#and then i let them out to play at night. they run around having a ball for like 15 minutes. and then sparrow breaks back INTO her cage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spookytragedyshark · 3 days ago

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Another fanfic idea I'm not sure I can fully write myself. (ends up writing way too much.) Feel free to rewrite this or anything, take it, and run. I want to read someone else's take on this.

Soap finally convinces Ghost to come home for the holidays. Ghost is on edge. Ya know basic normal ghoap.

Only soap told his family he couldn't make it missions and all that. It's fine, they will be excited to see him with the change of plans.

Then, as soon as they enter the house, it goes dead silent. Ghost thinks it's his fault until soap pushes out a shaky "(y/n)" on the verge of tears, looking at a woman holding a small child no older than four.

Ghost spirals quick. He knows that name. It's soap's first love, the one that got away. The one that literally disappeared. And that child looks like Soap, a Mohawk, and all. Surely Soap didn't know. Then he's going to pick her, he thinks. Surely not him, not broken as he is. Pain, sorrow, longing, it's all processing rapid like a pinball machine.

Then it's cut off, confusion breaks through because the little one just tugged on your shirt and pointed not at soap but at him, "Who?" You smile at the little one as everyone else seems more on edge, you, without missing a beat "That's your Godfather, darling".

"SKULLY!" The child screams excitedly. "Yes, ghost. From the pictures." The child looks at Ghost like he hung the moon, then at Soap and claps his hands. "My darling little soldier, could you play with Mimi for a few" the child falters before pointing at them "later?"

"If they're not busy with work." It's not missed on Simon, you are giving them a way out. You hand the child off to Soap's mom, and all at once, Soap's brain kicks in, and he's hugging you, sobbing. Simon remembers that Soap thought you might have died after you disappeared because he couldn't find you at all. No social media, nothing. (He's still not able to process the Godfather thing or what that implies)

"let's go to the kitchen yeah? " You're looking at him. He's confused again but nods following as you lead soap to the kitchen getting him in a chair. Before turning around and rummaging through a cabinet. Soap's watching just watching.

"I was planning on talking to you privately but your mom said you weren't coming for the holidays and I couldn't stand the thought of him missing another holiday with relatives. You know how I feel about relatives" you're still going through the cabinet but guilt is laced through your voice. Soap KNOWS exactly what you're referring to. He remember all the times you said you wished for your kid to have a big extended family. How you cried scared yours would pass before you had a kid.

"It was too difficult to contact you, so I contacted your mom. Bless her, she helped me run the test against her, so I did not have to worry or bother you if I was wrong. " You hand Soap a folder. It's the DNA test. "Of course, she helped with the paperwork, so it's set up. If anything happens to me, you'll get him. If you can't, it's between my mom and Ghost." You nod to Ghost, and he thinks his heart stopped for a second because what the hell. "Depending on the situation," and you're talking like this is common sense.

"When you've regained the ability to talk, could you please tell me when we slept together, though?" Soap, as flabbergasted as he is, blurts out, "That's not why you disappeared?" He looks overwhelmed and confused almost guilty. You take a step forward and gently push back his Mohawk, having him look you in the eyes. "No, I left because I had to. My sister had an incident. Based on your reaction, I'd say it was when I broke up with Jonathan and got messed up?" Soap looks ready to cry guilt clear now. Ghost has no clue who Jonathan is or what transpired, but the pieces are there. This, whatever this is, Soap clearly never wanted to even think about it again.

"You were beyond wasted that night, too. I don't blame you. We're adults, we knew better." You're still looking in soap's eyes. "I'd have come as soon as I knew. But I thought he was Jonathan's, and Jonathan never wanted kids. So it took until he started to resemble you."

Ghost thinks undoubtedly Soap will pick you because he's looking at you like an angel. Ghost wonder's maybe you are, because who would be this kind and calm? Then you derail his thoughts again because what the hell...

"When you two become officially public, I'll have him start calling you bonus dad, seems more fitting and all." You're addressing Ghost, and you are looking at Ghost. You're looking like this is normal but Ghost is terrified and he can't place why. His brain slows. You know. You know him and soap... Is his existence ruining this for soap? How does he fix it?

You move away, doing a little pace through the kitchen. "I'm not staying anywhere near by, actually, I'm moving again, so we'll have to figure something out about visiting." Soaps eyes are wide, and he's still practically muted in shock. "I steamboated again, huh?" Soap mutely nods. Ghost is confused by the fraze.

"oh, one more thing, ghost the kid is interested in anything creepy so be prepared, he's probably going to fan girl about your mask. And try to climb you." Ghost nearly chokes on his own saliva.

Finally soap speaks "same taste as his mom then?"

"He saw one picture of you and demanded a Mohawk." You laugh, and Soap chuckles; full of emotion, none of you can quiet Desesifer. Then you are moving back into the living room. They think you are trying to give them space, but both follow Soap, too scared you will disappear the moment you are out of sight. Ghost is determined to spend as much time with Johnny with Soap as he can before...

The moment they reenter the family room, the kid beelines for the two men and does in fact try to climb Simon to get a better look at his mask. You effortlessly pick the kid up, asking Simon if he will hold him. He obliges, and the kid rambles about scary stories and how cool Ghost and Soaps uniforms are and how the pictures Mimi gave him of them are on his bedroom wall. The men just melt. Ghost swears to himself he will protect this kid. He is too innocent too perfect. He may not be Soaps lover much longer, but he will be here.

Meanwhile, Soap brain has taken a pause to adore how Ghost, his Simon, is so perfect with his mini me. Sure, his chest aches for you, but this is his L.T. The kid practically jumps from Ghost to Soap. For a few moments, Ghost adores the interaction. How perfectly Soap takes to the boy. Then he tears his eyes away. No, this is not his place. He mutters something about a smoke and steps outside. Soap is enamored with his kid, doesn't notice at first, but you do.

Silently, you follow, giving him time to mostly finish his cigarette before approaching him. It is just you two on the porch.

"Hey I am sorry about everything. I know it was shocking, and I have a tendency to kinda take over or uh not rant but steamboat is what we call it. It is a result of my overactive mind." You are rubbing your neck, looking nervous, and Ghost cannot for the life of him understand why you are apologizing to him. "I really want everyone to get along. Soap and His mom have a high opinion of you so-"

"He will be with you." It is out of his mouth before he realizes he even opened it. You are looking up at him and blinking in shock. Ghost thinks he has messed up bad because you are slowly starting to look angry. "He loves you." It's firm as if stating a fact. "You are not pulling back from him because of me." And Ghost hears his own insecurity in your voice, but he can't help it. He pushes more, "he has loved you longer."

Your entire body language changes as if having an epiphany. Then a muffled, barely audible "really?" Again, he can not help it, he looks away, a strained "yes" . Then he feels your hands on his shoulders. "Then he will have both of us. No reason for you to go away. " his eyes snapping back to you because again what the hell.

"He clearly loves you. His family loves you. Our kid loves you. I am not letting you walk away because of some fear or insecurities that I am certain I or Soap also feel. Besides that, this is my fault. I was so blinded by my own insecurities that I did not think anyone could truly love me." In that moment, Ghost thinks, hearing his own thoughts echoed back at him, that he might also be falling for this angel in front of him.

Soap chooses that exact moment to burst out the front door, franticly looking for you two. You think he is worried about Ghost and him potentially leaving. Ghost thinks Soap is just looking for you to make sure you do not disappear again, only he does not relax fully at seeing you. Soap scans your serious expression and your hand on Ghost's shoulder and rushes over, "Oh Si" and hugs Ghost like his life depends on it.

"Johnny, when exactly did we start having the same taste in men?" Ghost brain decides that's the moment to stop functioning.

A few days later, after being back to work, the boys learn why exactly you are moving again when Price introduces you to the team as the new civilian specialized gear mechanic.

#john mactavish x reader #task force 141 #simon riley #tf 141 #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader x soap #cod x reader

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buckyys-babydoll · 1 day ago

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daddy’s girl

pairing — congressman!bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary — past assassin. nowadays congressman. and yet, his most important business is home with his girls.

warnings — lots of fluff, sexual tension

wordcount — 1.373 words

authors note — bucky as girl dad, just has my heart.

The moment the keys land on the small shelf in your hallway, you count backwards with a smile plastered on your face.

Three.

Silence. For a moment, but you know it only needs a few more seconds before your house is filled with noises like you're taking care of a whole football team.

Two.

You get off the couch, making your way over to the door of the living room to see the scene unfolding.

One.

Your husband stands with his arms wide open in the hallway. His shoes and jacket still on, waiting. Just like you, with a wide grin on his face.

Zero.

“Papa!” The high-pitched, excited voice of your daughter comes from her room. He shouts, echoing through the hallway as she runs with heavy, thundering steps toward the stairs.

“Slow, trouble,” Bucky says, loud enough for her to hear. But she doesn’t care, her feet carrying her down the stairs as fast as possible while she giggles loudly. “Hi, trouble, we don’t want ya to get hurt.”

She huffs.

She got that from her daddy. And he knows.

Whenever you scold him for anything — playfully — he’s huffing. Just like your little daughter. A troublemaker through and through.

“Papa! I draws,” she tells him, her small arms stretched out as she jumps down the last few steps to land safely in his strong arms.

Every day when he comes home after work, you get to see the same sweet scene.

Since your little girl can walk, she runs to her daddy the moment she notices he’s home. And by now, she doesn’t even need long to find out if it was you doing dishes or him coming home.

“You were drawing, baby?” He mutters, kneeling down to put her down but still staying at one height with her.

She nods proudly while her small hands tangle into some of his long strands that fall into his hands and face.

You lean in the doorframe, your heart fluttering in your chest. Seeing your husband so happy, so carefree and full of love causes that tingling feeling in your stomach every single time.

A few years back, when you met Bucky, you wouldn't have thought he could look that happy and full of light. But there he is.

You never tried to fix him. You never will because you can't. But you also don’t want to fix him.

He's not some device that's broken and needs a repair. Bucky is a human being, with his past, with his scars — on body and soul. And though some nights his past is still haunting him and some nights he’s panting and shaking next to you, you never tried to do anything else but just be there for him.

To hold him in his darkest moments. To kiss away the tears. To let him listen to your breathing and your steady heartbeat.

Bucky never wanted someone to fix him. He just wanted someone to stay. And that someone is you, his beautiful and sweet wife and mother of the energy bungle that’s keeping him grounded.

“Draws mama ‘n you, papa,” she says proudly, wiggling out of his arms to run upstairs so she can get her drawings and show them to her dad.

Bucky chuckles softly, his ocean blue eyes trained on the girl before he looks around. His eyes catching you still standing in the doorframe with the beautiful smile all over your lips.

A smile he falls for. Every single day.

“Hi, mama,” he mutters, slipping out of his shoes before he takes a step closer and reaches out to bring his calloused hands to your waist.

A sigh escapes his lips when he pulls you close again to his firm chest. Your arms curling around his neck, playing with the long strands that curl slightly in his neck.

“Hey, handsome,” you chuckle, pecking his plump lips.

His sandalwood scent surrounds you just like his warmth.

“How was your day?” He asks, pecking your lips once more before he looks deep into your eyes.

His gaze is soft and loving, and you can’t help but smile even more. He really is the most beautiful man — gentleman. And he’s all yours.

“Good, little trouble kept re-watching your interviews until I got her to draw something for you,” you chuckle.

Your daughter was sitting excitedly in front of the television, following every one of her dad's movements. She even started to do some moves he always does, repeating his words even if she doesn’t really understand all of them.

“Just like her daddy,” Bucky mutters, turning his head to the stairs when he hears your daughter running through the floor once more. “I love you, pretty mama.”

With that he kisses your forehead and pulls back slightly. Just a moment after, your daughter jumps right back into his arms, showing him proudly the pictures she drew.

One of her running away with Bucky’s metal arm. One of them is standing in front of people and talking about ponies — at least that's what she tells him.

Bucky praises her for every drawing she shows him. The light in her eyes and the happiness written all over her face that her daddy loves her drawings so much make your heart flutter in your chest.

“Now, c’mon, let’s make dinner, trouble,” Bucky says, stroking her hair back before he gets up from where he was kneeling. “Hear your little tummy growling at me already.”

Trouble giggles, hugging his legs to step onto his feet. Bucky smirks, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders as he walks with her toward the kitchen.

He doesn’t bother to change into a t-shirt, no, he stands with his suit pants and shirt in the kitchen. Making dinner with your daughter, not caring about some stains on his shirt.

Unfortunately, it makes him look even more sexy. Handsome. Beautiful. And all yours.

Bucky lifts your little girl up and sits her down on the counter, standing next to her while he looks over her shoulder at you.

You know you will get all the attention from him after dinner. Once the little girl is in bed, he’s all yours.

“What’s your tummy demanding, baby?” Bucky asks, his calloused fingers tickling over her small belly until she’s wiggling and trying to get away from his moving fingers. “Mhm, maybe some pizza. Or pasta. Or does that little belly of yours want veggies?”

“Nooooo, no veggies, papa,” she shakes her head. “I no like veggies. And mama likes no veggies.”

What a lie. You love vegetables. But your daughter just loves to pull you into everything she doesn’t like, so she’s not alone. Just like her daddy.

“Mama doesn’t like veggies?” Bucky grins, looking at you with a knowing smirk on his lips.

He's making you vegetable plates in the evenings because you prefer them over some sweets when you’re watching movies together. You adore vegetables, so you’re definitely the last one who would say no to them.

“Mhm, pizza it is then?” Bucky suggests, even if you already planned on having pizza anyway. But to see the bright smile on her face because you're making her favourite food makes his day.

She squeals when Bucky gets everything ready to make the pizza with her. Or put all the ingredients on top of it, even if it’s a whole mess of every food she likes.

Chicken. Salami. Surprisingly, some pepper.

“What about some cucumber?” Bucky suggests playfully as he cuts a slice and holds it in front of her mouth. Sneaking some pieces of food into her mouth is the most important part of making food together.

“Nu! I no like veggies, papa,” she shakes her head, pushing his hand away.

Bucky chuckles, offering you the little cucumber heart he cut. He knows she doesn’t like it. But he knows you do.

You smile, taking it and putting it between your lips, suckling softly at it until Bucky is groaning under his breath. His eyes darken for a moment before he tries to focus on making the food again.

“You’re in for trouble, mama,” he whispers, leaning toward you to bite into your earlobe. “Gonna have so much fun with my sweet and mighty wife.

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spiderb00bs · 3 days ago

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- MANCHILD

Sabrina Carpenter x (g!p) reader

“Seeing your best friend get married was like a stab in the heart. But she was happy, right?"

warnings – fluff, angst if you squint, Implied sex, crack? (I don’t know how to be funny), romcom kinda

Now playing – Manchild, by Sabrina Carpenter

“Man-child, why you always come a-running to me? Fuck my life, won’t you let na innocent woman be?”

You never had any problems with Barry. You didn’t even care about him, in fact. He was a normal guy, a little too immature for his age, and too cocky for everything he was offering. But you never had any problems with him.

You didn’t spend that much time with him; you saw each other at Sabrina’s events, birthdays, awards ceremonies, family parties... You knew Sabrina would never let you miss na important celebration, so if you can’t beat them, join them.

Sabrina is your best friend, and you’ve always supported her in everything. And even though at first you thought Barry would be just another dumb jerk – you still thought so – who would break your childhood best friend’s heart, you couldn’t deny that he did a decent job in the relationship, since now Sabrina would soon be walking down the aisle with him.

The gentle summer breeze blew against your face, carrying the smell of smoke away from you. From a distance, you watched Sabrina and her sisters with smiles on their faces as they danced excitedly around the place where the ceremony would be held. The wedding would take place in five days, and the whole family—and close friends—would be staying at the large mansion Sabrina had rented.

