#but I'm much much closer to the stage tonight

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR VIII

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.2k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I'll be honest this wasn't my favourite chapter to write since not much goes on, but I'm thinking of it more like a filler chapter that needed to be written.

UNKNOWN LOCATION

Joker had trashed another one of his safe houses.

The bastard was getting closer—closer to him, and closer to the formula he never should’ve helped create.

With a hollow thud, his head hit the concrete wall behind him. He exhaled hard through his nose, eyes burning with frustration. His pulse roared in his ears, but it wasn’t the fear that gnawed at him—it was the guilt. That relentless, festering guilt.

She’d warned him. Over and over again, she warned him that the nature of his unethical research would have consequences. And God, was hindsight a bitch.

He should’ve listened to his sister. She’d tried everything to pull him back—pleaded, reasoned, even threatened to expose him if he didn’t stop. But he was too far gone by then. Too enticed by the promise of discovery, of power, of being needed by the wrong people.

And once someone was in, there was no such thing as getting out—not really. He thought he could. After years of working with Gotham’s worst, he’d been foolish enough to believe he could slip away unnoticed, sever his ties, and walk free.

He had tried to leave—and that was how he ended up in this mess.

He should’ve known the Joker would never keep his word. