“i don’t know,” it’s a plain reply, a response of ignorance, as if you know exactly what’s happening to you but you can’t seem to process. it’s like having a spatula to stir your dish but you don’t remember how to use it, and so you simply stand there, watching it burn. “maybe, i overreacted the other day. riki has been texting constantly and i’ve been ignoring him. guess, i’m really scared for what’s about to come,” a sigh falls of your lips, you turn to look at him. “good or bad,”

“well, you made it so far and now we’re so close to the truth,” and jungwon refuses to look at you. perhaps, it’s the weather or the situation, but he doesn’t want to watch you crying, and the reason has to do with both you and riki. “you should talk to him,” he says, half supportive, half defeated.

if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want you to talk to riki, and if he’s being reasonable, he wishes you would sort things out with him. as said before, it has to do with both of you— one is the love of his life, other being his closest friend. living without either of you seems impossible for jungwon. it’s like an eccentric give and receive, a unique pact, a relationship where all of you are victims and all of you are villains. there’s a hint of jealousy, a heart overflowing with love, a soul drowning in immense pain.

“what if they’re dating?” you ask, it’s more of a whisper.

jungwon takes a step towards you. “you don’t know,”

but, you think you do. trust was something that you never ran out of in this relationship with riki. even now, when everything around has been falling down, when the line between truth and lie has been erased and everything resembles the same, you know a part of you trusts riki. but it’s just a part, just a little corner of your heart lost inside it’s walls and chambers. the trust, it’s like a flickering flame of a candle. your hands are around it, making sure it wouldn’t go out, but you think it would either way. the brightest flames go out first, the longer the candle burns, the shorter it gets. you think you can light another one and replace it but you can’t, because the cold wax has already settled on your hands, and scraping it away would mean taking away a part of yourself.

“what if they’ve been together all this time and i’m here being fooled? what if he has been lying? what if miya was right all along, won—” at this point, you’re not being yourself. you’re crying, your face is buried in your hands, you’re finally letting loose and coming to terms with loss. you’re close to giving up, taking your hands off the candle and letting the winds blow it out. the words that are possibly a lie are now morphing into the truth for you. it feels like you’re watching your lover walk away to someone else while the red strings still hold you together, and you’re doing nothing but looking for the scissors.

so, jungwon pulls you into his arms. “we don’t know anything yet,”

those are the words the world relies upon. people look forward to a surprise because you don’t know what it’s going to be. they’re hooked on thrillers because they don’t know the ending. they hope because who knows, maybe things will change for the better one day. the lack of knowledge is incredible and equally dangerous. you’re stupidly lucky and luckily stupid. while one moment, you thank the heavens for keeping you in dark all this time for you don’t know if you can handle facing the truth; the other, you wonder if things would have been different if only you knew.

your thoughts are laced with irony, there’s a sense of indecisiveness in your actions. your words are uncertain.

you don’t know anymore.

“what did i do to deserve this?” and you cry harder, a few centimeters closer into his arms, a consoling hand on your back that feels warmer. you’re spilling tears on his jacket, he doesn’t seem to mind. the city noise fades into the background as your ears fill with the loud silence along with your soft sobs. if someone was to see you like this, you both will be on the headlines the next day. besides, you don’t have an explanation as for why you were crying relentlessly in jungwon’s arms. you’re concerned, but he doesn’t seem to care. so, you don’t know why you worry about media.

you never knew why riki worried so much about them.

“i’m sorry i can’t help more than telling you the same words over and over again,” his words aren’t much louder than yours, almost just as muffled, if not more. “shit, i’m so fucking sorry for not being able to help,” he holds you closer, his voice shaking, you’re scared he might just be crying on his own, over matters that aren’t even his to being with.

“are you stupid?” and you pull away, sniffling, an awkward chuckle falling off your lips at the sight of wet patches on his clothing. “you’ve helped me more than anyone else, won,”

he awkwardly brushes off the strand of hair in front of your eyes. “i wish i could do more,”

jungwon doesn’t take credit. well, mostly, he does, but for some things, he doesn’t, and those things are the ones that count the most. perhaps, it’s how a leader is supposed to be. he shares his efforts and achievements. anything he does, it’s for the group, it adds into the accounts of all seven members. you don’t know how that logic is applicable right now, but it sure does has an impact on him.

jungwon is so used to sharing, he doesn’t remember how it feels to have something that belongs to him and only him. it’s not a bad thing. you’d never know how it feels to be in his place, but sometimes, it feels like jungwon has forgotten how to live for himself.

