#because why does nothing in this world make me so happy

[ashwhowrites]

Ohhh babes I saw you want angst and YES Miscommunication + secret dating TOTES SOUNDS 🔥 . So, Eddie n reader dating on the dl bc Eddie worried reader would get treated bad or bullied?? but he didn’t actually tell her that Just asked to keep it secret/quiet/whatev. So maybe Billy Steve or ??? knows Eddie is her friend and asks Eddie like whats she like, she dating anyone, I wanna take her out.

And Eddie straight panics and instead of oh she’s got a boyfriend at another school or some smart… he down talks her. she boring, annoying, she always [thing reader actually does alot!], dont bother. And course reader hears and is right devastated and thinks thats why the dl, cause he’s embarrassed/using her for sex/it’s all a big joke to him.

After end of day in private she breaks up with him, doesn’t say she overheard. Eddie has no idea what he did wrong, she avoids him, won’t talk. He’s broken. Finally he finds out she heard what he said and what she thinks. Could it end happy eventually? Like maybe he makes a loud speech like he does on the caff tables to show he’s never been embarrassed of her, yeah?

Hurt me with the angst babes. Xoxo

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

DL

Y/N wasn't the best at keeping secrets, everything she felt was said on her face. She never saw the point in secrets, which is why she felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world. Because here she was keeping her whole damn six month relationship a secret.

It wasn't that she wanted to. Her boyfriend begged her and she tried to understand. She loved being with Eddie and it hurt to be a secret. She wanted to be with him so she agreed to give him time.

She felt like six months was enough time. She was growing a little irradiated and bothered. Anytime they talked about it Eddie said he was ready. But it never seems to happen.

Eddie locked the van and the two began walking towards the small restaurant. Y/N walked close by, her hand inching to slide her hand in his. Upon contact, Eddie was fast to move his hand in his pocket. Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat and added a bit of space between them.

"About time," Dustin groaned, welcoming the two to the table. Y/N sat across, moving over for Eddie to fit in the spot next to her. She wasn't surprised when he took the seat next to Dustin instead, but it still hurt.

"What's that?" Dustin asked, noticing a dark mark on Eddie's neck. Y/N felt her cheeks burn as she realized she left something behind from their makeout earlier. Dustin flicked the mark, making Eddie hiss.

Eddie quickly looked at Y/N, her smirk obvious. "Nothing."

"That's a hickey! Who are you getting nasty with?" Dustin teased

"Some random chick at the bar, drop it," Eddie hissed through his teeth. Y/N knew it was a lie, obviously, but hearing his lie made her stomach turn.

"Damn dude, massive hickey," Steve laughed as he joined the group, sliding into the open spot near Y/N. Eddie stiffened when Steve was shoulder-to-shoulder with her.

"Yeah apparently a chick at the bar," Dustin giggled, "Was it Lauren? She always looks at you after your shows."

Eddie gulped as Y/N's hard gaze landed on him. She'd been to see him play a few times, and she didn't know who this Lauren was.

"Lauren? Who's that, Eddie?" she asked, a fake smile plastered on her face

"I've never talked to her, so I don't know who she is. And it wasn't her so like I said, drop it," Eddie demanded. The table got awkward as Eddie fumed as he looked over the menu.

Y/N couldn't help but glare at him over the top of her menu. Maybe she wasn't the only secret girl in his life.

"Anyway, how is your day going?" Steve asked, Eddie looked up to see who the question was for. His blood boiling as Steve turned his body to face Y/N completely.

Dustin tried to talk to Eddie, but he was laser-focused on Steve flirting with his girlfriend.

~~~

Eddie didn't realize how big of a mistake it was to be a secret until he was hit with the reality of someone wanting her.

"DON'T RUN!" Steve yelled as the gang ran through the arcade. Eddie laughed as they ignored him, running without a care in the world.

Eddie went to walk away but Steve grabbed his arm. Eddie froze and looked down at his hand, making Steve retreat.

"Sorry, I just wanted to ask you something," Steve said. He nervously put his hands in his pockets. "You and Y/N are pretty close right?"

Eddie felt a hot rush of jealousy run through his body, just by hearing another man say her name. "Why?"

"Do you know if she's seeing anyone? The few times she's been around I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. I want to ask her out," Steve explained. Eddie scoffed at the red blush that coated his cheeks. He was blushing over his girlfriend?

"Y/N, oh you don't want to ask her out!" Eddie scoffed, letting out a soft chuckle.

"Why?" Steve awkwardly laughed. Neither boy recognized Y/N walking up to them.

"She-she-uh- she's so clingy. I've heard from all of her ex-boyfriends that she's good in bed, but that's it. She's got a boring personality. She's a bit annoying, with all her "save the planet, don't do drugs, and cigarettes are poison". You look like an independent guy, Steve. Do you want a girl to nag and control you?" Eddie asked, planting a hard smack on the boy's shoulder. Steve hissed at the connection, rubbing the skin when Eddie removed his hand.

Y/N felt her throat burn as she took in Eddie's words. It all made sense now. He was embarrassed by her, hell he didn't even like her. He was interested in the sex, that's all she was good for. She swallowed her sobs and walked off. She didn't care to hear what Steve would say. She was falling in love with Eddie and he couldn't stand her.

Eddie smiled in victory as Steve walked off to a machine. With the sudden interest in Y/N, Eddie felt the need to see his girlfriend. He didn't bother to say goodbye to anyone, heading out to his van.

It didn't take long for him to arrive at her house. He parked his van down the street and snuck over to her window. He pulled himself up on her roof, thankful it was night so no one would be calling the cops.

He tapped on her window.

She sighed as she heard Eddie at her window. She wasn't ready to see him.

"Come on, baby. I wanna see you,"

She wiped off her face and walked to the window. She opened the curtain but didn't open the window.

"What the hell do you want?" She spat. Eddie flinched at the venom on her tongue.

"Woah, what the hell did I do?" Eddie asked.

"Are you going to tell people about us?" She asked, keeping her head held high.

"Baby," he sighed, she scoffed and shook her head. She already knows the speech.

"We're done, Munson. Now get the fuck off my roof," she hissed. She closed her curtains and raced to shut off her light.

Eddie stared at his reflection as he tried to process what happened. He rapidly knocked on her window but she never came back.

"Y/N!" He harshly whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. He continued to knock but left that night with no reply.

~

The next morning Eddie was already racing back to her house.

But again, got no reply.

~~~

It took around three days for the gang to notice Y/N wasn't around. They all wanted to ask but there was this look on Eddie's face that made them scared to ask. Dustin was worried for his friend. Eddie was always moody and snippy. But now he seemed so sad and in pain. Dark bags under his eyes and his voice always sounded dry and cracked.

Steve felt a little awkward about it. Feeling like he was the cause of whatever happened.

No one in the gang was close enough to her to ask her what happened. So everyone was stuck with not knowing what went down between the two.

Eddie's eyes followed her everywhere. It seemed no matter where she went, those brown puppy eyes were warning her skin. She knew she'd suffer with seeing him at school, but she didn't think he'd be so obvious that he suffered too. She was shocked to see he was affected but she convinced herself she didn't care.

Eddie was falling apart and he didn't care to hide it. He had one amazing thing in his life and he fucked it up.

Eddie let another week pass before he got desperate. He knew he was going to look insane, but he was done. The next time he saw her, in the halls at school, he quickly picked her up and locked them in a classroom.

"Are you insane!" She hissed, slapping him as he dropped her.

"It's time we talk,"

"I don't want to talk, Eddie. I told you we're done," she went to walk past him but he stepped in front of her.

"Can I explain myself? If you knew why I kept us a secret, it might help," he pleaded but she shoved him against the wall.

Her face was close to his as she stared him down. "I know exactly why you wanted to keep us a secret."

"You do?" He gulped. He was embarrassed that he got bullied as practically a young man.

"I heard everything you had to say to Steve. So no, knowing that my boyfriend doesn't even like me doesn't help at all! I'm glad I gave you a few good fucks, asshole. I'll make sure to give Steve the best head of his life so he can ignore all the flaws about me."

Eddie growled as Steve's name left her lips. He harshly grabbed the back of her neck and shoved his lips against hers. He was possessive and jealous, reminding her he was the best she'd ever had. She fought to not kiss him back but she was weak. She melted into him and lost herself in his lips.

"No one will ever have you like I do," he growled.

She shoved him away from her. "Well to the whole world, I'm open to take."

"I made all that shit up, okay? I didn't want Steve to go after you. I got jealous and instead of telling the truth, I choked. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean anything I said."

"If you didn't mean anything you said, then why am I still your secret?" she whimpered. She felt exhausted from the secrets, it was making their relationship harder than it needed to be. "I am so tired of being ignored by you. I feel used when we have sex and the very next day, I'm nothing to you. You don't want anyone to have me, yet it seems like you don't even want me." Eddie frowned as tears slipped down her face.

"Please don't cry, baby. I do want you, and I'll always want you. It's just that I'm a loser, baby. The town hates me, and I'm a held-back senior who still gets bullied by the jocks. It's embarrassing, I'm embarrassing. And I didn't want you to receive the treatment I get. You don't deserve to be treated like shit because you gave me a chance," he explained. She could see all the emotion in his eyes and she sensed all the truth he spoke. "I thought I was protecting you but I can see I did it all wrong."

"I don't care about anyone or what they think. All I've wanted was for us to be together," she whispered as she cupped his face, allowing him to press his body against hers.

"I'm sorry for everything. I love you so much and I want everyone to know. I don't want anyone to think they have a chance with you," he muttered, his lips inches away from hers.

"Then show them,"

He smirked and ran out the door. She wasn't sure where he was going to go, quickly following. He busted through the cafeteria doors and stood on a table with his dirty sneakers.

"Eddie!" Y/N hissed but he sent her a wink.

"ATTENTION PLEASE!" the room went quiet as they turned to look at Eddie. Some people whispering.

"IS ANYONE HERE INTERESTED IN THE LOVELY Y/N?"

She felt her skin burn as the attention turned to her. She begged Eddie to get done but this was what she asked for.

Eddie didn't wait for anyone to answer, "TOO BAD. SHE'S MY GIRLFRIEND!"

"Can you get down here now?" she asked, Eddie stepped down and the cafeteria went back to talking among themselves.

"That work for you?" he asked, scooping her in his arms. She laughed and nodded. He gave her a quick peck on the lips before a teacher came over to discipline him for his commotion.

"See you after detention, m'lady," another wink sent her way.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[boeing-787]

apologies for the tiny screenshot, but on the thread from the hairstyle's creator, username Madqueenmomo:

Hello, I’m the original creator and artist and i just wanted to say thank you for fighting to fix the hair or at lest have SE do better for the other hairstyles that won. I understood that the hair would not be an exact 1 to 1 to my design but , since i saw how to treated previous designs that won including my mch gun, i had assumed that would at lest find a way to make it somewhat recognizable. The thing that really bothers me is the fact that I made this hair for my friends and for people who needed this representation. All three of the hairs i submitted were made with them in mind while i specifically also toned it down enough that they could be used with non poc characters. Especially since curly hair is something that anyone of any skin color and ethnicity could have. (Which is why i even added the examples of non dark skinned characters using it) When the hair won, i had so many heartfelt and emotional thank you messages from so many people around the world because their hair was finally going to be in game. So many people who were just happy to finally be themselves. Now i’m just here so angry and disappointed for them because not only does it look nothing like it while being of strange odd quality, it just also feels like they didn't even try and now all those players lost something they needed. I would love to be wrong. I would love to learn that someone tried really hard, and even fought to have more curly hair in the game. Cause atlest then it wouldn't be such a letdown or betrayal. I want to end with, i know the dev team is probably overworked and overwhelmed. And i do not mean them any hate or bad words. I just wish they can take their time and get things right next time. Sorry for the long post. And thank you.

As other people have noted: other hairstyle design winners in previous patch notes are worded differently from this one. It's generally written something along the lines of "A winning entry from xyz design contest has been added"

This one is different & has been writted as "A designed inspired by...." is especially deliberate.