You remember looking for the place with her, you remember how she always said she wanted to get married in a house overlooking the beach, and how she wanted all the people she loved to be together for days on end before the ceremony happened.

You remember how her eyes sparkled when she saw the place, you remember how she took your hand and ran to the back of the mansion, showing you her dream coming true in front of her eyes. You also remember how she convinced you to lie down on the grass and watch the view from afar. You also remember how she tried to call Barry to show him the place, but he never picked up the phone.

The cigarette burned slowly, almost as if it was feeling sorry for you, as if it knew that if that moment ended, you’d have to go back to the hustle and bustle. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last forever. With one last puff, you stubbed out the burning tip on the sole of your shoe, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself for the sea of smiles you’d have to face.

“That’s the sexiest way I’ve ever seen someone stub out their cigarette.” You heard the sweet, dangerously seductive voice you always heard when you were with Sabrina, Jenna Ortega.

You knew the short woman, the two of you had never had a long conversation, but flirting was always involved. Although you thought Jenna was one of the most beautiful, elegant and sexy women you’d ever seen in your life, you never went any further with her. Nothing more than the exchange of harmless flirtations and a few discreet glances.

Although Jenna and Sabrina were close friends, the blonde never really liked the idea of you two being close to each other. You weren’t sure why, but you thought it had something to do with the fact that Jenna was a player. She was never in a serious relationship, she had one-night stands with people she found interesting enough to spend time with, but never interesting enough to share her work time with.

“I hadn’t seen you yet. I thought you weren’t coming,” you said, still looking at all the women excited about the decorations and the scenery.

Sabrina’s mother was helping the blonde choose decorative flowers, Paloma and the other Carpenter sisters seemed happy playing with the new Golden Retriever that Sabrina had adopted a few weeks ago, and at a considerable distance, you could see Barry drinking a large glass of beer, talking to some of his friends about some nonsense.

“And miss you dressed in a formal button-down shirt? Of course not!” Jenna retorted, causing your cheeks to blush slightly as you tried to get your face out of her field of vision.

“You really can’t be fixed, can you?” Finally looking at the brunette, you turned your body towards her, taking a step forward.

“Come fix me!” Jenna mimicked you, leaving the distance between your bodies almost non-existent.

The look on her face was defiant and rude, she seemed to want you to put her in her place. Everything about her screamed for you, and anyone there could see how desperate she was for you to take her the way she really wanted.

“Hey!” The velvety shout pierced your ears, pulling you out of the cloud Jenna had put you in.

Quickly stepping away, you arrived in time to see Sabrina’s furrowed eyebrows, your best friend looking at the whole situation with a judgmental and suspicious look. You had seen that same look before, more specifically when the girls at school hit on you when you were both teenagers. You never knew what that look meant.

“I... I need you for a minute,” the blonde said.

Scratching her head in agitation, the younger Carpenter didn’t even wait for your response, taking your hand and dragging you as far away from Jenna as possible.

“You know, we were having a conversation over there...” Your tone was playful, but you should have known that Sabrina wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Yeah, anyone could see that. You two were practically having sex on the lawn!”

The blonde finally let go of your hand when you reached the kitchen. As if on cue, everyone who was working there immediately turned around, leaving the room and closing the door with a silent click. Sometimes even you were afraid of Sabrina.

“Wow, okay, Miss Edgy, we were just having a conversation.” you said, raising your hands in surrender, only to see the short blonde roll her eyes and start pacing back and forth in the kitchen.

“Bullshit!” she said, her footsteps making you dizzy, and the commotion making you slightly nervous.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” you asked, holding her shoulders as you made her look you in the eye for the first time all day.

You knew Sabrina was going through a very stressful time with all the wedding planning. She was trying to get everything done while Barry lay around drinking beer and watching football games. She had barely had any time to herself since she started preparing for the wedding, so you understood when she exploded at you.

Snorting, Sabrina just laid her head on your chest, grabbing your biceps like a lifeline.

“I’m exhausted!” Taking a deep breath, you moved your hands to her hair, stroking her blonde curls as you felt her relax into your body.

“I’m here, I’ll help you with whatever you need.” Sabrina lifted her head from your chest, looking into your eyes with that sparkle she always had.

“What do you need, Sab?” Smiling slightly, you asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“For you to stay away from Jenna.” Your smile faded.

“ALL RIGHT, LOVEBIRDS...” The unfamiliar voice startled you both, causing you to jump away from each other. “Oh, sorry, I thought it was you and Barry, Sabrina.”

“It’s okay,” Sabrina said, sliding her hand from your bicep to your hand, intertwining them. “Yn, this is Rachel. She’s going to make the wedding cake. Rachel, this is Yn, my best friend since childhood.” “It’s a pleasure,” you said, shaking the woman’s hand, making her smile slightly.

“How polite. You don’t find many like that around anymore.” And Sabrina’s frown was back. “So, I assume she’ll be deciding the flavor of the cake with you?!”

“I will?” you asked Sabrina.

“She will!” Sabrina smiled, looking at Rachel with a proud smile on her lips.

Night had fallen quickly, everyone too tired and drunk to stay awake past midnight. Still unable to sleep, you walked quietly through the corridors of the large mansion, down the stairs and toward the oversized pool that came with the house.

The night was silent, and you saw no one as you approached the pool. Taking off your fancy slippers—which Sabrina insisted on giving as gifts to all the guests—you dipped your feet in the cold water, shivering slightly at the change in temperature. Closing your eyes, you rested your hands on the tiles beside your body, throwing your head back and taking a deep breath, trying to release all the weight that had been on your shoulders for the past few months.

Suddenly, the silent bubble that had settled around you was broken by two hands grabbing your shoulders, and the scream that escaped your lips was muffled by the sound of laughter from the woman you knew better than yourself.

Sabrina fell beside you, laughing at how loud you screamed. “My God, you probably would have woken up the whole house if that shit wasn’t so big.”

Sabrina’s hands were holding her stomach, and you could tell her stomach hurt just by the way she writhed beside you. Her smile reached her eyes, which closed as the sound of her laughter entered your ears like one of the most beautiful melodies you had ever heard. That deep, broken laugh, which nevertheless ran free and whipped the air with grace. You had always loved the sound of her laughter.

“Very funny, Carpenter. You could have given me a heart attack, you know?!” You watched the blonde get up from the floor, sitting properly beside you, putting her feet in the water, next to yours.

“You’ve always been easily scared... ever since we were kids,” the blonde said, laughing and kicking a few drops of water lightly.

“Yeah, and you used to scare me all the time.” You look at her. “It was annoying.”

“It was fun!” Sabrina’s laughter fills the space again, making you roll your eyes and try to hold back the smile that wanted to escape your lips.

Sabrina’s eyes rested on you, shining as always, attentive, almost as if you would disappear if she looked away. She had a slight smile on her lips and breathed lightly, feeling the gentle breeze coming from the sea a few meters away.

It had been a while since you had seen Sabrina so relaxed, so focused on something that really calmed her down. She was usually nervous, worried, or too busy solving something that Barry couldn’t solve—or that he himself had caused.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” the blonde said, sighing once more.

You were trying to figure out why her chest still seemed heavy somehow.

“Of course I would be here. I mean, I understand that I’m not very sociable, but...” You began.

“No...” She laughed. “I mean here, like, always being here with me.” Emphasizing the word always, Sabrina grabbed your hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing your knuckles.

Your eyes met the deep blue of hers, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way Sabrina looked at you. You never understood it, but her eyes always seemed to say what she didn’t have the courage to say out loud. You dreamed of the day she would tell you all the things she had ever wanted to say to your face, good or bad.

“I love you, Yn.” Her voice came out as a whisper. Low and velvety, just so you could hear it, as if those three words were meant only for you, as if she had never said them to anyone else in the world.

“I love you too, Sab!” you say.

Your mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. You didn’t blame Sabrina for supposedly not saying the things she wanted to say, after all, there were so many things you couldn’t say to her.

The next morning was quiet. Decorators passed by with huge vases of flowers, pastry chefs worked on each little sweet and each layer of cake, and sewing machines worked on every detail of Sabrina’s dress.

You stayed away, watching all the organized chaos from under a parasol, lying on a deck chair, facing the pool where you and Sabrina had been talking a few hours earlier. The cigarette between your lips made you more relaxed with each puff, and the expensive wine that Sabrina had served to the guests was one of the best things you had drunk recently.

It was a beautiful sunny day, perfect for a family barbecue, or maybe a dip in the sea, or even in the pool in front of you. However, you preferred to just stretch your legs and put on some sunglasses—hoping that everyone would get the message and leave you alone.

“You look very bitter from here.” It seems your plan didn’t work so well. Opening your eyes and looking over your dark glasses, you saw her standing in front of you like a superheroine, the kind who always shows up at na inopportune moment, when the victim doesn’t want to be rescued. Jenna.

She wore a black bikini—which contrasted nicely with her skin—along with her attitude. You would never know if you found her frown attractive or scary.

“I’m not bitter, I just enjoy my time alone,” you said, repositioning your sunglasses on your face as you laid your head on the towel and blew smoke into the air.

“Oh, lone wolf... I like that.” Jenna took the spot on the lounge chair next to yours.

You rolled your eyes slightly, but the small smile on your face said you weren’t completely upset by Ortega’s presence.

I mean, Jenna is na attractive, intelligent, funny woman... You weren’t sure why you had never really given her a chance. Maybe it was the gossip going around town, you didn’t want to be just another woman in her bed. Or maybe you liked to follow your best friend’s orders.

Either way, you thought it best to avoid closer contact.

“You don’t seem like the happiest person in the world that your best friend is getting married...” Jenna began.

“I am happy,” you cut her off quickly.

“Come on, everyone is drinking and talking, having the time of their lives in...” Jenna paused, looking around and trying to find a way to call it what it was. “A kind of weird bachelorette party disguised as luxury,” she finished, waving her hands dramatically and pointing to everything around you two. “And you’re smoking by the pool, looking like the kind of lone wolf you’d see in a Lana Del Rey music video...”

“I like Lana Del Rey,” you said, raising your wine glass to your lips.

“That’s not the point!” Jenna raised her voice slightly. She put her hands on her head when she realized she had almost started yelling at the bride’s best friend. “God, you really have a crush on your best friend, don’t you?!”

Choking on your wine, you got up from the lounge chair, sitting up quickly, facing the Ortega girl, who had sat down next to you.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Your expression made all the hairs on Jenna’s body stand on end.

“Prove it to me.”

Your back hit the mattress, breathing tired and panting, your hips burned, and the muscles in your arms were starting to ache. But the small hands on your chest distracted you from the nagging pain you felt, now fading into the background as Jenna lay down on your chest.

You knew, deep in your bones, that you shouldn’t have done that to prove to her that you weren’t into Sabrina. But the way she looked at you, almost as if she would doubt you for the rest of her life, made your chest race in a bad way.

Two pats on your chest woke you from the thoughts that consumed you. “You were wonderful, baby.” Jenna said, getting up from the bed and looking for the clothes she had thrown on the floor a few hours ago.

You raised your torso, straining your sore arms and dragging yourself to sit up on the bed. “You too,” you said, embarrassed and scratching the back of your neck, looking for a hole to stick your head in and die of shame.

Jenna gave you a friendly smile, but with that hint of sarcasm that you had learned the brunette had in her. “Tell her how you feel before she gets married.”

Frowning and opening your mouth in shock, you stammered incoherent words, searching for anything your mind could force itself to find.

“Wait, I proved it to you!” you said, getting up and putting on the boxers you found lying on the bedside table – the work of the little brunette in front of you. “I’m not in love with anyone, Jenna!”

Sighing, the Ortega girl stopped what she was doing to look at you properly. Approaching, Jenna made each step she took seem like a movement a tigress would make before attacking her prey. You took a step back. Laughing at your movement, the woman pushed you onto the bed, making you fall back onto the soft mattress. Her hands went to your neck as she positioned her tanned legs on either side of your thighs.

“Oh baby, you can’t keep lying to yourself like this...” She looked at you for a minute longer.

Jenna left a pat on your cheek before kissing your lips, quick as lightning, and grabbing a piece of clothing behind you. Leaving you there, shocked and still a little horny, Jenna walked out the door, as if she hadn’t come to leave you with wobbly legs and a heavy heart.

You took a deep breath before leaving the room, too stunned to pay attention to whatever was going on outside the room all this time. You walked outside, grabbed a beer from the ice bucket, opened the cap with your teeth, and downed the bottle.

“My God, are you okay? Where were you?” Sabrina’s voice reached your ears like a distant voice, making you look at her over the bottle—its neck still stuck to your mouth.

“HEY, YN!” The shout heard from a distance also sounded muffled, but for some reason you recognized Josh’s voice. One of Barry’s idiot friends. “Bro, isn’t that shirt Ortega is wearing yours?” He asked, putting his arm around your shoulder, as if you were old friends.

You didn’t even bother to look at Jenna, but Sabrina did. One of her eyes twitched, her ears burned, and if you were in a cartoon, smoke would be coming out of her ears. Jenna was dancing with Sabrina’s friends, free, as if she had just had the time of her life.

“Did you hook up with her?” Sabrina’s tone was irritated, and you could feel the confusion coming through even with the alcohol in your blood.

“FUCK!” Josh said again. “YOU’RE AWESOME, BRO!”

Jumping with his arm around your shoulder, Josh took you close to where everyone was dancing, too excited to notice the deadly look Sabrina was giving you. Josh practically threw you on top of Jenna, making the girl cling to you as if she had something to prove to someone, as if she wanted to break na invisible line.

Maybe she did.

Aggressive banging on your bedroom door roused you from the fog of sleep you were immersed in. Still lying face down, you lifted your face from the pillow to groan in disapproval, before struggling to your feet and muttering a small "Coming" to whoever was pounding on your door.

When you opened the door, Sarah's fist froze in the air, and still rubbing your eyes, you caught a glimpse of Paloma and Jenna along with one of the Carpenter sisters. Hearing Jenna's whistle, you covered yourself with the door, remembering that you were only wearing boxers and a sport bra.

"What are you doing here so early?" you asked, trying to take the focus off your nakedness and your cheeks turning red with the attention.

"We need your help!" Sarah was the first to speak. "Barry is completely sick with a hangover, and Sabrina needs to go over her wedding vows with someone."

Frowning, you looked at the two women standing in front of you.

"Why don't any of you help her then?"

Opening and closing her mouth, Sarah stared at Paloma, who was doing the same. The wrinkles on your forehead appeared when there was no answer.

"Ah… I… I need to go to town, you know… take care of a few things for the wedding," Sarah said, taking a deep breath.

You looked at Paloma.

"I'll go with her!" the woman said quickly.

"Jenna?" you asked.

"I don't want to." Snorting, you narrowed your eyes at the short brunette, wondering what was going on and why Sabrina's incompetent future husband couldn't do anything right for once in his life.

"Give me ten minutes and I'll go downstairs." The girls agreed, disappearing down the hallway of the mansion and leaving you alone again.

When you walked into the garden, everything seemed increasingly hectic. Sabrina's wedding was tomorrow, and everyone seemed to be racing against time to make everything as perfect as possible. The altar structure was almost ready, and there were flowers everywhere. The wedding was planned for the morning, and everything had to be ready by nine a.m.

"Ah, there she is!" The man, whose name you didn't know, came up to you, intertwining his arm with yours and leading you to the altar. "It's a pleasure, dear, I'm Stephen, and come on, get up there, you've already delayed us too much."

The short man pushed you toward the altar structure, causing you to stumble slightly over your own feet. You hadn't spoken to Sabrina since yesterday, when she found out about you and Jenna, and even though you didn't understand why, you knew she might be a little upset with you.

"Hi…" you said.