“what did i do to deserve you?” those are the words that water the flowers blooming in his heart. you take a step behind, turning to the city scape again. wind strikes cold on your tear stained cheeks, you rub it off on your sleeves. “seriously though, you’ve always been there when i needed you, always down to listen to my complaints and endless rants about riki. i don’t think words can express how thankful i am,”

and jungwon is looking at you— eyes ever so starry, inexplicably in disbelief and desperately in love. “and i don’t know why you helped me so much,”

“because i like you,” and words slip off his tongue like they’re the water flowing down the stream. there’s a pause, a look of surprise from your side, guilt pouring on his part. you could feel your heart trying to beat out of your chest, you don’t know the last time you’ve felt this way. “not the very best time, is it?”

but jungwon brushes the silence off with a forced laughter, or rather, tries to. it’s the least he can do to cover up his mistakes. the last thing he wants is to make sure his unplanned confession doesn’t make him look like a backstabber, as if he was trying to get his own way to you through your misery. “don’t think so much about it. it’s just a crush, it’ll go away. you should be focusing on your boyfri—”

fluttering gazes, a step taken towards him involuntarily. you kiss jungwon— a decision made out of impulse.

“does that make it seem like i’m using you?” you pull away, and now the guilt was for both of you to handle. emotions are playing their part, mind out of order, logic off the terrace of your label that you are currently standing on. right or wrong, it’s hard to differentiate.

nothing makes sense, yet everything in his moment with him fits together like a puzzle piece.

so, his hands are cupping your cheeks. “you can use me all you want,” and your lips are back onto his.

PREV | NEXT | MASTERLIST

n : YNWON NATION HOW DO WE FEEL

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haru-dipthong · 2 years ago

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Why are anime translations so bad?

Disclaimer: I have never done any professional translation, and I don’t watch dubbed/subbed anime very often. But recently I watched a few episodes of subbed Demon Slayer at a friend’s place, and I noticed how bad some of the translations were. It reminded me of my childhood, watching subbed Ghibli movies and thinking “that english sounds weird”. As a kid I thought it was an unavoidable part of translation, but now that I can speak Japanese, I realise that we can do so much better with translations!

This post is my attempt to identify what a “bad” translation is, and hazard some guesses at what mistakes translators make that lead to these bad translations.

Examples are from Ranking of Kings, episodes 10 and 11. Screenshots taken from Crunchyroll.

What do I mean by bad?

Reason 1: They don’t sound like natural English.

If a character in an english cartoon said some of the stuff that characters in anime say in translations, it would sound very unnatural. Anime-translation english is unnatural and awkward sounding.

ダイダ様、久しぶりに街に出てみますか？ Price Daida, it’s been a while, so why don’t we go down into town?

This example sounds awkward. What’s with the random “so” in the middle of the sentence? No one in English media talks like that. If you just remove the “so” and replace it with a full stop, we get a much more natural sounding sentence.

Price Daida, it’s been a while. Why don’t we go down into town?

Or even something like this:

Price Daida, why don’t we go into town? It’s been a while since you’ve been down there.

Reason 2: They don’t fit the character.

This screenshot shows the character Kage speaking (the black blob). He has a character trait of being kind of immature and almost never using polite Japanese, even to royalty, which is very disrespectful. The original translation makes him sound so formal! Kage is supposed to sound like a 15 year old who tries way too hard to be rough and intimidating. Can you imagine someone like that saying “You may say those things”?

いやいやいや、なんかいい感じなこと言ってるけど、違うからね！ No, no, no! You may say those feel-good things, but reality is different!

It doesn’t preserve his characterisation at all. Way too formal and not juvenile enough! A better translation would be:

No, no, no! Nice motivational speech, but they’re just words!

The devil’s advocate & descriptivism

Now, I’ll preface this by saying I am a hardcore descriptivist. I’m not saying that these translations are wrong, or that the resulting English is incorrect English. What I’m saying is that they do not achieve the goals of a good translation, those goals being preserving what is being said and how it’s being said.

It could be argued that by now, anime translations have become a new dialect of English. Anime fans have come to expect the awkward-sounding phrasing, and instead might see natural English as unexpected. This is a fine rebuttal of my first point (it sounds awkward) but not of my second point (speech-pattern-based characterisation is often lost). Even then, anime translations are not exclusively for established anime fans. First time viewers may be put off by the unnatural language choices and strange turns of phrase. “Anime is cringe” they might say, and they wouldn’t be wrong. A good translation should be understandable to the entire target audience, and first time or casual viewers certainly make up a large portion of that target audience.

Why do the translations end up so bad?

They err on the side of direct translation over meaning-based translation

Often, it seems like the main nouns and verbs in the sentence get translated verbatim, and the rest of the translation is forced to bend around those. In addition, they do not consider how a similar sentiment might be phrased in english. Even if it’s a japanese way of saying something, they preserve the individual words instead of changing the whole sentence. Let’s look at the Kage example from before:

いやいやいや、なんかいい感じなこと言ってるけど、違うからね！ No, no, no! You may say those feel-good things, but reality is different!