If you are wanting to post on the forum thread, you'll need to make sure you have logged onto xiv in the last 14 days, even if you've already made an account. Otherwise it doesn't let you log in as I've found today, and I'm still waiting for the forum to catch up that I've logged into comment on the thread.

hello! i am here asking you to please consider supporting this forum thread regarding the new to-be-added 7.1 hairstyle, which is most likely from a specific winning entry of the 2023 hairstyle contest where the winner's entry CLEARLY intended for this to be a textured/non-white style that squeenix botched pretty badly. pictures in the first post compare the submitted, winning entry to the in-game screenshots provided in the 7.1 preliminary patch notes, and other posters have pointed out how past hairstyles have proven the intended texturing for this winning entry are completely within squeenix's ability.

[queenburd]

it's not going to let me rest until i write about it, so tonight I want to talk about the TSP2 Expo in Ultra Deluxe, and why it's a thing at all, and what it means about the Narrator, and how deeply self-conscious he is.

The Expo is, and I say this without exaggeration, the Narrator's deep, desperate need to respond to the audience and the reviews from the Skip button ending. They say he's not funny; he makes "a whole lot of gags". He's still reactionary, he makes all of this in response to (and in my mind, in the downtime during) the Skip button, and it's the first thing you can find right after the game resets from the Skip button.

He's not over it.

TSPUD in general is in a big way about the relationship between an artist and their audience. (i swear on my life i've written those words before...) it's about how a creator can and does create for themself but does, on a real level, yearn for an audience to understand and appreciate, while also being scared that people wont get it, and also being scared about "needing" a reaction to begin with.

Create for oneself, sure, but you still want people to like the thing you made. You want them to experience it, this thing you put so much time into. You want them to laugh at the jokes, that's why the jokes are there, and you hope they hit right.

Elements of that have always been in TSP but they're at the forefront of TSPUD and especially all the Expo stuff. Even while the Narrator, in Skip button rants, berates the audience for wanting jokes and gags and bits to distract them, he immediately wants to please. He's yearning to be understood, and he thinks if he can just give the people what they want, then surely they'll find the meaning in his work.

And then there's that darn Bucket. And while the Bucket feels like, at times, a stand-in for the Narrator or a way for him to project, it's easier for me to see him trying to frame Stanley's bond to the Bucket as a parallel to his bond to Stanley, instead of the other way around.

Stanley is the thing that is here in this world and story to comfort the Narrator. But Stanley is also the thing that can crush the Narrator's spirit.

In the Press Conference Ending, Stanley's bold new approach to story-telling gets him lauded, gets him praise. In the Bucket version, he tries to make the Bucket understand him through other people understanding him, and it fails. It scans as the Narrator desperately trying to reach out to Stanley, even as he tries to get adoration from an audience. Stanley only has eyes for the Bucket in the Apartment ending; in the end, the Narrator only has Stanley for company, and he on some level wants Stanley to appreciate him. He asks for feedback in the Games ending. And while nothing will ever really make him happy, there, he still asks.

In the end, Stanley's the only audience that really matters. He wants Stanley to like the things he makes.

"Why did I create Stanley? Was I lonely?"

He was. And the audience he's looking for isn't one he can interact with.

TSPUD is about a creator's relationship with an audience, hoping they will play the game, and like the game, and understand the game, so that they'll keep playing. And the game "ends" when the creator says "okay. I think I'm ready to try something new. for real this time!"

And then he gets pulled right back, because the audience response is just so uproarious. How can you move on from a thing that did, on some level, garner you success? Shouldn't you just stick with the thing that made you successful? But how do you make it better, when it felt like a complete work?

When do you get to move on? When do you make that choice? Will the audience understand? Will they follow you? Or do they just want more of the same?

The answer isn't simple.

[tubbytarchia]

Wild Life Session 4 smallidarity thoughts (+ some Scar and Lizzie)

See it was all fine, nothing to worry about!! Joel couldn't bring himself to kill Jimmy, he barely even harmed him. I'm pretty sure he shot him just once (after Jimmy trampled their crops so. fair)? Joel calmed down, he rebuilt his car, everything is fine. He says at the start that he's wary of Jimmy because of him going after Joel last time, and that's about it for the time being

Jimmy dies and Joel makes a deal out of it and calls him a muppet. As per usual. Meanwhile Jimmy is still adamant to get at Joel whilst Scar tries to deter him because they want to be an alliance

He and Jimmy meet up at some point after their brief interaction at the start where Joel shot him, and they just banter. And Gem and Scar are just standing there like "guyss we're a family come on" meanwhile Joel and Jimmy's exchange goes as follows: Jimmy: "you're the ones with tasty lives!" Joel: "yeah bet you wish you could have a chunk of me!" "Oh I'm having a chunk out of you!" "Yeah and you know where to take that chunk out of!" "Oh I'm gonna take it! I'm taking it!" "You should!" And then Gem and Scar tell them to break it up and Joel goes "we're just flirting!!" ? what the fuck? Genuinely WHAT are they talking about. is this an innuendo of some sort. is this another ambiguous smallidarity sex scene sorry who said that

Jimmy gets a double kill (in the most adorable way btw. The way he weasels his way in there and backs off and comes back to try again all crouched. animal) and goddd people hyping him up is so so sweet. He deserves this. He's also a little bit evil, he's getting the murder rush but I'm happy for him. He needs to kill more people, he needs to get this out of his system, he deserves this, things need to get worse before they get better. ANYWAY Scar all "that was the greatest kill ever on the life series" is so cute. And man I gotta agree. There's more unique and funny and impressive kills but I would not mind calling this the best just for the fact that it's Jimmy. He's competent, he can do shit like this, but it feels like most everyone and the world is continuously against his survival, but here he is... my son...

And then Joel coming up to congratulate him... Really blummin cute. In Joel's POV also, he says "I went to congratulate Jimmy and we had a moment" which I wager he might be referring to the creeper incident as 'the moment' but that'd make no sense to call it that. With that tonation. Why did he say it like that. Stop being cute

But yeah Scar tries to blow Joel up with creepers only for Joel to save him from his own creeper and he's so casual about it. He is incredibly kind to the bamboozlers, it's really cute...

And then Jimmy does it!! He gets Joel!! And he gets him real good!! And can you believe that the first person to kill either of the family duo is Jimmy, of all people. Scott has died by this point too and Jimmy is the one to make a dent in the full 6-life alliance. Crazy. I'm so proud of him. It was seriously really good too, see, when Jimmy puts his mind to something and is able to focus he excels, he really does. And Joel, oh Joel is such a good sport about it. He keeps saying how it was good and fair and that he still wants an allyship with him. Tells him "welcome back to green" aww. And they make a truce, Jimmy got it out of his system and now they can be friends and go kill other people instead and Joel is proud of him... Jimmy "Joel, I finally got you, so I will stop now, so let's do the perfect dap" and then they both count down and clap their hands to simulate slapping palms. Awesome. All of Joel and Jimmy is just really cute this time around. Very happy about them being a more proper alliance now, but we'll see if it sticks... Joel can only be so mean to Jimmy at this point though I don't think he has it in him to betray him or anything lol. Can't speak for the rest of them but not too worried for the smallidarity, it's a plentiful crop...

Also a very important exchange between Lizzie and Jimmy at some point: "I just finangled a load of diamonds off of Joel" "Oh? How did you do that?" "I asked him just really nicely" (lie btw she was moreso extorting Joel) "Oh, that doesn't work when I... I guess... you are his wife, I guess..." "Yeah..." "Lucky for some I guess- right (unrelated topic)" I'm not 100% confident that's what Jimmy said at the end, it's a bit hard to make out but. what? Hello?

I also extend gratitude towards Lizzie for being so nice and supportive of Jimmy, she was the one to suggest the cobweb creeper trap that ended up taking Joel out, but she also insisted that he drink a health restoration stew beforehand in case anything went wrong. Jimmy didn't end up doing so (he was full) and Lizzie is all "why?" and "something could have gone wrong". man. Nice to him...

[warren-keplers-funk-band]

guys i can't

this cannot be happening again. the world needs to stop giving me dumbass white men to go insane over or i'll like. actually go insane

i saw a tiktok that mentioned 9-1-1 and i was like oh i've never heard of this show so i looked it up on ao3 and it had 30,000 fucking fanfics so i was like oh- guess i'll give it a watch then

and now i'm here and i've had evan buck buckley for all of three days but if anything happens to him i'll kill everyone and then myself

thinking about him makes me giggle. uncontrollably. last time this happened was with hotch and hotchreid... just thinking about them put me in a silly goofy mood and it's happening again

with 9-1-fucking-1

god fucking damn it

[tamagotchikgs]

i hate my face it needs to be softer and i hate my body it needs to be sharper

[hauntingblue]

Justice for jolyne wdym emporio defeated pucci

[pastel-rights]

And then I finally end it off with some doodles of them… they make me feel things.

[2hightocare]

PRINCESS TREATMENT ✷

“In a world of boys’ he’s a gentleman” mini series—

Synopsis: Jungkook simply does everything to make you happy..

Genre: established relationship!

Warnings: pure fucking fluff… (seriously makes me wanna jump in oncoming traffic) jungkook is a bright green flag, he’s love language is “acts of service” (can be read as a standalone but I recommend reading the first part)

a/n: we all deserve oc and jungkooks kinda love.. I’m turning this into a mini series since a lot of people enjoyed it🤍

for @ohsweetmimosa !!

Falling in love was always something that you wanted, your face has always been shoved into pages of books, wondering when it would be your turn to experience that type of love. Your mom would always tell you that your expectations were too high and that no man could ever be as perfect as a fictional man.

Until you met him.

There were no words in the dictionary to describe him. No words to describe how beautifully his eyes would sparkle whenever he would tell you he loves you, the way his thumb would caress you whenever you would hold hands, or the way he would kiss away the tears that would escape your eyes.

You a hundred percent believed God made men, and sent Jungkook as an apology.

“When did you learn to braid hair…?” You curiously ask, with a slight hint of jealousy in your tone, making Jungkook laugh behind you as his fingers thread the three strands of hair repeatedly. “Watched a YouTube tutorial,” he chuckles, trying so hard not to pull your hair.

“What for..?” You stare at the mirror in front of you with the goofiest smile plastered on your face, watching your boyfriend with no shirt, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he carefully braids your hair with his lip between his teeth.

“You always braid your hair but then complain your arms hurt from keeping them up for so long soo… why not make myself useful.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

Your heart did a cartwheel, might have exploded in your chest from how fast it’s beating. But nothing new. You were so accustomed to the feeling of butterflies flying in your stomach whenever he would do or say something to you.

He drops the most beautiful phrases anyone has ever told you so casually, like it was normal. But that was your normal since you met him.

You would hear your friends talk shit about their boyfriends, how they did something or what they didn’t do, but you really just never had anything bad to say about Jungkook. He basically took "Princess treatment" to another level.

You never had to ask for flowers, never had to pull out a chair, never had to open a door, never had to enter a car freezing... because Jungkook being Jungkook went out twenty minutes earlier to turn on the heater before you would get in.

Never had to worry about leaving your wallet at home when the only thing in your bag is lip gloss. Never having to turn on your brain whenever he was around.

Locked doors? Where are the house keys? Did you leave your curler on? Jungkook got it.

“That’s so much better than mine,” you point to his ice cream as your eyes widen from how the creamy flavors melt into your mouth. “So bo—mb!” You muffle out from the mouthful of ice cream shoved into your mouth.

“Let me try yours,” he opens his mouth, waiting for you to send a spoonful of your cookies and cream into his mouth. “Here comes the airplane! Brrr,” you try making airplane noises as your hand does a weird twirl before inserting the spoonful of ice cream into your smiley boyfriend.

“Mhm,” he nods his head, humming loudly, watching you smile at him.

“I actually like yours better, baby. Let’s trade?” Jungkook hands you his small cup of ice cream as you nod happily, while you hand him yours.

Jungkook watches with the biggest smile on his face while inserting another spoonful of the creamy content as he watches you eating the new ice cream flavor enthusiastically, hearing you rave about the new book you have just finished reading and how dumb the main character is.

Jungkook's heart aches, sizing double its size, beating hard in his chest. Your cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold outside the car. You both didn’t care about eating ice cream in the middle of cold December; you guys took it as a challenge on who would get sick first.