"Hi…"

The sound of Stephen clapping his hands brought you both out of the little cloud you were in, making Sabrina's cheeks flush and you scratch the back of your neck and look away from your best friend's blue eyes.

"We have to start! Sabrina, where's your speech?" The man asks, seeing no paper in the blonde's hand.

Sabrina's mother, who was standing nearby watching, spoke up for the first time. "Oh, she probably left it in her room, you know how she is." The older woman said, nudging the brunette sitting next to her with her shoulder.

"Jenna, why don't you try looking for it…"

"And lose all this, no way!" The brunette said quietly, hiding her words with a forced smile.

"All right, I'll get it!" Stephen stood up, running his hand over his bald head and heading toward the mansion, only to stop halfway there.

"While I'm gone… Yn, you can start."

"Wait, do I have to give a speech too?" you asked, confused and with a hint of panic in your veins. "But I don't…"

"COME ON, WE DON'T HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD!" The man shouted as he walked away.

Taking your eyes off the man's back, you looked at your best friend again. Her eyes seemed bright again, but the atmosphere had completely changed for you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and the idea of saying nice things to Sabrina shouldn't be that difficult, considering she had been your best friend since you were five—when you met at the playground.

"I… I'm sorry, this took me by surprise…" You tried to say.

"I know." Sabrina came closer, taking your hand in hers and looking at you with those arms that could appease a war, those beautiful blue eyes.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to… but I'm not going to lie and say I don't want you to."

You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before smiling slightly and searching for the right words for what you wanted to say.

"I love your eyes," you began. "They always make me say things I don't want to say, they seem to hypnotize me every time I look at them." You laughed softly, making Sabrina laugh with you.

"Maybe you hypnotized me in that park when we were kids, because I've never been able to stay away from you since. I loved seeing every achievement and every little thing you accomplished because your eyes sparkled in such a beautiful way, you know?!"

Sabrina's head tilted slightly to the left, and even though you were able to read her so well, you didn't notice how she was about to burst into tears.

"I never thought, not even for a moment, of separating from you, because it meant you wouldn't look at me the way you look at me anymore, and I don't know if I could survive without that. Survive without you."

Still holding hands, you couldn't take your eyes off Sabrina, you couldn't see her mother almost crying, nor the knowing smile Jenna was giving you both. At that moment, it was just you and her.

"I've loved you since the first moment I saw you," Sabrina said, and the tears she seemed so desperate to hold back earlier were now rolling down her beautiful cheekbones. "From the first day, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Sometimes I feel like I'm making a mistake, sometimes I feel like none of this is for me. But with you, things make sense, with you, things seem to have color again, and I don't seem to be just another lost girl on earth, with you, things seem to have purpose, they seem right, and sometimes I still wonder why I'm so afraid. But the only certainty I ever have is that this fear always goes away when you're around."

Tears ran down Sabrina's cheeks, everything seemed so true and pure that neither of you questioned anything. It was just you, childhood friends, incurable romantics, who had strayed from the path and started walking down different roads without even realizing it.

Sabrina took a step forward—leaving the distance between you almost non-existent—and you leaned slightly—reducing the height difference between you. But the moment was cut short by loud, strong applause.

Stephen.

"BRAVO!" He said as he clapped his hands.

You and Sabrina jumped back, confused and with a burning sensation in your chest from things left undone, moments interrupted, actions not taken.

"You're more than ready to get married, dear!" The bald man said, before hurriedly dragging Sabrina away from the altar, rambling on about dresses.

And you stood there, watching it all unfold, your chest still pounding, the feeling of emptiness burning like never before. That wasn't for you, it was her speech to Barry. She was getting married, and it was time for you to get over it.

Sitting on the beach, you took another big sip from the bottle of vodka, the waves of the sea broke beautifully in front of you, and the salty breeze hit your skin like shards of glass. The drink in your hand didn't erase the bitter taste that the words you said earlier had brought, and your heart was still as tight as if it were tied to Sabrina's hands.

"You're going to catch a cold." Sabrina.

Her voice, sweet as honey, carried by the strong wind and brought directly to your ears. She was there, standing next to you, dressed in sweatpants and a jacket—which looked a lot like yours.

"I just needed some time alone…" You saw her approach out of the corner of your eye, before she quickly took your side, sitting cross-legged. "What are you doing here?"

Sighing, the blonde looked away to the sea, calm and slow, almost like everything that happened between the two of you. Almost as if the waves were mirroring your behavior.

"I had to keep an eye on Barry, you know…" She paused, almost as if wondering whether she should continue. "So he wouldn't get drunk again." You could hear her swallow hard.

"At least you made sure he'll be okay for the wedding," you replied, laughing slightly in an attempt to break the tension.

But Sabrina didn't laugh. She kept staring out at the sea, she kept trying to hold back all the feelings she had held tightly against her chest all this time. When she finally looked in your direction, her eyes were filled with tears, shining in a way you never liked.

"Tell me I'm doing the right thing." When the words came out of her mouth, you froze.

All you wanted to say was that she wasn't doing the right thing, that she was making the biggest mistake she could make, that she wouldn't be happy with that man, and that you would miss her every day as soon as she said "I do" at the altar.

"You're doing the right thing." Your chest burned. A sob escaped Sabrina's mouth.

"Then why don't I feel like I am?" Her question took you by surprise, but not as much as when she threw herself on top of you, crying like a child who was afraid of a monster under the bed.

Sabrina's body was shaking, and the only thing you could do was hold her tight, as if she would dissolve if you didn't.

"Sab…"

"I hate him, Yn! I hate myself for not being able to say no to him! I hate every minute of it!" She broke down completely.

The weight of her body falling on you reminded you of the weight you carried in your chest, and as much as you wanted to say that everything would be okay, you really didn't know how that would happen. She cried, enough tears to fill the ocean, and when she finally slept, you took her back inside.

Because it was always like that, you would always take care of her.

When you laid her in bed, Mrs. Carpenter approached you, patting you on the back before walking with you out of the room.

"I know when my daughter is happy, Yn…" The older woman began, causing you to stop in the middle of the hallway. "And this isn't one of those situations."

"I don't know what to do, I can't just tell her not to marry the guy she's been in love with for two years!" You said, frustrated with all these confusing signals everyone was giving you.

Smiling slightly, Sabrina's mother approached you, hugging you and kissing your cheek. "I've known you since you were a little kid." She took your hands. "You've always known what to do."

Walking toward her room, Mrs. Carpenter stopped suddenly, turning toward you with a gentle smile.

"Remember, dear, she didn't have any papers with the speech in her hand." It was the only thing she said before opening the bedroom door and disappearing from your view.

Being alone felt familiar to you at this point. You always seemed to end up alone when someone was about to reveal to you what to do, it was almost like a dream, where you would wake up at the most important part.

It was a sunny day, the guests were seated, the organizers were rushing around, and everything seemed ready to be perfect.

"Nice shirt," Jenna said, approaching you with a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Nice dress," you replied.

Watching the people, you saw Barry arguing with some of the people who worked on organizing the ceremony. He seemed nervous, irritated, as if something very important was about to fall apart.

Before you could delve deeper into what was happening, the commotion quickly subsided, and you saw Barry being led away to prepare for the start of the ceremony.

When the music started, Barry entered with his mother, kissing the man on the cheek before sitting down with the rest of the guests. As the commotion began to subside, the bride's entrance music sounded over the loudspeakers, filling the room and clouding your thoughts.

You were a terrible friend! You were too selfish to share your feelings with your best friend, and too proud to tell her not to marry that boy. You felt wrong, you felt like trash in the middle of all those people.

"YOU!" The shout snapped you out of your cloud of thoughts. And you didn't have much time to think before you saw Barry coming quickly toward you.

Without giving you time to defend yourself, the man grabbed you by the collar, lifting you out of the chair you were sitting in and making a scene in front of everyone.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HER?" He shook you, causing you to grab his shoulders and push him away forcefully.

"What are you talking about?" You smoothed out the wrinkles in your shirt.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO SABRINA?" He shouted. "DID YOU TELL HER NOT TO MARRY ME?" He continued.

"Are you going crazy?" You tried.

Then you realized, the music had stopped, Sabrina hadn't come in. She wasn't there.

"DO YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW?" He laughed in your face. His finger raised to poke your chest in defiance. "You think I don't know you're in love with my fiancée?"

"Barry, calm down, please…" Sabrina's mother tried to say.

"She would never be with someone like you…" Barry pushed you hard, knocking you to the ground.

"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?" You asked, getting up and pushing the man back.

Barry didn't wait, he hit your face with his fist, making you stagger slightly backwards. "You're my problem, bitch!"

Recovering quickly, you punched him back, causing the man to stumble into some guests who were standing watching the fight.

You didn't have much time to think, you just saw the whole situation, as if you were watching from outside your body. Barry's fist rising to hit you again, hard and fast. Everyone looked in shock, as if they weren't entirely sure what they should do.

"HEY!"

Sabrina's voice rang out, the arm dress she wore contrasting with the quick, sharp, and dangerous way she spoke, also contrasting with the punch she landed on Barry afterwards.

"FUCK!" The guests were shocked, and Sabrina stood there, clutching the hand that had delivered the blow while Barry was crying to his mother about the blood pouring from his nose.

"NEVER TOUCH HER AGAIN!" Sabrina said, pointing an accusing finger at the man who used to be her fiancé. Barry looked shocked, before finally breaking free from his mother's arms and quickly marching toward the petite blonde.

"Did you just punch me, you little whore?" Before he could get close to Sabrina, you acted, knocking him out with a strong punch to the mouth, and watching the man fall into the arms of his friends.

"Don't call her that, son of a bitch."

Before you could move, you felt Sabrina's arms around your neck, the woman quickly finding comfort from the chaos of the situation in your arms.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner," she said.

"I'm sorry I didn't do anything sooner!"

With that, you grabbed the blonde's face, sealing your lips with hers, and finally ending all the suffering that you both had tried to hide for so long.

Her hands caressed your baby hair, and she sighed during the kiss, as if she was desperate for you two to never let go. Your hands matched her desperation, pulling her closer by the waist, as if you two weren't already close enough to merge. Her lips tasted like strawberries, and you wondered why you hadn't just done this before.

Pulling away, Sabrina pressed her forehead against yours, listening to the applause and cheers of all your relatives and friends—who had realized your feelings even before you did.

"Let's go?" Sabrina asked, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

"Where are we going?" you asked, even as you let her take you wherever she wanted.

"You'll see."

hey guys, I hope you're well.

i wrote this while i was in class, so i'm sorry if there are a lot of mistakes. Honestly, I had this idea and had to start writing immediately. The Manchild clip is just amazing, ever since I watched it I've been obsessed with the photography in this clip. it's just indie romcom movie energy, and I'm obsessed.

anyway, i hope you enjoy this. stay safe and drink water,

xoxo, spider.

#gxg imagine #wlw imagine #sabrina carpenter x you #sabrina carpenter x reader #g!p reader #spiderb00bs

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 3 days ago

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Thinking about Frank Castle being unable to stop running his mouth while he’s inside you… (MDNI)

His arms are bent at the elbow on either side of your head, caging you under his body as though you had anywhere else you’d rather be. Grunts escape his lips despite him, most of them against your lips as he tries to swallow your pitchy moans. He’s thrusting into you roughly, and quickly at that, knowing that’s how you like it. One of your legs is tightly wrapped around his back, heightening the experience for the both of you. There’s a pillow under your hips keeping them slightly elevated, making it easier for him to reach the deepest spots inside of you.

Unfortunately for the pillow, Frank had a long day, and his only cure for a long day happens to be making you cum as many times as he possibly can. He’s usually a man of very few words, but on nights like these the dam is irreversibly broken. He’s already brought you over the edge twice, once on just his tongue and again on merely two fingers. This is a usual occurrence, as Frank knows the game better than any other man can, but it happened quicker because he won’t. Stop. Talking.

Now especially, as he tries to add more slick to the inside of your thighs. He’s yet to cum, the incessant trembling of your pitiful legs almost enough satisfaction for him. “Cmon mama, cmon princess. Uh huh. Make a mess for me, you can do it. Let go, soak this dick. I know you want to, hell it only took you five minutes to make this mess on my face and hands. Yeah baby, that’s it—fuck— take it,” the words trickle out of him between grunts as his pace picks up. You whine and gasp beneath him, his words sending you into overdrive.

“Harder, Frank,” you gasp, the only words you can think of as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Harder? Jesus, baby. You can cum on just two fingers alone but by the time I got my dick in you, you want me to wreck you, huh? Just can’t get enough, filthy thing. Wanna get fucked like a whore, sure, I can do that. My whore. My sweet girl,” he rambles, ramming right into your favorite spot, one of his hands traveling down without you realizing it. Suddenly a loud smack fills the room as his palm comes down on your ass. It immediately brings pleasure filled tears to your eyes, the stimulation almost unbearable.

“You gonna cry for me? You poor thing. Can’t handle getting fucked like you want, can you? Maybe I should take it easy on you, huh?” he smirks, knowing that is the exact opposite of what you want, but slowing down nonetheless.

“Frank! No!” you protest, grinding into him.

“Tell me what you want, Princess. Come on,” he demands, biting the juncture of collarbone and neck, making you cry out his name.

“Fuck me like- fuck me- like a whore,” you stutter as he keeps leaving bites along your chest.

“That what you want? Yeah, alright. I can do that,” he grunts, resuming the pace from before. The tears freely fall now, not out of pain, but out of sheer, mind numbing pleasure. “Aww, shh, sweet thing. Just giving you what you want, baby. Cmon, make a mess for me,” he coaxes, kissing your tears away, bringing his hand down to rub on your very overstimulated clit. “Let me wreck you, cmon, come on this big dick.” You cry out his name, but he swallows it with his mouth, kissing you deeply.

It doesn’t take long before you come again, gasping for air and his name all at once. He rolls off of you to give you a moment, and once your breathing slows you realize—

He’s still rock hard, his cock red and angry against his abs as he lies next to you. “You thought we were done, sugar?” He asks, a slow, lazy smirk on his handsome face. You whimper, somehow getting wet again despite yourself. “Nah,” he continues. “We’re just getting started.”

A/N: Requests are open! I take the more depressed marvel characters (Bucky, Logan, Frank, Matt, etc.), anyone played by Jensen Ackles, and more. If you’re curious, just ask! :D

Also, comments are appreciated— writing is hard and I have a praise kink :3

#frank castle #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you

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haikyu-mp4 · 1 day ago

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Just his type – Yaku x reader wc 684 – gn!reader

Sometimes, the members of Nekoma doubted that you and Yaku were actually dating. Willingly at least.

Kuroo, especially, would squint whenever you two interacted at school, as it mostly consisted of scoffing and annoying each other. It wasn’t anything like the romantic bickering he imagined in his future relationship.

“Why don’t you just do better?” Yaku asked when you were moping over a bad test result. Kuroo grimaced, having heard those exact words from him in volleyball training, but now he watched you slowly raise your gaze to Yaku’s.

“You’re so smart, honey.” You smacked your lips with a sarcastic chuckle, patting your head. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”

And when you abruptly shoved your chair back to get up and rub your knuckle into your boyfriend’s head until he could swear a bald spot started forming, Kai would just pat Kuroo on the shoulder. “Yaku needs a partner like that, don’t you think?”

The second-years cared less, but found it entertaining when the so-called demon senpai was challenged.

They’re in the gym at training camp, doing receiving drills until Yaku might tire out and let them go.

Yamamoto’s eyes followed Lev, who had Yaku trailing angrily behind him but struggling to keep up with his stride.

“Get back here!” Yaku squeaked. “You’re not done with training!”

Lev stuttered out some excuse that Yamamoto couldn’t hear after he got distracted by you stepping inside the gym.

Kenma came up beside him and huffed a small laugh. “It’s like the final boss has a final boss.” Yamamoto only shook his head with a smile, not exactly disagreeing.

Yaku turned 180 degrees and hit you with an unimpressed look. “I thought you had kitchen duty with Fukurodani's managers.”

“And I thought you were going to ask the second-years to come help me,” you retorted, crossing your arms and tapping your foot on the floor impatiently.

Yaku blinked at you in silence. Hearing that, Yamamoto and Kenma started slowly backing away so they might evade such a fate. The older team member diverted his gaze with a hint of guilt and shrugged. “So, I might have forgotten that. Do you need them now?”

Yamamoto made a last-ditch attempt, grabbing Kenma’s sleeve and pulling him along until they reached the entrance, escaping into the night to the sound of you two fighting.

In the preliminaries, the third-years’ last opportunity to go to nationals, you spent the whole game with your hands clutched together, cheering the boys on for them to beat the team that couldn’t seem to play fair.

If only Coach Nekomata let you and Yaku at ‘em, they wouldn’t be barking so loud after.

Nonetheless, you believed in Nekoma wholeheartedly.

Until you watched Yaku jump the barrier for a flyaway ball and not get back up. You gasped, running around the court to get to him as fast as possible, apologising to any people you had to shove aside. When you got there, Yaku was groaning and clutching his ankle with one hand, while the other pressed against the floor to try and push him up.

The team watched as you held Yaku close to you, one hand resting on his chest and the other arm across his back while he leaned on you to get the weight off his foot. It was the most affectionate they’d seen you two be with each other, and it was topped by Yaku pressing a kiss to your temple, before shaking his head stubbornly at whatever you’d said.

Kuroo ran over to check on you two and recognised the familiar tone in your voice. “Are you stupid? If you go back in now, you’ll hurt yourself even more, and then you can’t even play when Nekoma finally goes to nationals!” you scolded him.

Yaku eventually gave in, letting you help him to the bench, and Shibayama took his place on the court.

Kuroo looked at Kai and nodded, the two sharing a motivational high five as they got ready to start back up.

“Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of partner he needs,” he mused, ending that speculation.

masterlist

requested by @liquidcatt for don't forget me<3

#don't forget me #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #fanfiction #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyu fluff #yaku #yaku x reader #yaku haikyuu #yaku morisuke #yaku x you #yaku morisuke x reader #nekoma

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sydwritess · 3 days ago

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The Girl In The Middle

Lando Norris x fem!reader, George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: Lando and readers relationship was good, but rocky at times. At Lando's after party for winning a race, reader catches him kissing another girl. Leaving reader in the shadows. Until she finds a new lover.

First Person POV

Warnings: swearing, drinking, no physical aggression

Me and Lando have dated for around a year or so. Things have been great. Of course I knew about his party boy reputation, but I didn't let that get in the way of our relationship.

"Are you excited for the after-party?" Lando asked, holding my hand walking, through the Paddock.

"Of course. Celebrating the big winner and everything." I smiled

"I know. I still can't believe it." he smiled back.

"I knew you could do it. Always." I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Look, I have to get ready for tonight. Do you just want to meet there?" He asked.

"Yeah for sure. I will see you there." I said.

"Great. I will see you there." He smiled. I walked out of the circuit, getting in my car and driving to the hotel room for the evening.

I got there quickly, seeing how everything in Monaco was so close. I was in the middle of doing my hair and makeup, that took a couple of hours, when I got a call from Lando.

"Hey, what's up?" I ask.

"Was wondering where you are? The party isn't fun without you." He said.

"Shit. I'm running late. I'll be there quickly." I said.

"Don't be to late. I miss you." He said, by now I was walking through the hotel, getting to my car.

"Are you drunk?" I ask.

"No. Maybe. A little. But just hurry please." He begged.

"I'm on my way." I said, hanging up the phone before driving to the club. I got to the club in a quick timely manner, walking through the large building and upstairs to the club, seeing Lando at the bar,

"Hey gorgeous." Lando said, hugging me.

"Hey. How's the party so far?" I ask.

"Good now that your here." He said. Me and him had ordered many drinks. Having them gone quickly and going to dance. DJ Khaled was even DJ'ing for Lando tonight, playing a massive list of songs.

"Hey, I'm going to step out, are you okay?" I asked Lando.

"Yeah! Just hurry back!" He said over the loud music. I nodded and stepped outside, crossing my arms due to the cold, night air. I was out there for a minute when I heard footsteps behind me. I turn around to see George standing there.

"Hey." I said, gently.

"Y/n, how are you?" He asks.

"I'm good. How about you?"

"Good. Enjoying the party while it lasts." He said with a small laugh.

"I know. I can't believe Khaled is here." I said.

"Only the best of the best." He smirked. A moment of silence appearing.

"Are you having fun tonight?" He asked slowly.

"Yeah. It's really cool. What about you?" I ask.

"It's good."

"I better, go." I said.

"Mind if I walk with you?" He asks.

"Not at all." I say. Walking back through the double doors. We walk upstairs, the music getting louder as we get closer.

"We should find Lando." I said, George nodded. We headed to the middle of the dance floor, walking through the large crowd, only to abruptly stop at my sight.

"What the fuck Lando!" I screamed, locking eyes with him and a random blonde girl who was kissing him. Everything thing had stopped.

The music. The dancing. The people. My world.

"It's not what it looks like." He said, putting his hands up. Just then the crowd, his friends looked at us.

"How could you do this to me. How long has this been going on?" I whispered.

"3 months. Get over yourself." The girl besides him says. I step closer to her. And my fist collides with her face hard.

"What the hell y/n." Lando says.

"No! No! That should be me, you should be caring for." I said, pointing to the girl on the floor. "I can't fucking look at you right now." I said, shaking my head and walking out of the building.

The shame and embarrassment hit me like a brick wall, I was walking outside quickly, tripping over my own feet.

"Y/n! Y/n." A voice says, I turn around to see George running over to me. "Y/n, your drunk." He said.

"So?"

"So, you can't be driving." He said, taking the car keys out of my hand.

"I'm fine."

"No, your not. At least let me drive you to the hotel." He said gently.

"Fine." I said shortly, getting int eh passenger seat of my car. He got in the drivers side and took the short drive to the hotel. I leaned my head against my seat, closing my eyes as he parked. I heard him get out of the drivers side, and come around, opening my door.

"Let me help you." He said. He helped me stand up, leaning my against the car for support.

"Why me? What did I do?" I said, starting to cry.

"It's not your fault. It's him being a jerk." He said softly.

"Why her? Like I was right there!" I said.

"Y/n don't get yourself worked up on this."

"I have to! I mean, he cheated on me. Am I really just that bad of a person?" I ask, the tears flowing at the point.

"You're not a bad person. Trust me. He just gets ahead of himself." He said, helping me off of the car and into the hotel. We both get into the elevator, moving up to the top floor as I lean in the corner of it, supporting myself.

The elevator finally beeped, signaling we were on my floor. George had helped me out, walking me down the hallway to my room.

"Do you have your key?" He asks.

"Uh- yeah. Somewhere." I say, fumbling around for it. I reach for it in my pocket and unlock the door, walking in to the chilled room.

"There. You alright then?" George asks from the doorway. I turn to him, putting my purse down on the counter.

"I'll see you... at work." I said, slowly walking to him. "Do you need a ride home?" I ask, my voice shaky.

He smiles and laughs a little bit.

"I'll be alright. I think you better get some rest. But please, text me if you need anything." He said with a smile.

"Yeah. I will." I said, a half smile forming on my lips. "Thank you." I said, tightly hugging George.

"Of course." He said, hugging back then letting go. I walk into my room further, shutting the door behind me and laying on the bed. Falling asleep instantly.

I woke up in my hotel room. The soft hum of the AC turning on. The sun rising through the light shears, making a bright pink color in the sky. I slowly vet up, looking around. Suddenly my phone rings next to me.

"Hello?" I ask tiredly.

"Hey y/n." A voice says, I recognize it's George.

"Hey George."

"How are you feeling?"

"Not good now."

"Why, what's wrong?" He asks.

"I just woke up. Remembering what happened last night." I said.

"I'm sorry." He said

"It's not your fault."

"Has he tried texting you?" He asks.

"Yeah. A lot." I said.

"Listen, why don't we meet up at work before the post race shit starts happening. We can talk then." He said.

"Yeah. That's sounds great. Thank you." I said.

"Your welcome. Just meet me at the Mercedes pit wall. I'll be there." He said

"Great. I will see you soon." I said.

"See you soon, y/n." He said. I hung up the phone, slowly getting up out of bed. I go to my suitcase, picking out an outfit for today and getting dressed. After getting dressed I did my hair, then walked out of the bathroom. I looked in the mini-fridge that the room came with, noticing that there was not much to eat besides a piece of left over pizza. Next to the pizza was a bottle of tropical blue vodka.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed the bottle and got two empty Gatorade bottles from the counter; filling them to the brim. I grab my back pack, and stuff the bottles in there, hiding them well enough. I get my shoes on, grab my car keys, and leave the hotel.

I pulled up tot eh circuit parking lot, getting out and walking up to the gates. I swipe my work care and walk inside through the paddock until I find the Mercedes garage.

"Hey." George said, sitting at one of the computers.

"Hey. I said, putting my bag down, sitting next to him.

"Uh- I'm almost done, so after can talk a walk around." He suggusted.

"Okay." I said. We sat there for an hour, George going over the race, writing stuff down, talking to engineers.

"I'll be back. Just going o use the bathroom I said, grabbing my bag.

"Okay." He said softly. I went out of the garage and pit wall station, finding a quiet empty hallway near the drivers rooms. I sit down against the wall and take one Gatorade bottle out of the bag, slowly drinking it until I feel a small buzz.

"Hey y/n." A voice said next to me. I look up to see Lando standing there. I roll my eyes and continue drinking.

"Can we please talk?" He asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

"What the hell do you want."

"I was wrong. I know that." He said.

"No." I shook my head. "It's not even that. It's the fact that you started to shove me away towards the end of our relationship. Not wanting to hold me in public, walking around me, not next to me." I said, trailing off to grab my other bottle.

"Do you know how humiliated I am right now?" I ask.

"I'm sorry. I truly am,

No your not!" I said.

"Well what do you want me to say?"

"I don't know! Maybe to actually give me a reason why you don't love me anymore? Am I really not that good of a person anymore!" I said.

"I didn't- are you drinking?" He asked.

"Yeah. Gatorade." I said, holding the bottle up.

"That's not actually Gatorade, is it." He asked slowly, and quietly. I start laughing, which quickly turns into tears.

"Y/n. Maybe you need to get a bit of help." He said. I now stand with him.

"I'm the one that needs help? Me? Do you fucking hear yourself? I need help for doing a bit of drinking but it's okay for your to free lance around town fucking cheating on me?"

"That's not what I'm saying. I told you I was sorry-"

"Everything all right out here?" A voice said, I look over Lando's shoulder to see George standing there.

"Fuck you." I said to Lando. "Get the hell away from me." I said. He looked at me pleadingly, but walked the opposite way of us, I watched him.

"Shit." I mumble, sitting down on the floor again. Slowly looking up at George.

"Are you okay?" He asks. I nod.

"Are you actually drunk?" He asks.

"No." I said, he gives me a deeper look. "No." I said, looking at the floor. He then offers out a hand and helps me stand up.

I look at him, a sad expression on his face.

"I'm sorry." I whispered.

"Your broken. He broke you, and that's okay. But you can't resort to drinking. Please." He said, grabbing my hand. I nod.

"How much do you have there?" He asked.

"This." I said, holding the bottle up. He gently took it and threw it away.

"We can get through this together." He said, grabbing my hand. I nod, grabbing my bag and walk off with him. Luckily the race was over. So we had the paddock to ourselves, and other drivers.

"You want to sit there? I still have a bit of work to do." He said, pointing to a table. I nodded and we both walk over. He takes his laptop out and starts working.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

"Just emailing some engineers about the next race. Sorry it's taking so long." He said.

"It's fine. I don't mind sitting here." I said with a soft smile. I saw a couple of drivers and engineer's walking around to their assigned garages, but then one caught my eye. Lando and the girl from the party yesterday.

"Shit." I mumble, which caught Georges attention, he looked up as I put my head down.

"Don't worry about them." He said, grabbing my hand lightly.

"Yeah." I said lightly, grabbing his hand. Just then, I see them walking together towards us.

"Y/n. George." Lando said, looking at us. "Can we talk? I think it will be good if all three of us are there." Lando said, looking at me.

"No, no! What the fuck. You seriously think I'm going to talk to some whore who's only here for the money and fame. Your fucking crazy."

"Am not. But I can help I am way better then you." The girl said, I stood up from my chair instantly.

"Want to bet? I'd have you on the ground in a fucking second, begging for someone to call an ambulance for you." I said, she stepped back.

"Hey, why don't we not get us kicked out, yeah?" George said, now standing with me. I look over at him, and then at Lando and the girl who looked more scared then ever.

"If you think I'm going to talk to you. And the bitch you cheated on me with, your out of your fucking mind." I said, sitting back down.

"I'm sorry." He said, walking away slowly. I crossed my arms, slouching in my chair.

"Are you okay?" George asked.

"Yeah." I whisper.

It had been a couple of weeks since Monaco. Lando had tried multiple ways to get me back, even breaking up with his girlfriend. But none of them worked for me.

I had posted a picture of me on Instagram with the cpation:

'Moving on from immature to mature.' with a smiley face. I got a bunch of comment exploding my Instagram but not looking at a single one.

Right now we were in Spain. FP2 had just gotten done George came in second which was great.

"Hey. You did great out there." I smiled at him.

"Thank you." He said hugging me.

"You better go get your picture done." I said.

"Right. I shall be back." He said, playfully rolling his eyes and going up the podium. Everybody clapped for them, getting multiple pictures. After they were done with the podium, George came down, and walked over to me.

"Right. Where were we?" He asked, grabbing my hand.

"You were great out there." I said quietly.

"Thank you." He said smiling. He had skipped all of the media, and went with me inside the paddock.

"Are you sure you don't want to change?" I ask, looking at his racing suit hanging down around his waist.

"I'll be alright. Promise." He said. We continue walking around, sometimes getting stopped by fans for him.

"You want to go back to hospitality?" He asked.

"Yeah of course." I said, he grabbed my hand we started walking down the hallway to the driver's rooms. As we were walking, I saw Lando coming towards us, looking stressed out. When he looked up he paused, standing still.

"So are you two like a thing now?" He asked us quietly, looking at our intertwined hands.

"I-" George says.

"Actually we are." I interrupted.

"Wow. I mea- I mean congrats. I think that's wonderful." He says.

"Thanks." I said.

"So, when did this happen?" Lando asked.

"Couple of weeks ago." I said.

"Wow. That's really great for you." He said, then slowly walked away.

"Together huh?" George asked as we walked to his room, unlocking his door.

"Maybe he'll leave me alone." I said, we walked in, and George silently sat on the couch.

"Look." I said, sitting next to him. "I hate being rude to him. But... you know." I said.

"I get where your coming from. Hell I'd be pissed to." He said smiling. There was a long pause between us.

"Do you want to make it real?" He asked.

"Hmm... you see I don't know... Might have a lot to think about. You know, this racing life can be a lot sometimes." I teased. He laughed quietly.

"Okay. Why don' we give it a shot." I said.

"Give it a shot?" He repeated. I nodded. "Perfect. Now it's true he said.

He gently cupped my face, bringing his closer to mine, slowly kissing me.

"I love you." He whispered.

"I love you to."

Hey loves! A bit of a different piece! Hope you like it! Comment to be added to the tag list!

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maugustiee · 2 days ago

Text

“Preacher Boy”

Sammie x black!reader

Nala could smell the grease before she hit the back door of the juke. Fried catfish popped in the skillet while Aunt Annie served corn liquor and Irish beer. the music thumped harmonica blues, inside the juke made everything look like sin.