I’ve coloured the text so you can see which pieces got translated separately. In this example, basically every word is being translated separately. Now let’s look at my example:

いやいやいや、なんかいい感じなこと言ってるけど、違うからね！ No, no, no! Nice motivational speech, but they’re just words!

I’m translating the entire middle verb phrase as one atomic piece of meaning. It’s not individually important that, for example, the specific word 言ってる was used, so it’s not important that I translate it directly to the word “say”. What is important is that Kage is saying that Despa is saying some nice stuff, but it doesn’t change the facts. I have a feeling that the more you can group words together and translate them as a whole phrase, the more natural the translation ends up sounding (and the more characterisation you can preserve).

They use weird words, due to dictionary translation

Let’s look at another example:

兄上は弱者だと、どこか甘えていないか？ Aren’t they sort of spoiling Brother, just because he’s a weakling?

In this example, the word 弱者 is translated as “weakling”. “Weakling” is a pretty rare word to hear outside of anime. That’s probably the best direct translation if we’re looking at the word 弱者 out of context. However, words always appear in context. Both times the word 弱者 is used to refer to a person in this episode, it’s used to refer to disabled people (Bojji, who is deaf, and a citizen, who is both blind and deaf). The citizen is actually not physically weak, in fact he looks pretty chunky and strong, so 弱者 is not being used to refer to his physical strength, only his disability. The English word “weakling” strongly suggests physical weakness, so I don’t feel like it’s appropriate here. Instead, I feel like a more appropriate translation would be:

Do you think Brother gets special treatment, just because he’s so pathetic?

Daida is immature and heartless at this point in his character. He has contempt for both Bojji and the citizen, and sees them as weak, but he also feels pity for them. I think the word “pathetic” sums up his emotions for them much better than the word “weakling”, as well as not coming loaded with the incorrect “physical weakness” connotation.

As a side note, you may have noticed I translated the first part of the sentence differently too. That’s another example of how (in my opinion) grouping words together to translate a phrase as a whole results in a much more natural phrasing.

They try to preserve the original grammar

An important skill to have when translating is knowing which aspects of the phrase are important to preserve in translation, and which parts are not important. Word order and grammar are almost never important enough to preserve.

ダイダ様こそ、選ばれた人間。 Prince Daida, you are one who is chosen.

In this example, the past tense verb 「選ばれた/chosen」modifying the noun 「人間/person」 seems to have been determined to be important to preserve by the translator, which leads to the awkward phrasing “one who is chosen”. In reality, the minutia of the original grammar is not important to preserve - we can translate 選ばれた人間 as a set phrase rather than translating the words individually:

Prince Daida, you are one of the chosen few.

Again, we can see that the translation is improved by grouping words together and translating the phrase as a piece of atomic meaning!

Anime translation is a naturally restrictive medium

For dubs, the characters’ mouth movements need to match up. This really narrows down the possibilities of translation options. It means that sub-optimal word choices may be used, and the rhythm of speech may be forced into an odd speed in places.

For subs, although the syllables and mouth movements don’t need to match up as perfectly as they do in dubs, the subtitles still end up needing to be applied over the same moments of speech. However, often, if the given situation in the anime was to be completely reframed in English, maybe no one would have said anything at that moment. There are times when someone would say something in Japanese that you would expect someone to not say anything in english.

デスパー：弟子の悪口は許しますけど、私の悪口は許しませんよ！！カゲ：逆でしょ！！！！ Despa: You can insult my apprentice, but I won’t let you insult me! Kage: You’ve got it backwards!

In Japanese comedy, the role of ツッコミ (best translation is “the straight man”) is ubiquitous and plays the part of a laugh track - telling audiences when to laugh. In this case, Kage is playing the part of ツッコミ by pointing out that what Despa has said is the opposite of what you’d expect him to say. In this example, I feel like if this was an English cartoon, Kage wouldn’t have said anything. English speaking comedies generally expect/trust audiences to get the jokes without them being explicitly pointed out. I feel like this shows how attempting to fit subtitles to every spoken phrase can lead to slightly unnatural turns of phrase, since the translator is attempting to fit some speech into a place where there wouldn’t have been any in the first place. In my opinion, the best “translation” for the above would have been to cut the 1 second clip where Kage butts in with his line altogether.

———

Again, I should reiterate that I’m not a translator. I’m very keen to hear counter-arguments if you disagree with what I’ve said! Translations have got me really interested recently and I’m hungry for more opinions.

#langblr #japanese language #japanese #japanese grammar #learning japanese #linguistics #translation #language acquisition #language learning #language #anime #ranking of kings #official blog post

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