He laughs at the lighthearted jokes you threw at him, while you take another big spoonful of the chunky ice cream that was his not so long ago.

Little did you know that he really didn’t like your ice cream flavor.

When Jungkook first met you, he knew from the start that he was a goner. The way you smile at him, how your eyes will have a small glint on them whenever you look at him, or the way you would scrunch your nose if you found something funny or cute.

It took him by surprise when you pulled the move on him, thinking you found something disgusting when you first did it.

“I will literally eat you right now!” You scrunch your nose at your smiling boyfriend who’s slightly kneeling for you to be able to see your initial carved into his haircut.

“So that means you like it?” Jungkook stands up and spins to face you. You stare up at him, his dimples on full display looking down at you with your cute outfit he helped you pick on FaceTime.

“I fucking love it baby!! I have the urge to crawl inside your skin,” you bite your lip containing the laugh you’re trying hard to contain, failing miserably when Jungkook raises an eyebrow with a smirk on his face. “That’s… cute,” he replies before kissing off the little nose scrunch he loves so much off your face.

“Is that like your ‘cutie mark’?” You quip, your arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders. “Cutie mark?” He asks, a hint of interest in his voice while he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him.

“You never watched My Little Pony?” You fake gasp, eyes widening.

“I’ve heard of it, but me sitting down to watch ponies with superpowers… yeah, no.” Jungkook squeezes your waist as he explains.

“You suck,” you roll your eyes playfully sticking your tongue out before entangling yourself off his arms and making your way to the couch.

“Come big baby, we are watching My Little Pony.” You pat the empty couch space beside you.

He watched every season... all nine seasons with you.

Jungkook just wanted to make your life easier; you were always known for being “Miss Independent” in your family and amongst your friends, but here you were letting a man put your heels on for you.

“Too loose or…?” Your boyfriend looks up to you from his kneeling-down position in front of you.

“You look really good on your knees, sir.” You say instead with a sly smirk on your face, ignoring his question. “Pshh,” he rolls his eyes as he chuckles, tying a bow on your lace-up heels.

“Since when do you not flirt back?” You pout watching your boyfriend repeat his actions on the other foot. “Since we are late... and can’t be any more late.” He looks up with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Psh, okay.” You blow out in defeat as your boyfriend chuckles underneath you.

“Come on princess, let's go!” He stands up, giving you a hand for you to stand up off the bed.

The long rides to your guys' destinations were your favorite; Jungkook had given you the “passenger princess” award ever since you set foot in his car. He even installed a light-up mirror on your sun visor whenever you needed to fix your hair or makeup in the car.

Jungkook would listen to your little playlists. He still remembers when you explained to him that each playlist has a different emotion, which made him laugh. Now, anytime you played a song, he would ask you what emotion you were feeling right now.

“What emotion are you feeling right now baby?” He squeezes your thigh as he stops at a red light. The reddish hue illuminates your guy's face. “In love,” you turn your head to the side, staring at your boyfriend who’s already looking at you.

His eyes twinkle as he stares at you, a big smile adorns his face. As you mirror his actions before leaning in and giving him a kiss on the lips, his eyelids immediately flutter close.

“‘Cause I got my mind on you... I’ve got my mind on you.”

Plays softly from the car speaker; you smile into the kiss. “I love you.” He whispers softly. “I love you.” You whisper back.

[babyleostuff]

when their strong independent s/o suddenly wants to be babied | ot13

❥ seungcheol 

oh, he’d love that. as much of a baby as he is, cheol adores taking care of people that he loves, especially you, and especially because you’re never the one to lean on others or ask for help. so the second he notices you’re a lot more touchy and that your gaze follows him everywhere, his arms are wrapped around you in an instant, and he’s asking if you need any food, water, more pillows, or if the TV is too loud, while running his hand gently through your hair. he would never tell you this, but he’d be so thankful to you that you trusted him enough to let your guard down around him and allow yourself to depend on him a bit more sometimes (if it was his way, he’d like you to be a bit less independent, because he knows how tiresome it sometimes is, but nonetheless, cheol would always be there for you).

❥ jeonghan 

he’s already babying you, even when you're being your cold and independent self. he doesn’t care that you want to open that jar, he’s going to take it out of your hands and do it himself. you’re sitting on the couch while watching a movie with a popcorn bowl separating you? no problem, jeonghan moves it out of the way and pulls you down, so you could rest on his chest, while he’s throwing a blanket around you. he doesn’t do that because he thinks you’re incapable of taking care of yourself - he knows you can, but he doesn’t want you to feel like you can’t depend on him. besides, when he notices how exhausted you are but still doesn't want to depend on someone else, it makes him angry. so, be as independent as you wish, jeonghan is still going to baby the shit out of you. 

❥ joshua

same as jeonghan, you’re already getting that princess treatment, darling. but unlike hannie, joshua does that unconsciously - he doesn’t pay attention to the way he pets your hair whenever you succeed in something, how he grabs your waist to move you out of the way, so that he could reach for that plate, or how he always made sure you’d walk on the inner side of the sidewalk. he knew you were an independent, strong person, but he wouldn’t let you carry all of your burdens yourself, and he’d try to help you in any way he could to make it a bit easier for you. whenever you got a bit more baby around him, joshua would activate his physical touch and cling to you like a koala, because he knew how much, deep down, you enjoyed his clingy, and puppy like side.

❥ jun 

give him a second, because he’s freaking out. will turn into the fluffiest fluffball to ever fluff, because he wants nothing more than to make you happy when you’re in need of a bit more love and comfort. but before smothering you with his kisses and cuddles, jun makes sure you’re feeling fine mentally and physically - he sits you down, takes your hands in his, and when you assure him that you just need to be taken care of for a bit, he goes into teddy bear mode. He loves it when you depend on him, when you snuggle a bit closer to him in search for warmth, when you follow him around everywhere, when you link your pinky fingers when you’re out for a stroll. 

❥ hoshi 

giggling and kicking his feet. this man lives for taking care of you, even if his methods are sometimes a bit questionable. he loves your independent side, soonyoung finds it so cool that you are able to take such good care of yourself, but it makes him sulk sometimes, because “why don’t you depend on me a bit more?” so, whenever you are in baby mode, he tries to make the most of it - hug the shit out of you, follow you wherever he can, squish your cheeks, and call you corny pet names that would usually make you puke. but he would also be a bit more protective over you whenever you let your guard down like that, because he knew you were extra vulnerable in times like these. so, he’d bundle the both of you into a blanket burrito, and hide you from the world for a while. 

❥ wonwoo 

silently screaming, crying, throwing up. you are just as independent as he is, and sometimes he worries that you don’t consider him someone you can depend on or lean on. that’s why moments like these - when you are a bit more clingy and touchy, when you play with his hair a lot more, when you come waddling into his room with a blanket around you to sit beside him and watch him game - it reassures him that he does a good job as a boyfriend, and he tries his best to comfort you, without making you feel like you’re being weak for letting your guard for a bit. the biggest reward for him was when you fell asleep next to him while he was reading you a book in bed. 

❥ woozi 

in the past, woozi was a bit insecure about being the caregiver - he wasn’t sure he was the person you needed to baby you, or give you extra comfort and love. but after you made multiple threats, and changed his password to his studio, he kind of got the idea that yes, he was the person you needed. woozi secretly loved how you leaned on him from time to time, it gave him a peace of mind that you could rest a bit in his presence, and let go of your strong persona, and just be your adorable, little self. he always kept extra blankets in his studio in case you came pouting and asking for cuddles, so he could always have something to wrap around you and keep you warm. 

❥ dk 

endless cuddles incoming. once he notices that you want to be taken care of and babied, there is no way he’s going to let go of you. even if you’d want to get up for a glass of water, worry not, your puppy of a boyfriend would be right behind you, his (buff) arms wrapped securely around your waist, just in case you tried to get away from him. but he’d also understand that you usually acted like this when you were emotionally and physically tired, so he would make sure to talk to you, and comfort you in any way you needed (even though you insisted that cuddles were enough, he knew you were silently asking for a couple of kisses, and for him to sing to you, so you could finally rest without worry). 

❥ mingyu 

puppy nr. 2. the second he’d see you following him with a pout on your face, he’d know it was his time to put on his best husband act, and baby the shit out of you. he’d lift you up without saying anything (giggling in his mingoo giggles), carry you to the kitchen, place you on the counter, stand between your legs, playfully peck your lips, and get ready to make you your favourite ramyeon. mingyu would make a total fool out of himself just to make you laugh, because to him, as long as you were happy and smiling, it was all that mattered. after eating, he’d bundle you up in the most oversized hoodie he owned, wrap you up in a blanket, and put on a scary movie, just so he could cuddle you really, really, really close (his eyes were closed for the whole duration of the movie). 

❥ minghao 

cue in heart eyes. hao’s acts of service or physical touch were always low-key - you always knew he was there for you, but he didn’t push his love into other people’s faces. but, when you needed to be babied, when you needed that extra warmth and comfort form your boyfriend, minghao was always more happy than to turn into your personal teddy bear. he loved how independent you were, it made him so proud that you could take care of yourself, but at the same time it made him worry that you were draining yourself too much. that’s why when you needed to be babied, YOU WERE BABIED. whatever you’d ask for, he’d do it in an instant, no questions asked - it could be the most stupid thing and he’d do it with a smile on his face. 

❥ seungkwan 

mom mode activated. at first he’d get a bit worried that you were acting a lot more baby with him, letting him hug you without side eyeing him, or letting him squish your cheeks without you throwing a tantrum. but after he’d catch on to what was going on, seungkwan would make you sit at the dinner table while frantically looking through the cabinets searching for your favourite ramyeon. after making you some food, and not burning the house down, he’d take you out on a walk around the neighbourhood, your arms linked, while he rambled about all of the funny stuff that happened during practice, to take your mind off of your worries. when you were in baby mode, you and him were like two magnets - you could not be separated, and even if you were, you immediately found your way back to each other.     

❥ vernon 

first of all, it would make him feel so appreciated that you turned to him when you needed to be babied. vernon didn’t get to be the caregiver often, but whenever he’d notice that you needed a bit more comfort and love than usual, he’d try his best, because he wanted to be someone you could always depend on. you’d either do something very calming and relaxing like cuddle under a blanket and watch a movie, or if you were feeling more bold, you’d bake (which with vernon means one thing - a disaster). whatever you decided to do, vernon made sure to always stay by your side, his hand on you hip, because you in baby mode also required him to include a bit more of physical touch, which to be honest he was very grateful for, because usually he was too shy to initiate it himself.  

❥ chan 

he’s been waiting for this. i believe chan thrives off of being the caretaker, so he’d be prepared and ready - pillows stacked up on your bed, comforters to keep you warm, all of your favourite snacks and movies, and his arms to keep you close to his body through the whole night. because he didn’t get to baby you often, he’d make the most out of the times that it happened, and it would honestly make him so so happy that even though you’re this strong and independent person, you still allowed him to take care of you from time to time. he’d finally be able to thank you for all of the times that you had taken care of him.

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[verstappen-cult]

Could I request a lestappen x reader fic where she finds out she’s pregnant and is worried to tell them because she thinks theyll be mad or upset about it but theyre over the moon happy about it!

A tear falls down your face and lands on your lap. You are trying to think about how to tell Max and Charles the news. You’ve put yourself in every scenario, but every single one of them ends with them leaving you.

The front door being opened startles you.

“Honey, we’re home!” Charles says and giggles, Max joining his boyfriend.

You wipe your tears in record time.

They know something is wrong when you won’t meet their eyes as soon as they enter the room.

Max calls your name and you’re forced to look up at them, plastering a smile. “How was padel?”

“Something happened?” Max touches your face and body, searching for an injury. But he doesn’t find anything wrong.

“What’s — ” Charles swallows, green eyes fixed on the pregnancy test by your side. “What’s that?”

You start crying again. That wasn’t how you wanted them to find out.

“I’m so sorry,” You sob, hiding behind your hands but two warm and soft hands pull them away.

Charles and Max are kneeled in front of you, both of them with tears in his eyes.

“Why are you crying, baby?” Max asks softly, rubbing the back of your hand. “Aren’t you happy?”