“You best not be lettin’ no fool grab at you while you run them plates,” Aunt Annie said without turning, her bangles clinking as she reached for more fish. “Them boys get wild with that corn liquor.”

Nala smirked, tying her apron tight around her waist. “Ain’t nobody grabbing nothin’. I’ll drop a whole plate in they lap.”

“Mmhm,” Aunt Annie hummed. “You say that now.”

Nala had only been in town a week, come up from Louisiana to practice hoodoo, and Annie her mama’s wild older sister had taken her in. Said she could help with tradition and keep outta trouble.

She pushed through the swinging door, balancing a tray of paper-wrapped fish sandwiches and cold bottles of Irish beer. The place was already breathing heavy with bodies, smoke, and sweat. Folks danced sloppy and close.

And that’s when she saw him.

Sammie.

Leaning back in a booth in the far corner, guitar in his lap after performing. Dark brown skin and eyes that were only on her.

“Preacher Boy,” folks called him. On account of his daddy running a church.

He spotted her the second she stepped in. Nala knew it, even if he didn’t move. Just watched, head tilted, mouth doing that .

Nala sucked her teeth and dropped off the tray at a table, ignoring the way her neck warmed. She hadn’t seen Sammie in years and she was still too young to know how to hold a boy’s gaze for more than a second.

He wasn’t a boy now.

And when she turned to head back, he was already standing.

Lord.

He met her halfway, just past the old upright piano Miss Leona sometimes played on Sunday nights. He wasn’t smiling, not really. But his voice came low and deeo for hus age.

“You Nala?” he said, though they both knew he knew.

She crossed her arms. “You Sammie?”

“Yea.”

“Well, You want a sandwich or somethin ” she said, chin tilted.

He looked her up and down, slow and respectful but still enough to make her stomach do that tumble.

“As much as I would like to I’m full.”

“I’ll let Annie know you enjoyed it.”

That got a smile out of him, crooked and dangerous.

“Now I really remember you,” he said. “ pig tails right?”

“I remember you too,” she said. “Preacher boy ’.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “That ain’t changed.”

They stood there a second, music pulsing between them. Something old and bluesy, too slow for dancing. Folks brushed past, laughing, hollering. But Nala just looked at him.

“You believe in all that?” she asked. “All that preachin’?”

He tilted his head. “I believe in somethin’. You?”

“My aunt talk to spirits,” she said. “Folks come from all over just to have her blow powder over they front doors.”

“That hoodoo stuff?”

“She says it’s older than church.”

He didn’t flinch. Just nodded once. “Maybe it is.”

A pause.

“Can’t hear” he asked. “Too loud in here.”

She should’ve remembered what Aunt Annie said about boys with soft eyes and steady voices.

But Nala just slipped off her apron, tossed it over a chair, and led him to the storage closet .

He turned to her. “You sure yo ain’t ain’t gon come looking for you”

“No.”

But she was buzzin’. Not from drink — just from him. From the way he looked at her like he’d been waitin’.

She stepped closer.

“You don’t act like no preacher’s son,” she said.

“And you don’t act like no good girl.”

She licked her lips slow, just to see what he’d do.

He noticed.

“Nala,” he said, voice softer now. “You sure you wanna—?”

She reached up and took his collar in both hands. “I’m tired of bein’ good.”

Then his mouth was on hers, hot and sure, and she melted into him like butter on skillet bread. His hands slid down, slow but certain, until they rested on her waist, pulling her close. She pressed up on her toes, sighing into his mouth, tasting smoke and sweet tea and sin.

His breath hitched when she moved against him.

She bit his bottom lip, just barely. “Still wanna talk about Jesus, preacher boy?”

He laughed, low and rough. “Lord, forgive me.”

And then they forgot about forgiveness.

Back pressed the door, Nala let his hands roam on her, careful but hungry,getting upon his knees throwing her legs over his shoulders putting his mouth to work. She dragged her fingers through his hair, whispered his name like it was something sacred.

“Sammie” she let out a breathy moan at him picking up his pace, jerking from time to time at his tongue touching and licking all the right places threatening to become undone.

“Be still girl” he spoke before putting his back in between her legs.

She shook even more her orgasm hitting her like a truck her breathe getting caught in her throat. “Sammie oh fuck” she moaned.

After a few more licks he rested his head on her thigh “you alright” he chuckled.

She nodded being the only thing she could do, he kissed her thigh putting her legs back on the ground standing back up.

He rested his forehead against hers. “You gon’ get me in trouble.”

“You was already in it.”

#sammie moore #preacher boy #sinners #sinners fanfiction

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odysseusmom · 1 day ago

Text

OBEY, BRAT

Reader x True Form Sukuna

✦ One-Shot

Smut 18+! MDNI

cw: dark themes, sexual tension, physical dominance, rough language, power play, choking

words: ~2k, have fun! not proofread

⸻

The first time Sukuna sees you, you’re not afraid of him.

That’s what does it.

Blood stains the floor beneath his feet. The air is thick with smoke and screams, but you—small, dark-haired, eyes sharp and unyielding—stand in the center of the chaos like you belong to it.

You should be running. You don’t.

You look up at him like he’s not a curse, but a challenge.

His head tilts. “You’re not screaming.”

You shrug, brushing ash from your shoulder. “You’re not as tall as I imagined.”

He stares. Blinks once. Then lets out a low, wicked laugh.

Everyone else begs him for mercy. You provoke him.

He circles you slowly, eyes raking over your curves, lingering on the dangerous calm in your gaze. “You’re either incredibly brave,” he says, voice like smoke and blades, “or fucking suicidal.”

“Can’t I be both?”

Something in him clicks.

You’re not prey. You’re the spark.

That night, he doesn’t kill you. He follows you.

Watches how you move. How you lie. How you fight like beauty is a weapon and your smile is the last thing a man sees before he dies.

He dreams of your voice.

Not sweet. Sharp.

He dreams of your hands.

Not delicate. Cruel.

And when he finally touches you, weeks later, with blood on both your lips and a corpse cooling between you, it’s not lust at first.

It’s ownership.

Obsession came later.

Obsession doesn‘t bloom, it strikes.

Right after you bit his lip and whispered, “You’re going to beg for me.”

And he realized—

You weren’t his prey.

You were his match.

—✴︎

You feel him before you see him—his presence stretches ahead of him like a storm rolling over the horizon. Sukuna doesn’t walk into the room so much as command it, dark red eyes locked on you, like you’re the only thing worth devouring in this realm or the next.

You don’t look away.

His mouth curves, amused and hungry, that scar-slick grin dangerous as ever. He stands tall, hulking, predatory—almost two meters of carved power, tattoos curling like inked flames over hard muscle, barely contained by the loose black robe draped over his frame. His salmon-pink hair falls around his sharp jawline, slightly tousled, like he’s just been in a fight—or something far more wicked.

“Still staring, brat?” His voice is deep velvet with razors underneath.

You cross your arms slowly, letting your weight shift to one hip. Your long black hair spills over your shoulders, and you see his eyes dip—just for a moment. Enough to catch the shape of your curves under the thin silk slip you threw on deliberately, knowing damn well it barely hides anything.

“Still talking?” you shoot back, lips curling.

He laughs low, a rough, dangerous sound. “Feisty tonight. Good. I was getting bored.”

He’s in front of you in a blink, crowding you back against the wall, massive hand braced beside your head. His body is hot, radiating heat like fire barely restrained. You can smell him—something dark, spiced, and ancient.

You don’t flinch. You tilt your chin up, eyes gleaming.

“Say it,” he growls, pressing in closer.

You smile—slow, sweet, wicked. Then, without breaking eye contact, you reach beneath your slip. His gaze darkens instantly, pupils flaring as he watches your fingers hook into your lace panties. You drag them down slow, teasing. Sukuna breathes heavier.

“You want brat?” you purr, voice low and laced with challenge. “Then eat it.”

Before he can reply, you stuff the soft fabric right between his lips.

His eyes flash wide in surprise—then narrow. His tongue curls around the soaked lace, groaning low in his throat like a beast unleashed. He bites down just enough to hold it, and suddenly his hands are on you, massive and greedy. He doesn’t care about gentle—he never has.

But you don’t give him time.

You shove him hard toward the throne-like chair behind him. He lets you, grinning around the gag, clearly thrilled. His hands drop to the armrests, letting you climb on top, straddling his thick thighs. His cock presses up hard under his robes, but you don’t touch it. Not yet.

Instead, you ride the power high, grinding slow, making him feel every damn inch of your heat through his clothes. His eyes roll back slightly—then snap open when you slap him, sharp across his cheek.

He growls.

You slap him again.

And Sukuna moans.

“You like that, huh?” you murmur, hand tangling in his hair, tugging his head back. His throat is perfect. You want to mark it. “You like being a filthy little god under my heel?”

He nods, eyes burning, gag still between his teeth. You can feel him throb beneath you.

“I’m not done breaking you yet,” you whisper, and ride him harder, dominance and fire bleeding between you like lightning in a stormcloud.

He grins wide, baring teeth, and swallows your underwear whole.

“Then stop talking,” he rumbles, voice rough and full of dark promise, “and try.”

The moment he swallows the lace, you freeze.

Not from fear. From thrill.

He’s never broken eye contact. His hands grip the armrests of the throne like he’s restraining a beast inside himself—barely. You’ve never seen a man look so undone while still completely in control. That paradox is what drives you mad.

“You just ate my underwear,” you murmur.

His mouth is wet and gleaming, lips curling upward. “You put it there. I’m simply obeying.”

You grind your hips against him, slow and punishing, and watch his eyes flutter, jaw tightening. You lean in, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

“You sure about that?” you whisper. “Because I haven’t given you a single command yet.”

He snarls low in his throat, and just like that, you’re airborne—lifted effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. His hands clamp around your waist, dragging you down to the cold stone floor of his lair. Your back hits the ground, but before you can even gasp, he’s already on top of you, massive frame caging you in.

“You want to play rough, brat?” His voice is low and dangerous, and god, you can feel how hard he is. “Then give me your worst.”

You smile up at him, all heat and venom. “Gladly.”

You catch him off guard when you flip him—pure will and adrenaline—and suddenly he’s on his back. Your thighs clamp around his hips as you sink onto his lap again, smirking down at him like a queen reclaiming her throne.

“You love it when I don’t behave,” you whisper, fingers dragging down his chest, tracing the dark tattoos coiling over his pecs and abs.

“I love breaking bad girls,” he growls back, but his voice is shaky now.

You lean down and kiss his throat—open-mouthed, biting gently just below his jaw. His skin tastes like heat and danger. He bucks his hips under you, desperate.

“Say it,” you demand.

He snarls again.

You slap him—harder this time. His head snaps to the side, a red mark blooming on his perfect cheek. And he laughs—deep and wrecked.

“Say what?” he pants.

“That you’re mine.”

His eyes narrow. “No.”

You reach between you, stroking him through his clothes, painfully slow. “Say it,” you purr.

He grabs your wrists—but not to stop you. Just to feel your pulse racing.

“You think you’ve got control?” he hisses.

“No,” you smirk. “I know I do.”

His lips crash into yours, all teeth and tongue, and you fight for dominance in every breathless second. You can taste the madness in him—the ancient, cursed hunger—and he tastes the chaos in you.

You’re a perfect match. Fire and fire.

And tonight, you’ll both burn.

He tastes like heat and fury. Like blood and obsession.

And you match it with every roll of your hips, every slap, every filthy word you whisper into his mouth as your teeth tug his bottom lip. You’re both breathing like beasts now, hot and ragged, drowning in the storm you created together.

Sukuna’s eyes burn, glowing under you like molten garnet, his claws digging into the stone beneath him as you ride him, merciless, relentless.

His whole body shakes—not from weakness, but from restraint.

“You love this, don’t you?” you whisper, your voice wrecked and dark. “Me, on top of you. In control. Making you fall apart.”

His lip curls into a snarl, but it’s pure worship underneath the fury. “You’re the only one insane enough to try.”

You lean forward, your hair falling like a dark curtain between you. Your tongue drags up the side of his throat—slow, possessive. “Then tell me who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he growls. “I’m a curse. A king.”

“Wrong answer.”

You slap him again—harder than before, your palm cracking against his cheek. His head snaps to the side, spit and breath flying, but when he looks back, his eyes are glowing.

His mouth opens in a twisted, wicked grin. “Do it again.”

You laugh softly, licking the sting off your palm. “Say please.”

And he does.

This god, this legend, pleads.

“Please, brat,” he growls. “Hit me again. Own me.”

The words are oxygen to your fire.

You drag your fingers down his chest, leaving red marks over his tattoos, and slam your hips into him as your hand meets his face again. He groans—long and low—eyes fluttering. And when he grabs your waist this time, it’s not to stop you.

It’s to pull you closer. Keep you locked to him.

“You’re sick,” he mutters, voice hoarse, “and I’d burn every kingdom for another second between your thighs.”

You slow, just for a breath. “Then burn.”

And he does.

You feel him lose it under you—completely, beautifully. The monster comes undone, a god laid bare, and you ride him through it like a queen on a ruined throne, your nails in his chest, your body owning every inch of him.

When it’s over, you collapse forward, your face buried in the crook of his neck, both of you slick with sweat, panting in the afterglow of pure chaos. His massive arms come around you—tight. Unyielding.

You expect him to pull back. Instead, he buries his nose in your hair and whispers, “You drive me insane.”

You chuckle, breathless. “Good.”

A beat of silence. Then:

“If anyone else ever touches you like that,” he says, voice suddenly sharp and cruel, “I’ll rip them apart. Limbs first. I’ll make them watch themselves die.”

You lift your head and look into those burning eyes. There’s no joke in them.

Your lips curl slowly. “Jealousy suits you.”

“I don’t get jealous,” he hisses.

“Yes, you do.”

He grabs your jaw. Not rough—just firm enough to say: You’re mine.

“Then don’t give me a reason.”

You smirk. “Then keep me entertained.”

His eyes flicker. Challenge accepted.

“Don’t leave me,” he says suddenly. Quietly.

The words stun the air out of your lungs. You blink. “What?”

“I said—” he breathes deep “—stay.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just look at him. The tattoos. The bloodlust. The destruction he carries in every breath.

And the way he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this realm.

“I’ll stay,” you whisper finally, “but only if you obey.”

He smiles.

And this time, he bows his head.

“Yes, brat.”

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stories too <3

#jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk ryomen #sukuna #true form sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #reader x character #bold #tattoos #daddy’s brat #jjk #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen x y/n #x y/n

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yassbishimvintage · 2 days ago

Text

Welcome to Chicago (3)

Sinners Masterlist

Stack moved like a man on fire.

He didn’t tell Smoke. Didn’t wait for backup. Didn’t even put on his coat.

All he had was that note, the lipstick print, and one name burning in his head like a bullet lodged between his ribs.

Annalise.

She hadn’t been at the club. Not at her usual corner table. Not backstage. Not even at the powder room where she liked to smoke and watch people through the mirror.

Stack hit every spot he knew—her boarding house, the speakeasy on Halsted, even the little bakery off 35th where she used to flirt with the old Italian man for extra sugar in her coffee. Nothing.

Finally, he found her.

Or rather, she found him.

He turned the corner onto Lake Street—and there she was, leaning against a lamppost like she’d been waiting all along. Shadows crawling up her legs. Moonlight in her eyes. Coat pulled tight against the wind, but her mouth was bare, unreadable.

Stack froze.

Annalise didn’t blink. “You came quicker than I thought.”

He stepped forward, voice low. Rough. “You know why I’m here.”

“I have a guess,” she said, calm. “Rudy.”

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Her mouth didn’t move, but her eyes... God, her eyes ached. “I knew someone would come after you eventually. I didn’t know when. I didn’t know Rudy would bleed for it.”