You look at him for a second, then at Charles, but not a word is spoken; they just wait for you to be ready.

“I don’t want to have it.” It’s the first thing that leaves your lips for what feels like hours. “I don’t want this baby to come between us and your jobs and ev—”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Charles sits by your side and places a comforting hand in the back of your head.

“I’m sorry. I really am sorry.” You wipe away the tears that don’t stop falling from your eyes.

Max shakes his head, a few tears streaming down his face. “You don’t need to be sorry, okay? There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He kisses your hands.

“Is that why you don’t want to have the baby?” Your Monégasque boyfriend asks, frowning. “Do you want to have it?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“But it does matter!” They say at the same time and you fight back the urge to start crying again.

“If you’re thinking about not having this baby for fear that is gonna come between us, you’re wrong.” Max stands up and starts walking around the room, hands on his hips. “I love you, baby. But you’re not doing us any favor.”

“What do you mean?” You look at him from beneath your wet eyelashes.

Charles cups your cheek, making you look at him. “It means that if you want to have this baby, we will be more than happy. And if you really don’t want to — then we will respect your decision.”

“Whatever you decide,” Max nods, a little smile on his lips. “But don’t make a decision based on what you think is best for me and Charles.”

“I — I want to have the baby.” You smile. The first real smile since you found out you’re pregnant. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would we be mad?” Charles genuinely asks.

Max snorts, “I’m trying really hard to stay calm. But I want to tell the whole world about it.”

You giggle, cheeks heating up. It’s incredible how you can go from being sad and anxious to happy and relieved in just a few minutes.

“I think we should wait a few weeks to tell the news.” Your boyfriends’ faces light up, two big and bright smiles directed at you. “We need to go to the doctor first and make sure everything is okay.”

Max starts crying again while Charles takes you in his arms and spins you around.

That night the three of you go to bed very tired after spending the day looking for baby names and bigger houses on the market, because according to your boyfriends: ‘we’re not stopping at one.’

[pucksandpower]

Worlds Apart

Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader

Summary: everyone seems to have something to say about your relationship with Max, but at the end of the day all that matters is the two of you

Warnings: Jos Verstappen

Based on a request by @butterflyexe

The sorority house is pulsing with noise — music, laughter, the clink of plastic cups. You weave through the crowd, feeling very much out of place amongst the scantily clad co-eds. Your sundress and sandals seem prudish in comparison.

“Y/N! There you are!” Chelsea, your big sister in Kappa Alpha Theta, comes barreling over with a few of her friends in tow. “We were just talking about you.”

You eye them warily. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like how you’re totally wasting your college experience pining over some old race car driver instead of playing the field.” Chelsea’s friend, Brittany, smirks as she takes a sip of her drink.

You bristle at that. “Max is not old! He’s only 26.”

“Exactly,” Chelsea says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “You’re a sophomore dating a whole ass man who’s nearly 30. It’s weird.”

“No it’s not!” You protest, shrugging off her arm. “We’ve been together over a year. I really like him.”

“Like him?” Brittany scoffs. “Wake up, Y/N. He’s an international celebrity dating a little college student. You’re just his side piece.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. “That’s not true!”

“Then why does he never post about you on social media?” Chelsea counters. “I follow him and you’re never on his accounts.”

“We just value our privacy,” you mumble, but her words have sown seeds of doubt.

Chelsea gives you a pitying look. “Honey, I’m just trying to watch out for you. There are so many great guys here on campus that would treat you right.”

Your eyes narrow at the dig. “You mean like those meathead frat bros that never shut up about their high school glory days? No thanks.”

The girls all gasp in mock offense. Brittany steps closer, using her height advantage to loom over you. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking about our men like that.”

“Yeah?” You stand your ground, hands on your hips. “Well maybe if they acted like men instead of immature little boys, I wouldn’t have to.”

A hush falls over the nearby crowd, all eyes on your confrontation. Brittany looks murderous until one of her sidekicks tugs her sleeve, murmuring “Let’s go, it’s not worth it.” She sneers at you one last time before stalking off, leaving you and Chelsea alone.

Your big sister sighs, rubbing her temples. “Why are you so hell-bent on making this hard on yourself, Y/N? Max is a world away, both physically and in terms of life experience. You could have any guy at this school eating out of the palm of your hand. Why not take advantage of that?”

Her words are salt in the wound. You blink back tears, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because I love Max. He makes me incredibly happy. And yeah, the distance is hard and he’s older and more established in his career. But he’s kind and smart and we just … connect, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

Chelsea shakes her head pityingly. “I’m just trying to watch out for you. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken over some long-distance fling.”

“It’s not a fling!” You’re sick of trying to convince everyone. Pushing past her, you storm out of the suffocating house and into the cool night air. Gulping it down, you sink down onto the steps, chest heaving with anger and hurt and frustration.

Alone at last, you let the tears come. You know the doubts eating at you are unfair — Max has been nothing but devoted and caring throughout your relationship, even with his insanely busy schedule. But the fears voiced by Chelsea and her crew have burrowed under your skin. Maybe you are just a naive little plaything for him. Maybe he’ll eventually get bored and move on to someone more sophisticated and on his level.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket — a FaceTime call from the man in question himself. You fumble to answer it, swiping hastily at your damp cheeks. “H-Hey you.”

“There’s my gorgeous girl!” His bright smile fills the screen, momentarily banishing your worries. “I only have a few minutes before FP1, but I couldn’t wait to see that pretty face.”

You can’t help but return his warm grin, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I miss you so much, Max.”

His brow furrows at your tone. “What’s wrong, liefje? You sound upset.”

You want to brush it off, but maybe this is your chance to finally get those nagging fears off your chest. “It’s just … things have been rough lately with the girls. They keep saying I’m wasting my time with you, that you’re going to leave me for someone else, that I’m just a naive little girl you’re using for fun.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then curses under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must be really hard to deal with, on top of the distance.”

“It is,” you admit, blinking back fresh tears. “And as much as I try to ignore them and have faith in us, their words have started to get to me. I mean … why don’t you ever post about me on social media? Do you not want the world to know about me?”

A shadow crosses his features. Clearly he’s heard this criticism before. “My reasons for keeping my relationships private have nothing to do with you, okay? I keep that part of my life off social media to avoid a media frenzy and protect the people I care about.” His expression softens. “But you better believe everyone important in my life knows about you — my family, my closest mates. Hell, the whole Red Bull garage is sick of hearing me go on and on about how amazing my girl is.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, some of the weight lifting off your chest. “Really?”

“Of course!” He chuckles. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. No matter how far apart we are or what anyone else says, you’re the only one I want.”

Your cheeks flush at his heart-melting words. In that moment, you don’t care about your snotty sorority sisters or the distance or anything else — just being completely in love with this amazing man. “I wish you were here,” you murmur, drinking in every detail of his face. “I miss holding you so damn much.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe you can show me how much later tonight, when we’re all alone to video call properly?”

You giggle and smack your hand over the camera, feeling suddenly shy. “Max Verstappen, you incorrigible flirt!”

“You love it.” His voice takes on a deeper, huskier tone that sends tingles down your spine. “And you’re going to love what I have planned for your next visit even more ...”

You spend the next few giddy minutes shamelessly flirting back and forth, soaking up precious moments of intimacy through the phone line to sustain you until you can be together again. When his race engineer appears in the background, beckoning him to the track, you’re both full of regretful sighs.

“Duty calls,” Max says wistfully. “But I’ll call you later, okay? We can pick up where we left off ...” He waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

You can’t stop your face-splitting grin. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

“Bye schatje. Love you to the moon and back.”

“Love you too!” You clutch the phone to your chest after he disconnects, completely lovestruck. All your insecurities have melted away under the heat of Max’s devoted words and that heart-stopping smile.

It’s going to be okay.

He chose you — Y/N Sargeant, sophomore student, for all your flaws and relative immaturity. And you’ve never felt luckier.

Spirits lifted, you bound back into the house and upstairs to your bedroom. You’ll ignore Chelsea and her nasty friends for the rest of the night, instead losing yourself in daydreams of the next time you’ll be wrapped in Max’s strong arms.

Your relationship may be a long-distance whirlwind, but you’re all in and you’ve never been happier. Let the other sorority girls whisper — you’ve snagged yourself a keeper.

***

Max drains the last of his water bottle as he exits the Red Bull garage, sweat still beading on his brow from the qualifying session. He stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied groan — even after all these years in Formula 1, there’s no better feeling than pushing a car to its limits on the track.

“Max! A word, if you please.”

He cringes at the familiar bark, turning to find his father bearing down on him like a storm cloud. So much for basking in the post-qualifying glow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Jos’ mouth presses into a grim line, eyes smoldering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Well, for one, I saw that interview of yours from yesterday making the rounds online.”

Max fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course his old man would find something to criticize. “And? I thought it was pretty standard, nothing controversial.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be controversial.” Jos sneers the word like a curse. “But dodging questions about your girlfriend and claiming you prefer to keep your private life private? It’s only going to stoke more media speculation and rumors.”

“Is that so bad?” Max counters. “I like to keep things out of the spotlight as much as I can. You know how ravenous the press is.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, son.” Jos steps closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. “I know exactly who this girl of yours is.”

Max feels his hackles rising at his dad’s dismissive tone when speaking about you. He opens his mouth to retort, but Jos barrels on.

“First it was that damn Kelly Piquet and her baggage, and now you’ve upgraded to jailbait? What is it with you and dating either old hags or naive teenagers, Max?”

“That’s enough!” Max snarls, feeling his face flush with anger. “How dare you talk about them like that, especially Y/N. She’s an incredible woman, and our age gap means nothing.”

Jos scoffs loudly. “Come off it, boy! She’s just a child, a nobody playing at being a WAG. You were born for greatness, bred to be a champion. Why on earth would you hitch your wagon to some college bimbo barely out of nappies?”

It’s like a red mist descends over Max’s vision at his father’s vile words about you. Before he can stop himself, his fist lashes out and connects squarely with Jos’ jawbone, sending the older man stumbling back.

“Don’t you ever speak about her that way again,” Max seethes, cradling his throbbing hand. “Y/N is ten times the person you’ll ever be. Smart, mature, driven as hell —she’s going to accomplish incredible things someday, whether you respect her or not.”

Jos regains his footing, clutching the blooming bruise on his cheek and glaring daggers at his son. “How dare you strike me, you ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything — the training, the opportunities, the sacrifices to get you to this level. And this is how you repay me?”

Max refuses to be baited, meeting his father’s glare with stony resolution. “Maybe if you didn’t insist on being such a hateful, miserable bastard all the time, I wouldn’t have to. All I want is for you to be civil and show some respect. Is that too much to ask?”

He huffs out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “But that’s not your way, is it? You’d rather condemn me for daring to find happiness with someone, just because she’s younger or doesn’t fit into your narrow ideas of what my life should look like. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. It’s my fucking life and I’ll live it however I damn well please.”

Jos opens his mouth, undoubtedly to fire off more vitriol, but Max cuts him off with a raised hand. He’s said his piece, expending the last of his energy and patience dealing with his father’s bullheadedness — at least for today. Right now, all he wants is to retreat somewhere quiet and let his thoughts drift across the ocean to you.

“Save it. I’m done arguing.” He turns on his heel and stalks away, Jos shouting insults at his retreating back.

Don’t react, don’t react. His jaw clenches almost painfully as he navigates the familiar path back to his driver’s room, typing out a quick message.

You free to chat soon, gorgeous? Need to hear your voice.

The reply comes almost instantly. For you, always. Give me 20 mins? ❤️

He can’t stop the surge of warmth at your words, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. That’s his girl — always knowing exactly what he needs, even from thousands of miles away. And isn’t that what matters most of all?

After showering and changing into casual sweats and a t-shirt, Max sinks onto the small couch placed against the wall, pillows arranged just so to prop up his aching back and shoulders. He picks up his phone and dials your number, heart rate kicking up a notch in eager anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity but is surely only a few rings, your face fills the screen. You must have just gotten back from class — your hair is tousled and loose, your makeup-free skin flushed and glowing in the South Florida sun.

“Well hey there, handsome.” Your teasing smirk dissipates as you get a better look at him. “Max? Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I am now,” he manages, relief already washing over him at the simple sight of you. He drinks in every last detail like a man parched. “Just had a bit of a run-in with my dad and needed an escape.”

Concern flashes in your warm eyes. “Oh no, what happened?”

So he tells you — the interview rumors, his dad ambushing him and lobbing insults, the explosive fight that caused him to lose his cool and strike the first blow. You listen with sympathy, every encouraging nod and murmured reassurance calming his frazzled nerves until the story is spent, leaving him strangely at peace.

“Thank you for sharing all that with me, babe,” you say once he’s finished. Your voice is gentle but firm. “I’m sorry Jos was so out of line, but you were totally right to stand up to him. Nobody gets to dismiss our relationship or talk about you like that.”

Max blows out a long breath, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “I know, I just … I hate letting him get under my skin like that, you know? No matter how much I try to rise above it, he always finds a way to trigger something deep down. It’s exhausting constantly needing to defend myself and the people I care about.”

“But that’s not your burden to bear alone, Max.” You shake your head adamantly, jaw set in that stubborn way he loves. “Let me help shoulder that weight, even if I can’t actually be there physically yet. I’m on your team, remember? We’re partners. I’ve got your back.”

Your words loosen a knot of tension he didn’t realize he was carrying. Of course you get it, you always do. He knows in that moment how lucky he is to have found his teammate, his shelter in the storm that rages on no matter how successful he becomes.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” His voice comes out low, thick with emotion. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Your radiant smile could power entire cities. “By being you, silly. And for the record, your dad is way off base. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting a mature, driven, accomplished partner — even if she happens to be younger.”

“Age shaming goes both ways, apparently.”

“Apparently,” you agree wryly. “I had my own fun today ...”

As you launch into explaining the shenanigans that occurred during your morning lecture, Max feels himself relaxing further and further into the couch, a dopey grin spreading across his face. On and on the two of you go, playfully trading stories until his father and the endless pressures of his career have fully melted away, replaced by this perfect bubble the two of you inhabit.

When you hit a lull, stifling a yawn behind your hand, Max reluctantly decides to let you go for the night. “Do you have some time before your next class? You should get some rest.”

“Aw, I’m fine!” You protest through another jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m not done talking to my favorite driver yet.”

Max chuckles fondly. This stubborn streak of yours will be the death of him someday. “We both know that’s a lie. I can practically hear your bed calling your name for a nap from here.”

“Hmph, fine.” You stick out your full bottom lip in an exaggerated pout that makes his heart skip. “I guess if you insist on being all reasonable and stuff.”

“That’s me, a real fun-sucker.” He matches your playful tone, though his eyes are serious. “But before you go … can you just say it? For me?”

You immediately soften, gazing at him through the camera with so much tenderness, it almost winds him. “I love you, Max. More than anything.”

He exhales heavily, as if your words have physically lifted a weight from his shoulders. “I love you too, Y/N. And your love, your belief in me … it’s everything. Never doubt that, okay?”

“I won’t if you don’t,” you promise with a wink. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Sweet dreams, liefje.”

Even after disconnecting the call, Max sits there for several long moments, staring at the now-dark screen with a besotted grin. His chest is pleasantly warm, full to bursting with the soul-deep reassurance that only you can provide.

Screw whatever toxic nonsense his dad tries to peddle about your age gap or his career. You’re the beating heart that sustains him, the sun around which his entire universe orbits. No disapproving authority figure or rumor mill gossip could ever change that fundamental truth.

So let his father rage and splutter all he wants about how “inappropriate” your relationship is. Max has tasted the extraordinary, found his home and partner in the most vibrant woman he’s ever met. All those lonely, empty years without that missing piece suddenly feel like a hazy, long-forgotten dream.

As Max sips his energy drink and prepares for another demanding few hours at the track, he can’t keep the dopey smile off his face. You’re worth enduring a thousand more shouting matches with his dad, worth traversing any distance just to hear your laugh again.

Max is the luckiest bastard alive to have earned your heart, and he’ll never take that gift for granted.

***

You shoulder your backpack and push through the double doors of the lecture hall, finally free from classes for the summer. The late afternoon sun bakes the quad in a warm glow as you pause for a moment, breathing in the sweet semi-tropical air.

For two years, this campus has been your entire world. Endless cycles of classes, parties, study sessions, and chaos with your sisters from Kappa Alpha Theta. But now, as you glance around at the laughing students basking in the first days of freedom, you feel a strange sense of restlessness settle over you.

Like there’s some place — somewhere — else you’re meant to be.

Shaking it off, you start heading for the student parking lot to meet up with Chelsea. You only make it a few steps before unusually loud cheers and shouts draw your attention to a small crowd forming near the front entrance.

Rows of parked cars block your view, but the distinctive growl of a high-performance engine cuts through the commotion. Your pulse instantly kicks up a notch as your mind puts it together.

That’s no ordinary car.

That’s a multimillion dollar, 800 horsepower British rocket. Sleek, powerful, luxuriously elegant.

Just like-

“No way ...” you breathe out, books slipping from your slackened grip as the glossy green bodywork of an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera slides into view. Because draped over the driver’s side door in that achingly familiar display of casual arrogance ...

“Max!” You shout his name in disbelieving joy even as your feet are carrying you toward him at a full sprint.

His head snaps up at the sound and your heart nearly stops at the way his whole face ignites with radiant delight. That brilliant smile you’ve ached to see in person for so long now stretching those full lips in the most heart-stoppingly beautiful way.

He pushes off from the car, hands outstretched, and in the space of a single frantic heartbeat you’ve flung yourself into his arms with a breathless laugh.

“What are you doing here?” You demand giddily as Max’s strong arms engulf you, swinging your frame around in a tight circle. You’re vaguely aware of the other students going nuts, people shouting and whistles piercing the air, but you only have eyes and ears for this incredible man holding you tightly.

Max just chuckles warmly, murmuring your name with raw affection before crashing his lips to yours in a scorching kiss that leaves you dizzy. You melt into the fierce embrace, parting your lips eagerly to taste the slight sweetness of Red Bull and dark chocolate that is so distinctly Max.

“Surprise, schatje,” he rumbles against your smiling mouth between heated, openmouthed kisses. “Thought I would swing by and pick up my favorite student myself.”

“Oh my god!” You laugh delightedly, cupping his chiseled jaw to drink in every perfectly imperfect inch of his beloved face. The strong jawline, the dimpled chin, those piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at you.

“When did you … how did you …” You’re at a loss for words, overcome with giddy euphoria at having Max here, warm and solid and real in your arms again after so many endless months.

A fresh wave of cheers and hollers suddenly cuts through your joyful bubble as half the crowd seems to recognize the celebrity in their midst. Dozens of camera phones whip out to capture the unexpectedly intimate reunion between you and Max.

“Who is that guy?”

“No way, that’s Max freaking Verstappen!”

“Y/N, how do you know Max Verstappen?”

The shouts and questions reach a fever pitch, finally breaking through your amorous fugue. Blushing furiously, you pull back just enough to murmur against Max’s chest.

“Well, much as I’d love to keep making out with my insanely hot boyfriend in the middle of campus, maybe we should take this somewhere a bit more private?”

Max gives a deep, rich laugh at that, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you.

“You are a wise woman, liefje,” he praises in that deliciously accented baritone. He presses one last, searing kiss to your smiling lips before reluctantly disentangling himself. “Though I would have thought you might like to give all your classmates one more delightful bit of inspiration to remember you by before you depart for the summer?”

He leers at you playfully as a chorus of whoops and whistles greets his flirtatious suggestion. You can’t help but bark out a laugh, shoving his chest lightly in mock admonishment even as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re impossible!”

“No, just hopelessly in love with you,” he counters easily, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. The tenderness in his voice and touch instantly gentles your teasing mood into something infinitely fonder.

This remarkable man, so genuine and caring beneath the roguish exterior cultivated for the cameras. You’re struck by a sudden lance of melancholy at the thought of how little the world really knows of the real Max Verstappen.

But then his eyes crinkle in that way that speaks of unabashed adoration just for you and the feeling passes. Because you know him better than anyone. And he sees you just the same. Two souls intertwined by a rare, precious understanding.

Max’s hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your thundering pulse point. The tender motion instantly sets your nerves alight with renewed longing.

“So,” his voice drops to an impossibly deep bedroom octave meant only for your ears. “Shall we give the good people at the University of Miami one last show before I whisk you away for a few months of long overdue privacy?”

There’s the barest hint of a filthy promise underlying the words. You swallow thickly, unconsciously pressing closer as Max’s velvet tones wash over you like a physical caress.

“And just where will you be taking me?” You manage to tease back, forcing a bravado your hammering heart doesn’t feel.

“Well ...” He leans in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. You shiver helplessly at the heated puff of air ghosting your sensitive skin.

“First,” he begins in a heated murmur, “we’re going to swing by your sorority house to gather your belongings.”

“Okay ...” You nod faintly, hyper-aware of Max’s intoxicating proximity.

“Then I’ll be driving us straight to your parents’ place in Fort Lauderdale,” he continues lowly. “Per the strict instructions of one Logan Sargeant, of course.”

You can’t help the surprised laugh that bursts forth. Trust your brother to strong-arm his way into Max’s surprise plans.

“He didn’t give you too hard a time, did he?” You ask through your giggles. “I can only imagine the threats he must have ...”

You trail off at the feeling of Max��s talented mouth blazing a trail of kisses along the slender column of your throat. Every exploratory brush of his lips and insistent swipe of tongue steals the breath from your lungs.

“Max ...” You whine out his name without conscious thought, going pliant against the solid wall of his body.

“Shhh,” he rumbles against your overwrought senses. “Let me finish first.”

There’s a maddening pause where the only sounds are the rushing waves of cheers and chaos from the delighted crowd watching your every move, hungered gazes drinking in every scorching caress Max bestows upon you. Under any other circumstances, the thought of being so shamelessly devoured by hundreds of strangers’ eyes would have you recoiling in embarrassment.

But Max’s presence, his heated touch and low, sinful voice have you spellbound, uncaring of your audience.

“After we’ve satisfied your family’s demands to see us with their own eyes,” he purrs. “We’ll be boarding my jet bright and early for someplace much more ... pleasurable.”

Your skin prickles with delicious tension as Max continues in that low, rough whisper.

“We’ll spend a few lazy days lounging on a private beach in Aruba, just the two of us.” His large hand roves provocatively down the curve of your spine to boldly grip your backside, pulling your hips flush against the insistent bulge in his designer jeans. “Catching up on all the things I’ve been dreaming about for months, schatje.”

A tremulous whimper escapes your parted lips at the blatant promise underlying Max’s words. You flatten your palms against the firm planes of his chest, feeling his powerful heartbeat thundering in time with your own.

“A-And after that?” You somehow manage in a breathy rasp, scarcely daring to hope.

Max’s only response is a low, thrumming chuckle that you feel vibrate across your heated skin. His chin dips, molten blue eyes searing into yours with naked hunger.

“After that?” He husks, stealing the breath from your lungs with a devastating grin. “Well, then I’ll finally get to introduce the world to my favorite girl.”

And neither of you can wait.

[nadvs]

home before dark (part three)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe is sitting in a chair in the front room of your home, his chin resting on his hand, hardly paying any attention to the sitcom playing on the tv screen.

He’s pissed off. Why did it have to storm tonight of all nights, when he doesn’t have anything to numb the pain, nothing to drown out the sound of the rain drumming on the windows?

In his haste, he didn’t pack any coke before coming here. He didn’t think he’d need it this bad.

And that photo he saw upstairs. It’s making everything so much fucking worse.

This is how the world repays him for helping someone. Figures. He’s used to having shit luck. Trying to make his own father love him has been a losing game, and he’s been at that for years, so why would anything else go his way?

“Hey.” Rafe straightens when he hears you. You look into the room. “Did the thunder wake you up, too?”

He hasn’t slept at all. But he nods.

There’s a blankness in his stare, the tv casting dull colors over his face. He didn’t bother to turn the light on.

You cross the room, hazy from your interrupted sleep, and settle on the couch. You’re far away from him, acting like you’ve never touched, even though you were just pressed against each other on his motorcycle.