He took another step. “Don’t play coy with me, ‘Lise. Someone slipped a note under my door. No name. Just four words.” He pulled it from his pocket. Shoved it toward her. “She’s not what she seems. That lipstick look familiar?”

She glanced at it. No shock. No denial. Just a quiet, exhausted nod.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s mine.”

That knocked the breath out of him. “So you sent it?”

“No.” Her voice dropped. “I didn’t get the chance.”

Stack’s heart kicked against his ribs. “What the hell does that mean?”

Annalise looked around, eyes scanning the street like shadows might have ears. Then she stepped in close—closer than she ever had before. She gripped his lapel, voice no louder than a whisper.

“You’re in deeper than you think, Stack. Rudy was just the start. There’s another crew—one Dom doesn’t control. Out-of-towners. Mean. Organized. They don’t like that Dom let you in. They think you’re soft. That you’re... distracted.”

Stack stared at her. “Distracted by what?”

She didn’t blink. “By me.”

Silence dropped like a hammer between them.

Then she added, bitter and soft, “And maybe they’re right.”

Stack’s hands curled into fists. “Who are they? Names.”

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “But I will. I’ve been playin’ two sides too long not to see how this ends. And I ain’t gonna let it end with you in a box.”

Stack’s voice cracked. “So what now?”

Annalise leaned in and kissed him—not soft. Not sweet. But like a goodbye she didn’t want to say out loud.

Then she whispered, “You find Smoke. Tell him to lock the doors. And whatever you do—don’t trust anybody new that walks into your circle.”

Stack tried to hold onto her arm, but she slipped away like steam off a bullet casing.

Disappeared into the night.

And Stack was left standing there—note in hand, heart in pieces, and war crawling closer with every second.

Annalise sat on the edge of a dusty chaise in the back of a shuttered tailor shop. Her coat hung off one shoulder, curls a little looser now, one stocking run up the thigh like she hadn’t had time to fix it. She looked at Stack with eyes that had seen too much in the past twenty-four hours.

Her voice was low, clipped, and tired.

“It’s an Irish gang.”

Stack stopped pacing.

She looked him dead in the face. “If you two were smart… you’d send your brother as the mouthpiece. Not you.”

Stack’s jaw tightened. “You sayin’ I can’t handle it?”

“I’m sayin’ you’re a match in a powder house, Stack,” she snapped, already feeling the ache settle in her ribs from the pressure she was under. “The Irish don’t like loud. They don’t like charm. They like order. And your brother?” Her voice dropped. “He makes sense to men who like guns over smiles.”

Stack didn’t answer right away.

He looked at her—not the lips, not the legs, not even the way her chest rose and fell like she was holding something in.

He looked through her. And for the first time, he saw it.

She was scared.

Not just for herself. Not just for him. But for something bigger—something she couldn’t name out loud because if she did, it might just swallow them both.

“Why now?” he asked. “Why tell me this now?”

Annalise stared at the floor, then up at him. “Because the Irish don’t make threats twice. They gave the signal already. Rudy was it.” She shifted slightly, wincing. “Next one won’t be a warning.”

He stepped forward. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He reached for her elbow, gentle. She flinched.

His fingers found the truth. A bruise beneath her sleeve, already blooming deep purple.

Stack’s voice turned to gravel. “Who touched you?”

Annalise didn’t answer. Just looked away and said, “Get your brother. Before someone decides to finish what they started.”

Stack backed away, pulse racing. The fire in his chest wasn’t rage—it was war drums.

He turned for the door, but not before saying, low and sure:

“I ain’t gonna let them touch you again. I don’t care if they Irish, Russian, or ghosts. They lay a hand on you—they get buried.”

And then he was gone, out into the cold night, headed to find Smoke.

Because war had a name now. And it wore green behind the eyes.

The warehouse was quiet. Too quiet.

Smoke was at the far end, sleeves rolled, going over shipment ledgers like the numbers owed him respect. A single bulb hung overhead, swinging slow.

Stack came in fast, but not loud. That alone was enough to make Smoke lift his head.

“You look like you seen a ghost,” Smoke said.

Stack didn’t answer right away. He just shut the door behind him and leaned against it like something outside might follow.

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “Spill.”

Stack exhaled. “It’s an Irish crew.”

That got Smoke to his feet. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Annalise.”

Smoke’s mouth tightened. “Of course it’s her.”

“She’s not lying.”

“And she’s not clean either,” Smoke shot back. “She walks like a siren, Stack. You follow her too far, you drown.”

Stack moved closer. “I know. But she’s hurt. They roughed her up. That note? That warning? She tried to protect us, best she could.”

Smoke stepped forward, nose to nose now. “And you’re just tellin’ me now? After Rudy? After you went ghost for a day and a half? You went to her first?”

Stack clenched his jaw. “Because I had to know. And now I do.”

Smoke stared at him. “And now you dragged us deeper into it.”

Stack’s voice was low, hard. “They’re planning more. She said if we want a chance, you’re the one who should talk to them. Not me.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Smoke nodded once. “She’s right.”

Stack blinked. “You serious?”

“I ain’t got the pretty face, but I’ve got the right words. They want structure. Discipline. You walk in there all smiles, they’ll shoot you before dessert.”

Stack swallowed that hard truth.

Smoke turned to the table, rolled up the map of their corner. “Set the meet. One of their spots. Neutral ground, if they believe in it.”

Stack nodded, hesitated at the door. “Smoke?”

Smoke looked up.

Stack’s voice dropped. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Smoke gave him a look—cold, not cruel. “Yeah. You should’ve.”

Then he went back to the map. “But you didn’t. So now we fix it.”

Smoke slammed the papers off the table. The sound cracked through the warehouse like a gunshot.

“I told you to leave that fucking girl alone.”

Stack didn’t flinch. But his jaw tightened like it was wired shut.

“Don’t say it.”

Smoke stepped forward, finger pointed, voice rising. “Just like that girl Mary back home! Don’t let pussy fuck you up again, Stack!”

Stack moved so fast it was a blur—hand slamming into the wall beside Smoke’s head, breath hot and sharp between his teeth.

“That’s not the same.”

Smoke stared him down. “Isn’t it? You sure?”

“She’s not Mary.”

“No,” Smoke snapped, eyes burning. “She’s worse. Mary didn’t lie. She just loved you sloppy. Annalise? She’s got game in her blood. You don’t know where her loyalty lands when the bullets start flying.”

Stack shoved off the wall and stepped back, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t need the lecture, Smoke. I made my call.”

“And I’m the one who has to clean it up,” Smoke growled. “Again.”

The silence was thick enough to choke on.

Then Stack turned, voice softer. Almost broken. “They hurt her.”

That gave Smoke pause.

“She came to warn us,” Stack said. “Took the hits so we wouldn’t take the bullets.”

Smoke sighed, running a hand down the back of his neck. “You think that’s loyalty? Or guilt?”

“I don’t know,” Stack admitted. “But she didn’t have to say anything. She could’ve let us walk blind. And she didn’t.”

Smoke looked at his brother—really looked. Saw the fire under the charm, the fear under the pride. And something else.

Hope.

“Alright,” Smoke said finally, voice like gravel. “We handle the meet. I’ll talk. You stay sharp.”

Stack nodded.

“And Stack…” Smoke added, almost an afterthought, but not really. “Don’t let this girl be your Mary. Not again. Don’t let her be the hole you bury yourself in.”

Stack’s reply was quiet, almost a whisper.

“She ain’t the hole. She’s the rope.”

Smoke lit a match off the rough edge of the wall, touched it to the end of his cigarette, and inhaled slow. The flame flickered, caught, and died—but his eyes stayed sharp.

“We need to find this kid. And fast.”

Stack looked up from the note again, still crumpled in his hand. “The runner?”

Smoke nodded. “He’s the only link we got. The one who saw what happened at Rudy’s. The one who came to you.”

Stack frowned. “He was young. Barely outta school. Ain’t even sure he gave me a real name.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Smoke said, flicking ash to the floor. “Somebody sent him. Might’ve been trying to help—or trying to bait us. Either way, he’s talkin’ to somebody. And that somebody knows too much.”

Stack grabbed his coat. “You think they got to him?”

Smoke’s face was carved in stone. “If they’re smart, they grabbed him right after he came to you. If they’re messy…” He didn’t finish.

Stack already knew.

“If he’s still alive, he’s scared. He’ll run. And scared people make noise. We just gotta listen.”

Smoke stepped over to the desk, pulled out a folded map of their old corners. “He’s from Bronzeville. Ran numbers for Rudy on Saturdays. Hit that block first. Hit every alley, every church, every back porch from 35th to 47th.”

Stack was already at the door. “And if he’s not there?”

Smoke looked at him, eyes cold.

“Then we check the river.”

Smoke snatched the map off the desk and shoved it into his coat. “We’ll check there. And find your hussy while we’re at it.”

Stack froze mid-step, the insult slicing deep.

“Don’t call her that,” he muttered.

Smoke shot him a look. “Why? ‘Cause it stings? ‘Cause deep down you know I’m right?”

Stack stepped in, eyes narrowed. “She’s more than that.”

“To you,” Smoke snapped. “But to them? She’s leverage. Soft spot. And I don’t trust any piece on the board that don’t show which side it plays for.”

Stack stared him down. “You gonna keep talkin’ or you gonna help me find the kid?”

Smoke shook his head with a bitter grin. “You don’t get it. I am helpin’ you. You’re the one dragging feelings into a blood game.”

He turned and yanked the door open, the night air rushing in.

“Let’s go,” Smoke muttered. “Before this whole goddamn city goes up in flames.”

Stack followed, silent, fists clenched. Because whatever Annalise was—or wasn’t—he knew one thing:

He wasn’t letting her face this alone.

Not again.

Tags 🏷️

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @kimuzostar @kenshisluvrgirl @planetblaque @bimbosnbutterflies2026 @chewingmy3xtragum @easybrezzy @blowmymbackout @melaninpov@todorokishoe24 @chaoticcoffeequeen @brattyfics @notapradagurl7 @gopaperless @jenlovey @nikkinik @novahreign @violetmuses @thevelvetwhispers @androgynousgaz @brattyfics @uzumaki-rebellion @abriefnirvana @marice23top @honggihwa @sarcasticbitchsblog @bangchansmami @tojisthique @marley1773 @cutypie112 @orchidwonder @desthefanatic @wheresthecaptaincrunch @childishgambinaax @avon-barksdale

@skywalker0809 @dollys-world @christinabae @holdyuhmuda

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omgfangirlland · 1 day ago

Note

If the yautja and reader were to go on a date and the yautja was the one to have planned the date.. Where do you think he'd take her and what are they going to do? (Kinda want to ride a spaceship and go to space or maybe visit his homeland.. Idk)

-🔱

Part One and Part Two

It's been five years since you left- a lot changed. Your Demodog grew again and became what Cetanu called a very bratty whiny Demogorgon. Really, Goober only acted like that with him, with you, he was a very calm and loving boy- Cetanu called it two-faced once, and all he got back was the smug thing cuddling closer to you.

Fluffs was as dumb as ever(Cetanu's words), lazing around and playing with the few toddlers running around, can't catch his own tail, let alone help Predator or any of the other hounds hunt.

And Tux, an old tabby cat, you've been informed is an alien, a Flerken or whatever(Cetanu: Not whatever, that thing is dangerous!), she's still baby... Murderous baby. She ate a Xenomorph that snuck onto the ship, Fluffs still hides behind you when she comes strutting by.

But you've also lost Ve'sto in the hunt. Echa, despite trying to hide it, was a mess for a long while, burying herself in making sure her twin goes back to Yautja Prime for the ceremonial burial, and in being your fourth guard dog. Cetanu didn't have it in him to tell her off.

And every year, it would have been every month if Cetanu could, he took you off the mother ship, just the two of you, and showed you whatever planet he vetted was safe for you (and had no alien life you could get attached to).

He'd taken you on dates before, nightly outings on random planets he and a few others stopped to get resources or trade information, but the yearly vacation was different.

Cetanu would take you to non-populated worlds, all nature and wilderness, and while he loved looking at you, watching you admire and photograph or draw anything and everything, he enjoyed the night more.

Holding you close at his side or on his chest, warm and fluffy blankets and pelts surrounding you both, slowly feeling you fall asleep- he's never been more at ease, happier-

And he won't change it for anything in the world, not when you looked so lovely in the jewelry he made for you, with the delicate ring on your finger, something another alien brought to his attention.

You didn't want the ceremony your people had, but it was clear how much you appreciated the matching ring he wore, and maybe you didn't notice the pattern, but the yearly vacation would happen on the same day he presented you with the bands. And today wasn't any different.

On the other hand- Bruce and Dick could have a better day... Or years, honestly. The family may have gone a bit overboard- granted, Richard had been going mad since day one, since you first gave him an uninterested shrug, and he felt vindicated when it finally clicked for Bruce.

He was the only one who believed you left willingly. The others just went straight to the Justice League station, and Hal immediately recognized the symbols on the ship Batman showed him.

Bruce wasn't happy about anything he found out about these aliens, but he sure as hell wasn't backing down. He had plans over plans, when he broke into their ship with Hal and Martian, he wans't surprised when Dick snuck in as well, and he wasn't surprised when a fight broke out-

He didn't expect the fucking Demogorgon or dog Xenomorph to come out fight at the Yautja's side.

"I thought you said these Yautja don't do other aliens." Dick pouted at the green lantern. "Fuck you, too, kid." Hal grumbled, trying his best not to lean against the wall surging with electricity. They were quickly captured.

But Bruce and J'onn were looking right at the two Yautja women arguing near the door. "... They're talking about you." the Martian lets Batman know. "A useless mate who can't take care of all his young has no right trying to come back for any of them." And Bruce hates the implication. They're talking like they know you.

Speaking of- Cetanu is grumbling the whole way to the "prison" floor of the mothership, the only thing stopping him from just storming there and stabbing everyone is your warm hand in his. And Goober was just mimicking his grumbling with some growling of his own.

The anger comes back when he sees the mug of your father. While he immediately turns to talk to Echa and Ni'yteer, you walk closer to your brother and father, just staring at them for a bit.

Dick immediatelly jumps, happy to see you again, yapping faster than you can process, andthen he whispers, nudging you towards where he saw the aliens open and close the cage.

"... Why would I free you?" Dick flinches at your words. "You snuck on the ship and started causing chaos. You should feel lucky, others would be dead."

"We came for you-" Bruce cut in, but stopped when you snorted. "You're more of an idiot than I thought you to be if you came for me." The more you spoke, the more Dick looked ashamed, and the more Bruce settled in his nonbelief.

There was simply no way in his brain that you'd willingly leave him the family for some- alien-man thing. And as he started speaking, talking nonsense about you being brainwashed, you just sighed.

"If 10-year-old me knew that all she had to do was run away from you to get a crumb of your attention, she would have done it daily. Sadly for you, I stopped loving you and your merry crew years ago. Do your powers still work, Green Lantern?"

"Uh- yeah?" Hal cringes at the non-existent confidence in his voice. "Better think quick, then." You shrug and turn to Gobber, nodding at him once.

The Demogorgon does its best to show them the finger while pulling the lever. The floor parts in two, and they fall through- the only thing keeping them from dying is Green Lantern's hamster ball.

You would have to plan on how to avoid them. Bruce seemed crazed enough to try again. But for now, Cetanu wanted to shower you with some love to make up for you both being pulled away from your one on one time.

Taglist: @ye-olde-trash-panda @fscomet101 @legendarylearner18

#anon ask #🔱 anon #ask #dc crossover #fem!reader #neglected reader #female!reader #dc x yautja #dc x predator franchise #predator franchise crossover #yautja x reader #yautja x human #oc yautja

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miaaaxxz · 13 hours ago

Text

Lucky | LN4 part 3

part 1 part 2

summary: They push, they pull, they pretend they don’t care. But the truth slips through in glances, in silences, in the things left unsaid.

word count: 1.4 K

a smirk. a memory. a wall rebuilt.