You wonder if it felt nice to him, too. Or if you were just extra weight on his bike, an irritating responsibility he was cornered into taking on.

“Do you have any booze around here?” Rafe mutters. You catch the desolation in his tone.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

You instantly feel ridiculous for expecting you won’t be met with the cold shoulder. You doubt he’ll answer. But then, because the world must be off its axis, he does.

“Fucking hate this weather,” he says.

His words make a chill sink into your bones. You remember your father telling you the news years ago after he got the phone call. A torrential downpour. The freeway. Zero visibility.

Anne lost control of her car.

By the look on your dad’s face, you knew what that meant. Rafe’s mother didn’t survive the wreck.

He doesn’t have to say it. You know that’s why he hates storms.

“I can distract you,” you offer, “if you want?”

It was something you did as kids. Rafe would be angry or sad or hurt or anything and you’d talk his ear off about whatever you could think of until the dark cloud hanging over him drifted away.

His feelings always felt too big for him. You were the best at making them small enough to manage.

Rafe is used to wanting to be left alone. But not right now. Not if he can be with you. Admitting it feels impossible. The wall he spent years building around himself is solid from both sides.

“It’s your house,” he finally says. “Do what you want.”

You take it an invitation to stay. You turn your attention to the tv, as if holding eye contact with him will make him take it back.

It gives him a chance to look at you. How the fuck have you not lost patience with him yet? Why do you still care?

“I keep wanting to ask why you’re helping me,” you say, just loud enough to be heard over the tv.

Rafe exhales sharply, rubbing his forehead.

“This is you distracting me,” he scoffs. “Aren’t you supposed to do the talking?”

The fact that he’s expecting you to replicate the days of your youth gives you a sliver of hope that maybe he misses them, too.

“There has to be a reason you’re doing it,” you murmur.

“Can’t you just be happy that I am?” he responds. A white flash of lighting pools into the room for a split second.

“No,” you say. Finally, he gives in.

“Because I…” he begins.

The noise from the show is adding to the frustrating confusion engulfing him. He angrily picks up the remote and turns the tv off, plunging both of you in darkness.

You turn your head towards him again, only able to make out the hard outline of his jaw.

“I always had to look out for you,” he says. “I guess I still do.”

You look down at your lap, taken aback that Rafe holds any sense of loyalty for you.

You almost want to remind him of what he said earlier, that you’re not kids anymore, but you don’t want to challenge him.

“And I don’t know why,” he adds, voice thin, “but you’re not a dick to me like everyone else is, so I kind of owe you.”

All you can hear is your own breathing and the ticking of the clock in the foyer and the tap of faltering raindrops. The storm is passing.

“It’s because you didn’t do anything wrong,” you say into the silence. “It’s not like you did something to make me hate you. You shut me out, but I get why.”

Your words reverberate through him. He wonders if you think that he hates you.

Still, you could have gone to any other guy and asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend.

“Why’d you come to me?” he asks.

“Because he’s scared of you.” You don’t have to nor do you want to say your ex’s name.

“And you’re not?”

“No.” You tilt your head. “We used to be best friends.”

You say it like he wouldn’t remember. He couldn’t erase it from his brain if he tried. And he has.

The heaviness of all this is suffocating to him. The past is done. There’s no point in digging up things that’ll just hurt him all over again.

He stands up, chasing out the familiarity that was slowly growing between you. But before he leaves the room, he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, either, alright?” Rafe says into the dark, irritated, answering the question you asked him on the shoreline hours ago. “Not on purpose.”

As his shadow retreats, the words he left you with ring in your head. He doesn’t blame you. But you did do something wrong.

Rafe had his head buried into his pillow, throat burning from crying through his grief, every night for months.

As he lies in an unfamiliar bed all for a girl whose very existence makes him feel a multitude of good and bad all at once, he’s thrown back into those days, as if he’s a boy again.

His mother used to tell him it was a strength to be so sensitive, but her voice faded and his father’s voice got so much louder. What he tells him every time Rafe can’t swallow down the tears echoes in his mind. Toughen up. You’re fine.

But he’s not fine. He can’t stop crying and he knows he has to tell you he can’t do this anymore. Being with you brings back too much.

But the next morning, when Rafe finds you sitting at the kitchen island, wearing your pajamas and a smile, the prospect of ending this is tossed away.

You have access to him that nobody else does. You and that damn smile are a weakness that he didn’t know he had. And while he can act happy and careless around everyone else, he can’t put on an act for you. Ever.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask. Your hands are cupping a mug, your phone sitting beside it.

“Like shit,” Rafe replies, pacing to the fridge. “Took hours to fall asleep.”

You feel guilty that he didn’t have a good rest, considering he’s only here because you were too frightened to be alone.

“You?” he says after a beat. The ice must be melting if he’s actually asking about you for once.

“My sleep was good,” you reply. “It helped having you here.”

Rafe’s cheeks get warm. Someone actually wanting him around is a foreign feeling.

By the time your conversation was over last night, the rain and thunder had dwindled. It couldn’t have been the storm keeping him awake. Curiosity pushes you to figure it out.

“Was the bed uncomfortable?” you ask.

“No,” he answers. He finds a glass and fills it with water. His throat still hurts from crying last night.

You watch him, his presence commanding as he leans back against the counter opposite you. The dark, shallow bags beneath his eyes are illuminated in the bright lights above you. He looks exhausted.

“Was the room too warm? Or too cold?” you say.

“Can you relax?” Rafe huffs, his tone almost playful.

He isn’t about to admit that he can’t remember the last time he fell asleep sober. And he’s definitely not going to tell you that the last thing he thought about before finally passing out was that his cheeks burned from how hard he was wiping his tears away.

“The least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable since I made you stay the night,” you say.

His brows furrow as he takes a long gulp, tipping his head back.

“Nobody can make me do anything,” he replies once he downs the water. You know it’s the truth. It makes the fact that he’s doing this for you all the more meaningful.

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes loudly on the countertop. Rafe sees your face fall when your eyes drop to the screen. You read the notification for a moment, then sigh and shake your head.

“He emailed me,” you say incredulously. “I blocked him on everything and he emailed me.”

Rafe leans over to see if you’ll let him look for himself. You slide your phone towards him and he picks it up to read Ty’s message.

What you have with him isn’t real. We both know it. Let me prove that I can treat you how you deserve. Please. I’m sorry for everything. I love you.

A part of Rafe is concerned you’ll fall for it.

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks.

“Block him there, too,” you mutter. “He does this. He’s mean, then he pretends like he changed, then he’s mean again… It’s the same bullshit over and over.”

Rafe blocks him for you and places your phone on the counter. You bite the inside of your cheek as the dread you always feel when Ty contacts you floods your every sense.

The despair on your face makes Rafe’s stomach sink. The next time he sees Ty, he’s beating the shit out of him.

“He’ll stop, okay? I’ll make him,” he says.

You’re still skeptical. Rafe definitely scares him, but Ty called him a bullshit rebound last night. He wrote that what you have with Rafe isn’t real. You’re not fooling him. And you’re afraid he won’t leave you alone until he believes you’re actually in a new relationship now.

“Yeah.” You exhale slowly. “Doesn’t sound like he’s falling for this, though.” You motion between you and him.

Rafe has to take a moment to catch your meaning. Falling for this. Your pretend relationship. Right.

“I didn’t tell anyone it’s fake,” you say, afraid it somehow got out. “Did you?”

Rafe shakes his head no and puts his empty glass in the sink. He scratches the back of his neck and looks at you again.

“Do you want me to keep crashing here until your mom and dad get back?” he asks.

You hate that your mind goes there, but you wonder when the last time he said mom out loud was. You shake away the thought.

“Not if you can’t get any actual sleep,” you respond.

Rafe typically gets irritated when someone can’t make up their mind. He wants everything done quickly, so he doesn’t have to stop and think.

But this is you and even though you’re scared of sleeping on your own, you’re considering how staying here affects Rafe and it gives him a heavy feeling of shame. He spent years avoiding the only person who never abandoned him. The only person who still gives a shit.

“I’ll just leave my stuff here,” he says, making the decision for you.

“Thank you.” You mean it. The thought of someone being here with you is comforting.

As usual, Rafe ends the conversation quickly and abruptly, leaving the room. You soon hear the engine of his motorcycle rattling loudly from outside, the roar fading as he drives away.

You hoped that he’d at least want to hang out with you now. You don’t understand why you keep expecting more from him. It just hurts you every time.

You don’t hear from Ty for the rest of the day. You manage to run some errands without worrying you’ll see him because even when Rafe isn’t with you, you don’t feel as scared knowing he’s in your corner.

The days of the week mean practically nothing on the north side of the island over the summer. There’s a party almost every night, this time at a house just down the street from you.

You invite your friends to your place, drinking as you get ready, deciding to walk over to the party. You turn up already tipsy, finding yourself looking for Rafe even though you know you should only really be doing that if Ty is bothering you.

When you walk into the loud, crowded house, seeing you reminds Rafe of why he isn’t smoking or drinking or snorting anything tonight.

He’s had countless fights while wasted, but he wants to have a clear mind when he sees Ty. He needs to make the fucker pay and not give him a chance to get even one punch in.

You meet Rafe’s blue eyes every so often throughout the night, glad you’re finally able to have fun again because you know he’s keeping you safe.

The second Ty walks in, even though he hasn’t come close to approaching you, you make your way to Rafe.

You stand close to him, placing your hand in his, acting like a girlfriend to someone who is only doing this because he feels an overdue sense of loyalty to you.

Rafe stills for a moment before he laces his fingers with yours. His skin is hot, making your heart flutter in a way you know it shouldn’t.

“Hey,” you say over the music. His ring presses against your thumb.

“Hey,” he says tensely. He’s not used to affection, especially in front of people.

But this is what he signed up for. He needs to act like a boyfriend and he’s not going to fuck this up. It’s the first real responsibility he’s had that he actually gives a shit about.

His eyes land on Ty and his plan to confront him takes a backseat when he realizes he doesn’t want to let go of you. Right now, he’d rather have his hand in yours instead of using it to throw a punch. It’s like every touch you give him leaves a heavier impact than the last.

You immediately notice how tense Rafe is.

“Can you relax?” you joke, imitating the way he said it this morning. Your heart warms when his dimples appear, framing a smile he can’t stifle.

“I don’t sound like that,” he says.

“You sound exactly like that,” you reply with a laugh, picturing how tired he looked in your kitchen. “Please tell me you got some sleep today.”

Again, the concern you seem to have never lost for him appears.

“I did,” he says. He crashed in his bed the second he got home.

“How come it took you so long to fall asleep last night?”

Rafe’s knee-jerk reaction is to avoid the question. Especially if it’s you asking. But he can’t forget how shitty it felt when you brushed him off last night at the beach, so he pushes himself to answer.

“Just, uh…” He looks away. “Couldn’t turn off my brain.”

You gaze up at him. It almost aches, how badly you’d love to know what goes through his mind.

“When did this start?” one of his friends amusedly asks, pointing between you two. You notice Ty close by, his gaze sharp as he eavesdrops. Rafe notices him, too.

You squeeze Rafe’s hand tighter, clinging to him. He notices that his entire body buzzes when you do that.

“What, was I supposed to call you?” Rafe responds.

“I’m just saying,” his friend replies with a laugh, “it’s like all of a sudden, you got a girl out of nowhere.”

Alarm stings every inch of your skin when you notice Ty’s posture straighten in your peripheral.

“Don’t sound so surprised, asshole,” Rafe replies lightheartedly, gently pulling his hand out of your grasp to drape his heavy arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him.

You follow his lead, wrapping your arms around his torso. The relief from how well he played it off and the comfort you get from how he’s holding you is overwhelming.

Rafe dips his head to speak into your ear, his cheek brushing against yours, his cologne fresh.

“Think he’s falling for it now?” he mumbles, voice lowering an octave. With the way he’s holding you, you might fall for it yourself.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You squeeze him tighter, not for show, but because you want to. You’ve wanted to hug him since the funeral, when he was a boy with bloodshot eyes in a crumpled black suit, but he never let you get this close.

He brings his other hand up to your face, cradling your jaw, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. His touch is so tender that you have to remind yourself it’s Rafe doing this.

You’re suspended, bodies curved together, cheeks brushing, like you’re playing a game to see who’ll let go first.

“And he’s staying away from you, right?” His breath is warm against the shell of your ear.

You nod, at a loss for words.

“Is he watching?” he asks. You can see from the corner of your eye that your ex is staring right at you.

“Mhm,” you hum with a nod.

At this point, Rafe is being selfish. This is close enough. You wanted him to act like you’re a couple and he’s done it. He can pull away now. Maybe he should keep his arm around you for a little longer, but he doesn’t need to be this close.

Instead, he lowers to press his lips against your cheek and you hug him tighter, and fuck, it feels so good that he misses it before it’s even over.

He can’t believe that his body yearns to be this close to you. You opened up the floodgates the second you put your hand on him the first time a couple of nights ago. How good would it feel if you were doing it for real?

You lean into his kiss. His lips are so soft. You wish you could feel them against yours. It’s all to make everyone think you’re actually together. You keep telling yourself that.

When your arms around him weaken just a little, you feel something at his back, protruding against your forearm.

Your eyebrows draw together as you pull back only a few inches to meet Rafe’s eyes, your mind going to the worst possible scenario. Your breath catches. It’s a weapon.

“What is that?” you ask quietly, nudging against the hard item tucked into the band of his jeans.

“What do you think?”

“Rafe,” you say. His jaw tightens. The moment is gone. The wall is back up. Your tone teeters on a thin edge, like you’re judging him.

“You’re surprised the psycho owns a gun?” he scoffs.

He didn’t brush off what Ty said like you thought he did. It makes your stomach turn that your ex’s lie actually stuck with Rafe.

You glance over to see Ty’s back as he storms out of the room. Part of you is relieved, but right now, you mostly feel anxious that Rafe believes a lie.

“I never called you that,” you reiterate to him quietly. “I’ve never said anything bad about you. You think you can trust what he says?”

“I’m not planning on using it on him, okay?” Rafe snaps. “Unless he asks for it.”

He wishes you didn’t notice it. If you didn’t think he was fucked up before, you do now. He’s pissed off and embarrassed and disappointed all at once.

You’ve been trying to reconnect with him for so long. If he gives in, you’ll see that he’s not even close to who he was when you knew him. He’ll just let you down.

He realizes he hasn’t kept his distance only because you’re a painful reminder of a time he wants to forget. It’s also because he’s sure you wouldn’t like who he’s become. And he can’t take the rejection.

You’re still, unable to believe that he actually has a gun. That he would use it. That these are the lengths he’s going to to keep you safe.

You haven’t lost contact with him, but Rafe checks out of the moment and pulls his arm away.

“He’s gone now,” he mutters. You get the message. He’s done pretending. You drop your arms and find your friends again.

Hours later, the party is dwindling, but far from over. Rafe has been sober the entire time, making him all the more antsy and irritable.

He thought he’d beat the shit out of Ty tonight, but he’s exhausted and he can’t stop shaking. Why the hell is he shaking?

Rafe loses his patience and approaches you while you’re dancing with your friends.

“Let’s go,” he says, holding your hand. The contact makes your head spin all over again. Even though you’d like to stay, you comply.

You notice Ty’s eyes on you when you leave. He’s pretending to be a good guy again, keeping his distance, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he cracks.

Once you reach Rafe’s motorcycle in the cool night air, he hands you his helmet and you take it without hesitation.

After the short drive, you walk up the steps to your front door together. But you soon stop in your tracks, eyes wide as you stare at the ground.

Rafe follows your eye line. Mud’s been tracked onto the porch in fragmented footprints.

“I can’t… I can’t remember if that was there before,” you stammer. “Did you see it this morning?”

“I don’t know,” he responds. He rushed out of here too quickly to have noticed something like that.

You look around, as if you can find an answer in the darkness surrounding your home. You would have noticed it after you ran your errands earlier today. Probably. Maybe.

It could have been you. Or Rafe. Or one of your friends.

Or Ty. He didn’t arrive at the party until late into the night. Could he have been creeping around your house? Why would he?

Rafe glances up to confirm that there aren’t any cameras aiming at the door. It pisses him off when he notices there aren’t any cameras at all. He quickly catches on that your breathing has grown faster.

“Come on,” he says, gently pulling you by the crook of your elbow. “Let’s go inside. It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t believe his own words, but there’s no reason to scare you any further.

“What if he was here?” you say, letting Rafe pull you to the door. He takes the key out of your hand and pushes it into the lock.

“Then I’ll shoot him,” he mutters.

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

The door swings open, prompting the security system to start beeping.

You flip on the light and enter the code as he shuts the door behind you. You’re so frightened and unnerved that you jam one of the buttons with the wrong finger, prompting a harsh error noise from the system.

“Can you do this?” you huff. You tell Rafe the five-digit code and he quickly enters it, arming the system again. You notice his hand is trembling.

“Are you okay?” you ask. You know it’s not from fear. Rafe isn’t afraid of anything. He must be high on something. “What’d you take?”

“Nothing,” he says with a humorless laugh. It dawns on him that his body is reacting to the lack of coke in his system. “That’s the problem.”

“What?” you ask.

Rafe sighs, double-checking that the front door is locked for your peace of mind.

“I can’t be wasted if that asshole tries me. I haven’t taken anything since last night,” he says. “But it just made shit worse.”

He realizes how messed up it sounds. How messed up it is that being sober for one night makes him shake like this. He has a problem. But he never really had a reason to get clean before now.

You watch Rafe checking the lock and like a riptide, everything crashes down on you at once.

The torment from Ty harassing you. The guilt from asking Rafe to take on this responsibility. The sadness from knowing that he’s only doing it because he feels a sense of obligation for you and wants nothing more.

“Bet you’re glad I have a gun now,” Rafe mutters. He turns to look at you, your expression grim. “What?”

“I don’t want to keep bothering you with this,” you admit, your heart racing with panic. “I don’t want you to have to sleep here and I don’t want you to have to drive me home all the time and… I hate that this is happening and that I had to drag you into it.”

His eyes travel over the anguish etched on your face.

“What, like it’s your fault he’s a piece of shit?” he says.

You chew on the inside of your cheek and look up to the ceiling, trying to keep your tears at bay. It’s still odd being alone with him, having him in your home.

Rafe hasn’t tried to make someone feel better in a long time. He hasn’t cared enough to. He takes a deep breath.

“I don’t mind doing this, alright?” he says.

“You don’t?” You take in the softness in his eyes that you don’t often see.

“Think I’d be here if I did?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “You used to do things you didn’t want to all the time for me.”

The Rafe that was your best friend always went along with whatever you wanted to play, wherever you wanted to go.

He grits his teeth, tearing his eyes off of you, trying not to think about how when he was a kid, if someone asked him who his favorite person was, he’d tell them that it was a tie between you and his mom.

“Don’t talk about how shit used to be,” he says quietly. And because he doesn’t want to see that hurt look on your face again, he adds, “Please.”

The mere prospect of talking about the past seems to actually give him pain. It dawns on you that you’re looking at a man who may have never processed what happened to him.

“Do you want something to eat?” you offer, changing the subject swiftly.

Rafe realizes he’s starving.

“Yeah,” he says.

A memory washes over you as Rafe sits at your kitchen counter, eating leftovers you heated up for him.

It was a humid summer day and you two were scarfing down the lunch his mother made for you after a morning of swimming behind his house.

Rafe always liked picking the wildflowers that grew in the grass that lined the beach for his mom. The ones he found that day were purple, sitting in a small vase she put in the center of the dining room table.

Every time he gave her a small bundle of uneven flowers, she had the same joyful reaction. Rafe always looked so proud of himself when she enthusiastically thanked her son.

It was just another happy day.

Until Ward came into the kitchen and like always, Rafe’s smile disappeared. Your best friend tended to shrink when his dad was around. Ward almost always found something to chide his son about. He never spoke like that to his daughters.

“Could you eat any faster?” Ward muttered. “Where are your manners?”

“Leave him alone, Ward,” Anne said with a sigh. His mother’s tone was only ever sharp when she was defending her little boy.

You remember watching her lean to kiss Rafe’s head, earning a small smile from him. Then she winked at you, trying to dismiss the tension from the room.

You wonder what Ward has said to Rafe ever since he lost the only person who stuck up for him.

You face the sink as you wash your hands, your back to Rafe, trying to stifle the tears that build as you imagine what the world would be like if the wreck never happened. Who would Rafe be if he never lost her? If a part of him didn’t die with her?

Is it crazy to think that you’d still be best friends, instead of two strangers pushed together in such an arduous situation? You miss her so much that it hurts and all this is yet another thing adding to the weight sitting on your shoulders.

Rafe hears you sniffle and when you finally turn around, you stare at the floor as you try to rush away.

“What is it?” he asks. Is he already failing at making you feel safe?

You freeze. You can’t tell him what’s really bothering you. Especially since he asked you not to talk about your memories.

“I’m just freaked out.” It’s not exactly what you’re thinking of now, but it’s true. This mess with Ty is a nightmare. “If he was really creeping around here�� Ugh, I don’t know what he’s going to do next.”

Rafe chews slower as he observes you through narrow eyes. He’s no stranger to the pain of crying to sleep. He doesn’t want that for you.

You notice his hands are still trembling. You have no idea how often he does coke, but it must be an addiction if one night without it makes his body react like this.

“What else do you need?” he asks. It comes out sharper than he intended, like he’s asking what else you could possibly want from him after he’s given you so much.

Your lips thin as you stare at him from across the counter. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so miserable.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “Good night.”

You start to walk away but Rafe says your name to stop you and it sounds so good coming out of his mouth that your stomach numbs. When was the last time he said it?

You turn to look at him. His eyes dart down to his food.

“What if…” he begins, his fork loudly clattering against the dish. “Would it help if I slept in your room?”

You’re surprised. And soothed by the thought of him sleeping close by in case your ex does something as unhinged as break in.

Everyone else paints Rafe as rude and aggressive, but you knew it. You knew he still had some kindness in him.

“Yeah,” you say. “It would help.”

(part four)

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[its-avalon-08]

Hi! Could you please write something where reader and Lando have been together for a while and the hate never got to her until she saw a comment about her using Lando’s money and Lando never had a problem with it. But reader starts using her own money but she doesn’t have a lot of it and one day she misses a call from the bank and Lando answers it and finds out her funds are low and he put it together. Happy needing though where Lando reassures her that he loves her using his money.

what's mine is yours (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - gold digger tweets, money problems, tears, fluff

Lando and Y/N had always had an easygoing relationship. From the moment they met, things just clicked. They’d been inseparable for years, growing through the ups and downs of the racing world together. She was his anchor, and he was her biggest supporter. Despite the scrutiny from the public eye, their relationship was grounded in mutual respect and understanding. Lando always made sure she felt cherished, often indulging her with gifts, fancy dinners, and trips—but none of that ever really mattered to Y/N. She loved Lando, not his lifestyle.

Still, there was always an undercurrent of judgment from certain corners of social media, as there often is for the partners of famous athletes. Y/N had long trained herself to tune out the negative noise. But today was different.

Sitting on the couch while Lando was out at a sponsorship event, she scrolled through Twitter. It had been a typical day, filled with photos of the two of them that fans had posted, some sweet comments and, as usual, some not-so-sweet ones. She should’ve stopped scrolling when she saw a thread discussing her. But instead, her eyes caught on one tweet.

@SpeedyPaddock: "Does Y/N ever spend a single dollar of her own? I swear all I see is Lando footing the bill. She’s just another gold digger… probably why Lando doesn’t mind either, right? He’s got the money to throw around."

Her heart sank. Y/N stared at the screen, feeling her chest tighten. She had never thought of it that way—sure, Lando loved spoiling her, and she’d accepted his generosity because it made him happy. But was she really taking advantage of him?

She shook her head, trying to clear the heaviness settling in her chest. No, Lando would never think that. Yet, the words echoed in her mind, twisting her perception. What if other people thought the same thing? What if they saw her as nothing more than someone who used Lando’s wealth to get by?

I can't do this anymore, she decided. She wasn’t going to be seen that way. From now on, she'd stop using any of Lando’s money. She wouldn’t tell him—it wasn’t his fault, and she didn’t want to burden him with her insecurities.