The streetlights stretched long shadows across the cobblestone as she finally rose, brushing her hands lightly down her thighs. She wasn’t sure where to go her thoughts spinning faster than her feet wanted to move. Her heels clicked softly in the quiet street as she began to wander without purpose, Lando falling into step beside her with a quiet patience.

Ahead, a small neon sign buzzed in the dim light a narrow ice cream shop still open, wedged between a closed florist and a shuttered convenience store. The smell of cold air and sugar floated through the door.

She glanced at him, a teasing smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “Trying to bribe me with ice cream now? That’s a new tactic.”

Lando cocked his head, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “What can I say? Spoiling champions is kind of my specialty.”

“ Oh, so do you take Verstappen out for late-night ice cream runs here in Paris too?

Lando grinned, eyes twinkling with sarcasm.

“Oh yeah, every week, he loves it.”

The bell above the door chimed softly as they entered. Inside smelled like sweet cones and the faint chill of the freezer. She ordered pistachio, her favorite and he went for a dark chocolate. They took their cones and stepped back into the night, the silence between them stretching out.

They walked in silence, the kind that didn’t ask to be broken.The city was soft around them — quiet cafés closing, taxis humming past, everything moving just a little slower than it had a few hours ago.

She spoke first, voice low.

“You know what’s strange? I can’t tell if I still love it.”

Lando glanced at her, didn’t interrupt.

“Tennis, I mean. I know how to do it. I know how to win. But I don’t know if it makes me happy anymore.”

A small pause.

“Maybe that’s not the point.”

He let the words settle before answering.

“Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just what you do. Until you remember why.”

She looked down at her shoes. “I miss just... playing. No coaches. No stats. No noise.”

She let out a breath. “I don’t think I’ve played just for me in years.”

“It’s weird, right?” he said. “You spend years chasing something, and then it’s yours, and instead of relief, you just feel... watched.”

Her expression shifted — not surprised, just seen.

“Watched, judged, expected to perform every second.”

She looked ahead, jaw clenched slightly.

“I don’t know who I am outside of this. If you take tennis away, I don’t know what’s left. That scares me.I want to matter without having to earn it” she said suddenly.

He didn’t respond right away.

“You do.”

She turned to him, uncertain. “You don’t even know me.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re a person. That’s enough.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Just the sound of their footsteps, soft against the pavement. Streetlights casting blurred gold shadows on the sidewalk. Somewhere in the distance, a siren, distant enough to feel like it belonged to another city.

His hand swung loosely at his side. The sleeves of his white button-down were rolled up to the elbows , faint creases now, but still sharp. The kind of shirt that made it look like he didn’t try, but still somehow belonged everywhere.

She glanced sideways at him. He wasn’t looking at her not exactly. But he was there. Present. Not checking his phone. Not filling space with noise.

Her voice came quiet, like it surprised even her.

“You’re nothing like I imagined.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You imagined me?”

She gave a dry laugh. “Lando Norris. Fast cars, louder fans, expensive watches. I think you know what type of guy you look like.”

He grinned. “I am. But I’m also the type who knows what it’s like to feel completely alone after giving everything you had.”

She bit into her cone, the pistachio flavor grounding her. Then her phone buzzed again. Worried texts lighting up the screen.

where are you?? you okay?

With a sigh, she tapped the call button.

“Hey…yeah, I’m not alone,I’m with a friend. Just needed some air…that’s all…no, I'm not coming back. I’m heading back to the hotel…sorry”

***

As they continued walking, a sharp flash tore through the night.

She flinched instinctively, hand half-lifting toward her face. Lando’s arm moved too , not touching her, but close, like a reflex.

A second flash followed , subtle, but unmistakable. A phone, half-concealed behind a lamppost, the figure holding it half-hidden in the shadows. Not press. Not official. Just someone… watching.

He stepped slightly in front of her, instinctive — not shielding, not possessive. Just present.

“It’s not exactly subtle,” Lando muttered. “We’re literally in the middle of the city.”

She shrugged, the tension prickling the back of her neck. “My hotel’s just a few blocks from here.If you wanna come”

It wasn’t an invitation. It was an offer. Distant. Controlled. And he felt it the sudden distance in her tone. The armor slipping back into place. The wall rebuilding, brick by careful brick, right in front of him.

Lando blinked, surprised by the sudden shift the woman who had just moments ago shared her fears and tears was now closing off in a way that felt like a shield.

He nodded slowly, not pushing.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, the distant hum of nightlife fading behind them. When they reached her floor, the hallway felt too quiet, the air thick with something unsaid.

When the door to her room clicked shut behind them, she didn’t turn around right away. She exhaled, long and shaky, one hand pressing to her temple like she could smooth out the day with her fingers.

“You want a drink?” she asked, voice low. Distant. Like she already knew the answer.

“No.”

She gave a small, dry laugh. Not amused — just tired. Tired in a way that settled in her bones.

Then she turned.

Her gaze met his, and it was something else now not soft, not vulnerable, but sharp in its own way. Daring. Detached.

Like she’d slipped into a different version of herself.

She stepped closer, slowly. The space between them thinning with every breath. “It’s late,” she said. “And you’re already here.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

But when her fingers reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him toward her, he let it happen.

Their mouths met in a kiss that was sudden and hot, desperate in its own way , not for him, not even for comfort, but for feeling. For something that didn’t ache.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling. His own slid under the fabric of her top, fingers skating across warm skin, drawn by the pull of gravity and want.

She kissed like someone trying to forget. Someone trying to erase herself for a moment. He felt it in the way her breath hitched, in the sharpness of her grip.

She just needed to feel wanted .Needed to feel like something after a day that burned through her.

He kissed her back—at first.

But then he stopped.

Her brows furrowed. “What—”

He leaned in, kissed her cheek, her temple, slow and careful. “I want to,” he murmured. “You have no idea how much.”

“Then—”

“But I can’t,” he said softly. “Not like this.”

“I used to do this,” he went on, voice low and steady. “After a bad race. Hell, even after a good one. When everything inside me felt either too loud or too empty, and I just...” He exhaled. “Needed something to cut through the numbness.”

“I thought it would help. Feeling something, anything. Even just for a night.” His hand moved to her cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath her eye. “But the next morning, it always felt worse. Because the silence came back. And the ache stayed.”

“I’ve been there,” he murmurs. “Those nights where you think touching someone might make it better. That if someone wants you, maybe you’ll feel okay again.”

“I like you. I do. But I’m not going to let this become something you hate yourself for tomorrow.”

She doesn’t speak. Just stares.

He brushes his thumb across her jaw, so light it might be imagined.

“You don’t owe anyone your body to prove you’re worth something.”

“I know that,” she whispers.

He nods, slowly. “Then start acting like it.”

The room hums with everything left unsaid.

He takes the blanket from the end of the bed, wraps it around her , fingers trace the edge of her shoulder.

“You were brilliant today,” he says, almost a whisper. “And you don’t have to burn yourself down just to be seen.”

He turns.

Walks to the door and leave.

She doesn’t cry.

She just stands there.

Wrapped in softness, and all the things no one’s ever said to her before.

#last part #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #lando x you #formula one #formula 1 x reader #tennis #f1 lando norris #f1 fiction #f1 fic

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sunbleachedfl13s · 3 days ago

Text

Your Alcoholism has Summoned a Vampire

(remmick x fem reader) (part 3/?)

BIG TW + cw: very mentally unstable reader, non-glamorizing depictions of add1ction and depression, manipulation, dubious consent, remmick is a massive loser, reader is a massive bitch, no mentions of race, allusions to hero1n use (nonconsensual consumption), the fucking opium war, remmick is a disgrace to all of Ireland, abus1ve parent figure

a/n: i was in a very silly mood while writing this and i think you can tell. anyway, NEW TAGS IN THIS ONE PLEASE READ THEM, the story is finally getting to where i wanted it to be. i have to say every line of dialogue in the remmick voice before i type it to make sure it sounds natural so i may be going insane. anyway, hope yall like it lmkkk >:)

word count: 3.5k

He chuckles again, as he looks at you from the other side of the threshold, darkening your doorway like something ancient you’d ought to be scared of. And last night, though you didn’t dare show it, you absolutely were.

But tonight, as he stands before you once again, you find, strangely, that you aren’t.

“How am I supposed to believe a goddamn word you're tellin’ me?” You say, taking great effort to keep only the bitter sarcasm in your tone, draining any hits of your attraction from your voice.

“Here, I can show ‘ya.”

As he says this, your vision begins to slide out of focus. You look at him, lingering in the doorway, waiting, and your eyes begin to pulsate. Endorphins prickle up your arms like radio static. Your body seems to slow as a sybaritic fog clouds your mind, muting all your pain receptors, and a wave of indescribable pleasure washes over you. It’s everywhere, you realize, as you hold a hand out before your face, a golden exhilaration running through every artery, oozing from your every pore. Pain dissolves into a distant memory as serenity overtakes your mind, leaving you in a foggy, empty headed delirium. Whatever this was, it felt good, amazing. Better than anything you’d ever felt. Just the thought of experiencing anything else, anything besides the pure euphoria flooding your every vein right now, why, it made you want to-

“...let me in…”

Hold on…

“...Let me in…”

This wasn’t right…

“…Just let me inside…”

Something was terribly wrong, and as you strain through the shadow of dreamlike mist around your mind, it all comes back to you.

You see yourself, or rather, what used to be you, from your altered perspective. Your body lies limp, slumped against your doorframe, your blown out pupils nearly rolled back in their sockets, and a glob of drool leaking from your mouth. The man, if you could even call him that anymore, grins, all fangs and malice as he asks your semiconscious body once more,

“Are ya’ gonna let me in?”

You watch in utter horror as your body, in its drunken haze, raises its head to nod in agreement.

No. No, you couldn’t let him in. You claw yourself out of his intoxication, tearing through the clouds of euphoria back into reality. You come to with a guttural gasp, nails digging into the wooden doorframe on both sides of you as you drag yourself out of the influence.

“Huh,” he says, “Well that doesn’t usually happen.”

You turn to him, an anger like no other erupting from you, as you scream. “WHAT IN THE HELL WAS THAT? Did you fuckin’ drug me or somethin’?!?” You yell so loud that your voice comes out in a scratchy rasp, nearly spitting in his face with pure rage.

“W-What?” He asks, a shocked, dopey, kicked dog sort of look upon his face as he takes a step backward, hands raised defensively. “‘Course not, I- see- that was jus’ a little persuasion, ’s all.” A shit eating grin is still plastered across his face. After all that, he still had the gall to play the innocent, doe-eyed card on you?

“Persuasion? Ya’ call that shit persuasion?", you scoff. "If that’s fuckin’ so, why don’t ‘cha swim your happy ass back 'cross the Atlantic, catch a train to China, and tell ‘em that opium ain’t really that big of a deal, because all it did to em' was FUCKIN’ PERSUASION.” You’re nearly radiating steam from your skin at this point.

“Aw, terrible tragedy, that.” He says, with a solemn shake of his head in solidarity. “The Brits are right scoundrels, the lot o’ them.” He looks skyward with a dramatic plaintiveness. “Did the same to my people too.”

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

He sighs, closing his eyes somberly for his fallen kin, fiddle music playing gravely in the air.

“Cut the fuckin’ shit shamrock. You-” You clutch your head in your hand suddenly as you reel, eyes fading in and out of focus as a splitting pain hits your temples like a gunshot. You groan in pain, gripping the doorframe for support. It was as if someone had condensed the worst hangover you’d ever experienced into one burning light of agony.

“You alright?”

“Aw fuck you," You grit, "This ‘s all your fault.” You felt like tearing your skin off. You'd been acting a damn fool in front of him, and the embarrassment was slowly eating you alive.

“Look, I’m sorry. Honest.” He says, remorse tugging his eyes downward. “Shouldn’t have done that. Jus’ wanted to-”

“Is that all you see me as? Some fuckin’ junkie?” You spit coldly. “An easy target for your little sales pitch?”

“What?” He stumbles over his words, tripped up by your bluntness. “N-no, I- that’s not-”

“Well listen here and listen fuckin' good.” You straighten, shrugging off the haze of inebriation. You stick an accusatory finger toward his chest and look him dead in the face. “I’m not stupid. I know all that brought you here was the scent of my blood. I know that's all you want. And you’ve seen the way I spill it, seen the hollow ways I waste my time, so you waltz on up here thinking you can score a cheap meal. Well, if blood ’s all you came for, if the only reason you’re here on my porch is to satiate some kinda hunger, then go sweet talk some other sap. I’m perfectly capable of ruining my own life, without all, all-” you gesture at him in an exasperated sort of way, unable to find the right words to encompass the thing that stood before you. “Without all this.”

He stands there, dumbly, eyes wide. He always seemed to be standing in the dark, so they usually tended to look more brown than blue. Now though, they didn’t. Flies buzzed and hummed around the solitary light illuminating the porch. Whenever it flickered, an instinct always warned you that you’d find him gone once the light returned. You’d discovered recently, as you sat with yourself through the sticky gloom of the afternoon, that his absence was always louder than his presence.

“I- I mean, I’ll be straight wit’ ‘ya, I was real parched when I came knockin’ last night.” He said with a nervous chuckle, grinning uneasily as he rocked back and forth on the soles of his new boots. You wonder for a moment whose they were. And how long it must’ve taken for him to scrub the blood off. “But that’s not the only reason this house caught my eye.”

You eye him skeptically.

“This ’s the only house for miles with the lights still on at midnight. And they’re always shinin’ from that there window.” He pointed down the length of your house, in the general direction of your bedroom.

Your eyes widen slightly at the realization, and you groan a little at your stupidity. All this time, it had never occurred to you that your nocturnal behaviors could catch the attention of the nasty creatures that too rose with the moon. Your window must’ve been a goddamn lighthouse.

“Well, actually I heard yer house ‘fore I saw it. First time I came down this road, that’s what caught my interest. Thought I was nearin’ an inn or somethin’, way it was blarin’, so imagine my surprise when I come across this instead.”

Of all the consequences of your mother’s death, the most bittersweet one was your ownership of her old record player.

When you were very young, and the clouds outside swelled with thunder and rain rattled the skeleton of your house, your mother would let you choose a record from her cabinet. Half were in languages you couldn’t understand, Russian, Spanish, French and the like. They’d passed through more hands than you could comprehend, softening the edges of their paper sleeves. You’d turn it up till the music drowned out the storm, and then the both of you would clamber up onto the dining table and raise hell. You’d scream and sing and dance, so loud that when your father would return home, he’d say he could hear the two of you shrieking all the way down the road.

You and your mother would just laugh, a shrill cackling like smashing wine bottles. And he would look at the two of you, sweaty and panting, a pair of filthy heathens, and he’d shake his head, mumbling through his spreading grin about how poor of an influence your mother was on you. And then he’d hop up on the table to join you.

Now, you could only muster up the strength to play her records if you were drunk, and the house was empty. You hadn’t seen your father smile for years, much less dance.

But you could. At least, once the liquor had burned its influence into the pit of your stomach. With the music blaring, your head heavy and dizzy, your body sloppy and slow, you could close your eyes and almost, for a moment, pretend she’d be there when you opened your eyes.

It might sound paradoxical, but getting drunk fueled you with an indescribable energy. With drink flowing through your veins, screaming in time to all the songs you'd burned into memory became second nature. Kicking and laughing and dancing all melted into one another as you traipsed around your house like you owned the place.

Every awakening in the following morning was a cruel one. Because, sure, alcohol drowned out your troubles, muffled the awful parts of life, but it was also fleeting. When you came to on your kitchen floor, sweaty, nauseous, with a headache pounding between your temples, you were still you. And you kept on deluding yourself into thinking that one day, you’d wake up and find yourself to be someone else. Someone who didn't need liquor like a crutch. Someone who didn’t need to forget everything to be happy, and someone who didn’t hate themselves all the more once they’d remembered.

These were the nights he had observed, your shameless display of drunken disgrace. Small wonder he’d heard you, you’d probably been singing so loud everybody on your side of the Mississippi could hear you too.

“Seemed like you were havin’ a good time. But then I listened a little closer and I- I heard the song that was playin’.” He pauses, his words carrying more gravitas than they ever had before. “I haven’t heard a song in Irish for years.” His words were tinged in shame, as if this was some moral failure of his.

“Ya sure?” You say, turning toward the record cabinet in your living room. “I dunno if I even have any records in Irish.”

“I can see one right behind ‘ya.” He points to a record sleeve lying haphazardly on your floor, which brazenly displays the flag of Ireland and a variety of Celtic knots and crosses. Subtle.

You inhale slowly as you squint down at it. “Hmmm. Interesting.” You say apathetically.

“Where’d ya get it?” His tone is pleading, and for the first time, he seems almost human. This confuses you for a moment. after all, why would he care this deeply about something as inconsequential as a record? But you realize that in this moment, what stands before you isn’t some undead creature, but someone very homesick. Someone who’d lost any and all ties to where he came from, to his family. Of course he was desperate to get his hands on the first scrap of his past he’d seen in decades. Of course this was a matter of utmost importance to him, you’d act exactly the same at the mere chance of obtaining any remnants of your mother.

You bend down slow as possible, as you sense his growing urgency. Despite your empathy towards him, you’d always been one to put pettiness first. You pick up the sleeve casually and turn it over in your hands, as he practically salivates for it just beyond the threshold.

“My mother had a lot of friends.” You pause, staring down at the record. “I always thought this one was real funny as a kid. But now, I gotta say, you guys make great drinking songs.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, how much use are ya' gettin’ outta that ol’ thing anyway?” He wrung his callused hands, itching impatiently.

“This?” You lightly shake the sleeve just below his face. “Why? D’you want it?” You ask, feigning ignorance infuriatingly poorly. His usual shit eating grin was already turning into a pissy scowl. And God, you couldn’t be happier.

He groans in frustration, cursing you under his breath. “Yes.” He rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. He looks like he’d like nothing more than to strangle you right there and snatch the goddamn record from your cold dead hands.

“Hmm, says it was handmade in Ireland. How authentic.” You look up at him with wide, obnoxious eyes. “D’ya think it was made by the fuckin’ leprechauns?”

He nearly seizes outside the door, barred from tearing your arteries out merely by your lack of invitation. His fingers, bricklike and human moments before, had mutated back into hellish claws. The tips of his crooked teeth had taken on their razor edge once more, but his eyes were still human, wide and pleading.

You pretend to not notice this. “Ya get it? ‘Cause leprechauns, they’ve got those little hands- Aw, whatever. Here,” You toss the record sleeve across the threshold of the door into his chest without warning. “’S all yours”.

He’s shocked by the suddenness, and just barely catches the sleeve between his hands. His mouth hangs slightly agape as he tears the sleeve open, as if he didn’t expect acquiring it to be this easy. This disbelief quickly dissipates as he looks inside.

“Wha- this thing’s fuckin’ empty?” He looks at you, unbelievably irritated.

“Oh,” you say with a performative scoff. “You wanted the record too?” You drawl patronizingly. “My bad. Shoulda made yourself clearer.”

He crumples the paper sleeve angrily and roughly chucks it back at you through the doorway. It sails over your shoulder, and you don’t even flinch. Maybe he was just a lousy shot, or you were just really drunk. It was so goddamn stupid you couldn’t help yourself from laughing at him.

“You fuckin’ bi-” He leans back and holds his tongue from spitting whatever name he’d surely love to call you into the air. Just barely regaining his composure, he continues. “Where ‘s it then?”

You jab a finger to your right, towards your living room. “Still in the record player. Don’t reckon I’ve taken it out.” An obnoxious grin spreads across your face, a nice change of pace from last night. “I would go and get it for you, but it’s such a long walk from here.” You shrug your shoulders. “My deepest condolences, really. My heart goes out to ‘ya.”

He looked just about ready to lose it. His brows were furrowed in a glare that just seemed unnatural for his face. Perhaps that was because you’d only ever seen him smiling till now.

“Say, I’ve got an idea.” You grin. “I’ll sleep on it, and consider givin’ it to ya’ tomorrow. It’s gettin’ pretty late anyway.”

It was 8:32.

“Now hold on just a minute, I-”

You slam the door in his face. You can vaguely hear the muffled sound of him calling you various obscenities under his breath, and then you hear irritated stomps departing from your front porch, then disappearing into the night.

You let out a sigh of relief as you hear him leave, but as you step away from the door and venture back down the hall, another, nastier feeling begins to crawl up inside you. You almost mislabel it as regret. But it's not that, not entirely anyways.

As you stumble through your darkened bedroom and crawl hazily into bed, a question you'd rather not answer plagues your mind.

What if you had let him in?

You toss and turn beneath the sheets, unable to silence your subconscious' incessant pestering.

What if you let him have what he came for?

You hold your head in your hands and groan, hoping to drown out your intruding thoughts.

Teeth sink into barren flesh

Claws scrape down your back

You slam your face into your pillow and squeeze your eyes shut. How much did a lobotomy cost again?

A hand snakes up the inside of your thigh-

You sharply suck in a breath and jolt up, throwing the covers off of you. Nothing. Your breaths come in rapid, shallow spurts as you lean back against your wooden headboard. There was nothing there. Your muscles relax, as you keep repeating this to yourself. You were alone. There was nothing waiting for you in the darkness.

But a part of you wouldn't mind if there was.

You woke the following morning to a dead bat.

Its ashy, brittle cadaver had been laid carefully upon your front porch, eliciting a sharp gasp from you after noticing it. Its paper-thin wings had been stretched to their full wingspan, and it lay there, still, with its head thrown back.

You’d always been partial to bats. They were cute, like little shrieking sky mice. You hated when your father used to shoot at them from the front porch at night for target practice. "They're pests," he'd tell you. "Same as shootin' rats."

You spent the rest of the morning digging a shallow grave for it in your backyard.

By the time you’d sufficiently laid it to rest, the sun had risen to its full height in the sky, burning white hot and relentless. You amble back into the cool shelter of your house, and are met in the kitchen by your father, sat squarely at the table.

To say he was unexpected would be an understatement. He was hardly ever home these days, and when he was, he’d be unconscious, a damn near corpse asleep on his bed, still reeking of the women he’d fucked the night before.

So seeing him here before you, fully alert, was surreal.

“What’ve you been doin’?” He asks gruffly. It’s accusatory, and you realize from the way he looks at you that nothing you could tell him would be the right answer.

“Nothin’ really, jus’ woke up.” You mumble, trailing off.

“Speak up when yer talkin’ to me.” He barks, slamming his coffee mug onto the kitchen table with a sharp bang. A splash of liquid that is most definitely not coffee sloshes from the rim.

The tree doesn’t fall far from the fucking apple you guess.

“Yea, ‘course you were “doin’ nothin”. Thats all you fuckin’ do. And I’m right SICK OF IT.” His yell is deep and full, and even at your age, it still scared you to half to death. He slurs his words ever so slightly, but it does little to null the intensity of his anger. “It’s about time for you to start pullin’ yer FUCKIN’ WEIGHT.”

“But Dad, I-”

“Oh,” He chuckles, slow and threatening. “So yer in the mood to backtalk? That’s real funny.” He chucks the glass mug at your face, and you just barely manage dodge to it as it shatters against wall behind you, the amber liquid inside it exploding across the room.

“I can tell you what you’re doin’ today missy. You’re cleanin’ the whole goddamn kitchen, and you can start with THAT.” He points at the pool of liquor and glass shards at your feet.

You stare at him in disbelief. As his words ring through your ears, sharp and piercing, the truth you’d begun to suspect was confirmed. Both of your parents were dead. The man that sat before you was your father in name alone. The dad that you knew, the dad you loved, was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. All that remained was his body, a reanimated corpse puppeteered along by the vices he’d let consume him.

You and your father had a lot in common in that way.

You stare at him coolly, and speak slow and deliberate.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Your words hit the room like a gunshot, and he reacts as if it was.

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” Your voice raises, and at long last, your anger for the man you once called your father finally surfaces, bubbling with malice. “You’re not gonna tell me what to do anymore.”

He pushes his seat from the table in a furious, jerking motion, rising to his full, towering height.

“You stopped bein’ my daddy a long time ago. And that’s alright, really. It’s the choice ya’ made. If you wanna stay out all night, ramming your cock into any hole that’ll have ya’, be my fuckin’ guest. But you are not gonna stand there and try to parent me now, treatin’ me like a child when I’ve been the one rasin’ myself. And where the hell were ya’ then? Drownin’ out your own troubles, leaving your daughter to rot. So no, I’m not listenin’ to a damn word you say.”

The silence hangs heavily once you stop screaming, breathing heavily as you glare at your father. He stares back, an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment you’re scared he’ll run over and hit you. Wouldn’t be the first time. You tense in anticipation, ready to bear whatever punishment came your way.

But he simply pushes in his chair, turned around, and walked out of the kitchen. You hear his stomps echo through the house until your front door closes with a loud slam. Then, everything is still.

You’re alone.

pt 4 coming soon

#remmick x reader #sinners remmick #remmick #sinners 2025 #remmick fanfic #remmick imagine #remmick x you #sinners movie #sinners #remmick sinners

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ghostedgwen · 13 hours ago

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"the stars don’t feel the same without you” with regulus black?

Hello, anon! Thank you for joining the Tour with us, we love seeing you here!

꒰💜꒱ ; And they said, "Speak now" ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ The Marauders just threw a party at their common room, wonder what chaos could ensue. (mandatory to send a prompt with this! Keep in mind this is the default album if you don't send one!)

Here’s Regulus for Speak Now :

The green flames danced in the hearth, casting rippling shadows on the stone walls of the Slytherin common room. The lake filtered moonlight through its depths, and the low ceiling echoed with laughter and music - raucous, indulgent, a little desperate. Seventh years clinked stolen bottles of firewhisky together, chanting about freedom and war and how they’d never look back.

You leaned against the far wall, half-tucked behind a velvet-curtained alcove, sipping watered-down champagne from a transfigured goblet. It was warm and flat, not unlike the smile you’d forced when you walked in.

You hadn’t planned to come. But the thought of ending your time at Hogwarts in silence, letting this last chapter close without ever speaking to him again, had felt worse than any awkward run-in.

You saw him before he saw you.

Regulus Black. Still maddeningly composed in a sea of drunken chaos, a half-empty glass of something amber clutched in his ringed hand, the collar of his dress shirt undone just enough to make your throat tighten. His tie had been discarded entirely, unthinkable for the boy you’d grown up beside.

But then, everything had changed in fifth year.

You had changed. And he had stayed the same.

Or maybe he hadn’t.

“Thought you’d be holed up in the library,” a voice said from your left. Barty, smiling too easily, suddenly spoke up beside you - you hadn't realized he was there. “What are you doing here with the rest of us disillusioned youth?”

You glanced at him. “I ran out of ink and self-righteousness.”

He snorted and wandered off, leaving behind a haze of cheap cologne and politics you’d long grown tired of.

Across the room, Regulus laughed at something Evan whispered in his ear. He tilted his head back, throat exposed, lips parted. The sight punched something loose in your ribs.

You used to make him laugh like that.

Two years ago, you’d lie on the Astronomy Tower with him, shoulder to shoulder on nights you both pretended were for stargazing, not for the safety of touch. He’d name every constellation for you in Latin, then in French. You’d whisper stories in return - Muggle myths, fairy tales, truth hidden in metaphor. And in those late hours, when the world fell quiet, he’d forget to be careful. He’d look at you like you were something celestial.

Until he chose not to any more.

You pushed off the wall before your thoughts got sentimental enough to drown you. The music swelled as you moved through the room, skirting the edges like a ghost in green velvet. Your fingers brushed the spines of books in the built-in shelves, then curled around the edge of the old piano near the fireplace.

And then - “Didn’t think you’d come.”

The voice slid down your spine like ice-cold water dripping down. You didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

Still, you did.

Regulus stood inches behind you, closer than polite, close enough that the heat of his body cut through the space between. His grey eyes were softer than you remembered. Or maybe it was the flickering light, playing tricks on you. Maybe you wanted to be fooled.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” you replied.

“I always notice.”

Silence bloomed like fog. You swallowed, now what?

He shifted beside you, resting a hand on the piano lid. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You’ve been easy to avoid.”

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but also not not a smile?

“I don’t blame you,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it. “I know what you think of me now.”

You turned to face him fully. “I think a lot of things.”

“Say them.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because for tonight - ” You paused. Your throat felt thick. “For tonight, I’d like to lie to myself.”

His gaze flickered across your face, pausing on your mouth, then your eyes. You didn’t let yourself flinch.

Regulus tilted his head, studying you like he used to. “What are we pretending?”

You almost laughed. “That we’re still friends. That you still sneak out to meet me after curfew. That we still lie under the stars and talk about anything except the world swallowing us whole.”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes shimmered with something terrible and beautiful. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s pretend.”

You moved to the window seat in the far corner, half-shielded by heavy green curtains. It was quieter here. Quieter, and familiar. He followed without needing to be asked.

You sat first. He followed. Just like before, before the ink smeared the pale skin of his arm.

Outside, the lake pressed its face to the glass, dark and dreaming. Small fish darted through the shadows. You let your head fall back against the wood panelling, legs curled beneath you. Regulus mirrored you, sitting cross-legged, careful not to touch.

“Do you remember that night in third-year?” he asked. “The Astronomy Tower. You snuck up with a stolen bottle of pumpkin fizz and told me the stars were probably just holes poked in a giant curtain.”

You smiled, slow and aching. “And you called me a Muggle-brained heretic.”

“And you told me I’d probably end up a bureaucrat for the Ministry and die of boredom.”

You tilted your head toward him. “Still might.”

His lips quirked. “So might you.”

“Not if I leave the country.”

That made him still. “Are you?”

You looked at him. Really looked. The way his hands had clenched in his lap. The way his breath caught just slightly.

“I don’t know yet.”

“You should,” he said quietly. “You should go.”

You wanted to ask if he would come with you. But you already knew the answer. The lie you were telling yourselves wasn’t strong enough to hold that kind of hope.

Instead, you leaned your head against the window and said, “The stars don’t feel the same without you.”

Regulus turned toward you, slowly. He didn’t speak right away.

When he did, his voice cracked around the edges. “I never stopped looking for them. For you.”

You reached between you. Not quite touching. Just... there. His hand hovered over yours. Close enough to feel, too far to mean anything.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For how it ended. For not fighting harder.”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t know if it would’ve made a difference.”

“I don’t either.”

You sat in silence, it was the kind that presses into your lungs, not your ears. And then, softly - “Can I hold your hand?” he asked.

You hesitated, weighing your options carefully. Then: “Just for tonight.”

He laced his fingers with yours.It felt the same. Almost familiar if you were being honest. Like a childhood promise made and broken and made again.

Outside, the lake stirred. A pale ripple of moonlight shimmered through. You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t need to.

The world would come back tomorrow. The sides would be drawn. But for now - for just this one night - you were two people beneath the stars.

And it was enough, or it could be.

This request was made in participation of my 1k followers celebration! If you're interested in joining The Tour, kindly send your request my way <3

#marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #regulus x reader #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus fic #ghostgwen 1k #miko’s eras tour

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