Y/N sighed, putting her phone away, her mind already racing with ways to distance herself from his lavish spending. This wasn't about them, it was about her.

time skip

The shift was subtle at first. Y/N stopped suggesting they go out to fancy dinners or buy anything extravagant. She even started paying for smaller things—coffee, groceries, or an Uber here and there. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go to their favorite restaurants or enjoy the life they’d built together, but she didn’t want to add fuel to the assumptions people were making online. Every time Lando offered to cover something, she’d smile and politely insist on taking care of it herself.

Lando, oblivious to what was going on in her head, didn’t think much of it at first. He’d tease her with a grin, “Trying to outdo me, are you?” And she’d laugh it off, hiding the unease in her heart.

But as the weeks passed, the strain began to show. Y/N wasn’t rich—not by Lando’s standards, not by any stretch. Her savings weren’t endless, and the more she tried to maintain this facade of independence, the more she found herself running low on funds. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep this up, but the thought of being seen as a "gold digger" kept pushing her forward.

One afternoon, as Lando was lounging on the couch, Y/N’s phone rang. She was out picking up some last-minute groceries, and without thinking, Lando picked it up when he saw the caller ID—her bank.

"Hello, this is Lando. I’m answering for Y/N."

The bank representative, not knowing any different, politely responded, "Hello, sir. We were just calling to inform Ms. Y/L/N that her account balance is quite low, and we’ve noticed a few declined transactions recently. We recommend a transfer or deposit soon to avoid further issues."

Lando’s face dropped, confusion swirling through his mind. "Uh, okay. I’ll let her know. Thank you." He hung up and stared at the phone for a moment, piecing things together.

When Y/N returned home, she found Lando sitting on the edge of the couch, her phone in his hand, a serious expression on his face.

"Hey, everything okay?" she asked, setting the groceries down.

He looked up, his blue eyes soft but concerned. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Y/N froze. She had no idea what he was talking about. "Tell you what?"

"The bank called. They said your account’s low… and that there have been some declined transactions. Y/N, why are you doing this?" His voice was gentle but filled with worry.

Her heart sank. "Lando, I—" She trailed off, not sure how to explain. The tweet flashed in her mind again, and she could feel the walls closing in.

Lando stood up and walked over to her, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Talk to me. Please."

She exhaled slowly, her voice trembling. "I saw a comment a few weeks ago… someone said I was just using your money. That I’m a gold digger and that you don’t care because you can afford it. It got to me, Lando. I didn’t want people to think that I’m only with you for your money. So, I started using my own… but I didn’t realize how fast it would run out."

Lando’s expression softened even more, his brow furrowing as he pulled her into a hug. "Oh, Y/N…"

She buried her face into his chest, feeling the weight of her decision catch up with her. "I didn’t want to tell you because it wasn’t your fault. It’s just stupid people online. But I didn’t want to be seen that way."

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands. "Listen to me. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re with me because you love me, and I love you. It’s never been about money, and it never will be."

"But—" she started, but he cut her off gently.

"No, but. I want to spoil you. I want to take you to nice places, buy you things, and make you happy. That’s what people do when they love each other. It doesn’t mean you’re using me. You’re not a gold digger, Y/N. You’ve never been." He kissed her forehead softly. "You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not to me."

Tears welled up in her eyes, not from sadness, but from relief. She’d been carrying this burden for so long, and now, hearing Lando say those words, it felt like the weight had been lifted. "I just didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you."

"I know you, Y/N," he whispered. "You could never do that. I love you, and I love sharing my life with you. That includes my money, okay? We’re a team. Whatever’s mine is yours."

Y/N nodded, tears spilling over as she smiled softly. "I love you too, Lando. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner."

He wiped her tears away with his thumb, smiling back. "Don’t be. Just promise me one thing."

"What?" she asked.

"Promise me you won’t listen to those idiots online. They don’t know us. They don’t know what we have."

Y/N let out a soft laugh. "I promise."

Lando grinned, pulling her into another tight hug. "Good. Now, let’s go out tonight. My treat. And before you say anything, it always will be."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, the tension finally easing between them. "Fine. But I’m picking the place."

"Deal."

[riseatlantisss]

The end we start from

Pairing : Astarion x female!reader/Tav Around 1,8 words Takes place after the events in Cazador's palace in act 3 (non-ascended Astarion, established relationship) Angst with a happy ending (and loooots of sex) <3

Astarion doesn’t feel good enough. you show him he’s everything.

TW : 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex, very angry/angsty/rough sex, fingering, mature language, mentions of death and depression, mentions of blood

A/N : when i don’t work, i do two things: i take care of my dog and i play BG3. i don’t eat. i don’t sleep. i don’t socialize. i just play BG3. and I write stuff about *him*.

Astarion is many things. Quiet is not one of them. But lately, that’s all he’s been, and you’ve been worrying about him night and day. Tonight is no exception. You wake up in the middle of the night and realize two things : not only is Astarion’s side of the bed empty but the sheets and pillows are untouched, uncrumpled. His side hasn’t been slept in. This isn’t right. Of course, he doesn’t really need to sleep but he always, always lays next to you at night, spooning you, playing with your hair and whispering sweet I love yous in your ear until you fall asleep. His absence means something’s off. Unable to shake off the anxiety, you get up in one swift motion, determined to find him. No chance you’re falling back asleep now anyway.

Your bare feet hit the cold marble floor and you shiver as you make your way accros the bedroom in a hurry. You think of searching outside in case he went for a hunt, but it turns out you don’t have to look too far. There he is, silently leaning against the wall by the window, gazing into the pitch-black night of the Underdark. The light in the room is so dim that you couldn’t even spot him from your bed. You approach him and your heart breaks a little when you notice the lingering sadness in his crimson eyes, enhanced by the faint light of the burning candles next to him.

You want to ask him if he’s ok but it’s obvious he’s not so instead, you remain silent and close the space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him and gently resting your head on his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask softly after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

Astarion averts his gaze and gives you a faint smile, nothing but a twist of lips.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m just being selfish, as usual. Forgive me, y/n.”

You frown and stare at him incredulously. “You’re not selfish,” you say, surprised at how intensely he means it. “Why would you even say that?”

“I –” He pauses, rethinks his words. This does nothing to make you less worried. “I caused you great pain,” he finally says. “I put you in danger. Repeatedly, ever since we met. You could have died a hundred times and it would have been my own, entire fault.”

You look up to him and feel a lump form in your throat. You have never seen him look like this – grief in his eyes and etched into the lines of his face.

“I’m not dead, Astarion. I’m right here with you.” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck. He makes a sound somewhere near a sob and your arms tighten.

“But I did put you in danger and now you’re stuck with me for eternity, in the middle of nowhere, and you—" Again, he stops. He’s bad at this, at talking about emotions. But he fights through it because it’s you. And nothing can be left unsaid between the two of you. Not after everything that’s happened. “You deserve so much better. You deserve the world, and I can’t give it to you.” You’re not sure where this conversation is going but you don't want to find out. His lower lip quiver but he goes on, words spilling out of him like blood from a wound. “I can’t give it to you, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for it. It’s killing me all over again.” You crumble under each one of his words. His lips are trembling now and you can’t stand it. You can’t but you can’t do him the dishonor of looking away either.

“Astarion, I chose this life.” Your hands flutter to his face, each one cupping a cold cheek, forcing him to look at you. Your heart is pounding, and you know he can feel it. “I had a choice; I could stay, or I could run, and I chose you. I’m not stuck here. I’m home.”

Astarion heaves a faltering breath in an attempt at composure. “Sometimes I think you would be happier without me. Better off.” He barely mouths the words, but you hear them all distinctively, nonetheless. “You should go and leave me here. Walk in the sun. Be happy and live your life.” You draw your hands away from his face and he steps back, speaking louder now.

“It won’t get any better in here,” he continues, gesturing urgently around the room. “It’ll always be cold and dark, I’ll always be a blood-thirsty monster. I belong to the shadows, and I’ll never be able to make you happy, so you might as well just leave.”

His words knock the air out of your lungs and, for a moment, you cannot breathe. You feel your pulse pounding in your veins and blood thrumming under your skin as your heartbreak turns into anger. That fucking idiot, you think, looking up at him through eyes blurred with tears.

“You don’t know what makes me happy. You don’t,” you shout, surprised by the vehemence in your voice. "And you certainly don't get to speak for me." Astarion looks at you in such confusion that you almost feel bad for a moment, but you continue.

“You – you make me happy, Astarion, gods you do. I would rather live an eternity in the Underdark with you than one more day in the fucking sun.” Your heart is clenching in your chest, and you can feel the heat pooling in your cheeks. “By no means would I be better off, let alone happier, without you. I can’t believe that you could even think –” You trail off and sigh in frustration. You can’t bring yourself to scream at him any longer because that’s all he’s ever known before you, screams and shouts and abuse, and you can’t do this to him. But that doesn’t leave you with many options to get through to him. Astarion opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let him.

Without warning you grab his shirt to pull him close and your lips crash into his, knocking the breath out of both of you with the force that you collide with. It only fuels your rage because the moment his lips are on yours, you can’t help thinking that you almost lost this once and you can’t actually lose it. You won’t let that happen. So you kiss him harder. It’s rough and desperate and sloppy. It's harsh breath and biting teeth.

He turns you around and backs you against the wall. You take it rather hard, but you welcome the sting. Anything to shut him up about not being good enough for you. He crowds in closer, presses you even harder against the wall, shoving his knee between your thighs. His cold lips connect to your throat, making you eagerly tilt your head to give him access to your thrumming pulse dancing at your neck. You have absolutely no qualms about it. If he wants it, it’s his.

But he doesn’t take it. Instead, his mouth sucks and licks, making you squirm and rock your hips against him. You cling to him, grabbing his shoulders and sliding your hands down his shirt and to his back. He hoists you up like you weighed nothing and you wrap both legs around his waist. You tangle your hands in his curly silver hair and pull him forward to feel that mouth on yours again. His tongue running over your lip makes you grind faster, searching for more, more, more. You moan when his hand reaches beneath your gown and through your damp underwear.

Firm, icy fingers are stroking you into madness. You make a sound that’s close to a whimper, but more like a groan, because damn it, you are so impatient now. You are clenching – aching to have him inside.

He is gasping at the feeling of your fluttering around him, and you must be gasping too, but you’re not sure; your head falls back and it feels like you’re breathing, but you could just as well be drowning.

You dig your nails hard into his back - you need to channel the anger into something. Maybe you’ll be the one drawing blood this time. You lean forward to rest your dizzy head on his shoulder and groan in anticipation. Not wasting anymore time, he pushes his hard, large cock into you, going steadily until he’s all the way in.

“Harder. Fuck me harder.” You plead and he obeys.

He sets a pace that graces all the right spots, spurred on the increasingly desperate noises escaping your mouth. This is no effort at all for him, holding you up easily and fucking you hard with determination. But you can see it when you rest your forehead against his – the sheer weakness you feel is reflected right back at you and you know he needs this just as much as you do.

You are so close. You need to concentrate on breathing, just so you simply don’t die. Your lower back thuds against the wardrobe with your oh gods and fucks singing in tandem. The vampire trails open-mouthed kisses and little bites down your neck while maintaining the almost vicious pace in and out of you. Every stroke curls and loves and breaks you into submission. You forget to be angry because your release is in his hands and your body is desperately handing itself over to him.

Your thighs start to quiver around him, the sounds of wetness and the feeling of his own explosion of pleasure deep inside you taking you so high that eventually, you shatter into him. You’re so grateful for the strength holding you up, so you can fall apart.

Your repeatedly moan his name on your way back to consciousness, lips brushing softly against his pale skin.

Before you know what is happening, you break into a sob.

“Please…. Please don’t ever tell me to leave, ever again.” You try to articulate, your voice shaking uncontrollably.

He sinks down onto his knees, holding you in his lap and whispering, “Shh,” into your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice is low and full of gravel. He never sounded so sweet. “I love you, always have and always will. And you’re not going anywhere.”

[depresssant]

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second. 

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care. 

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air. 

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things. 

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup. 

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY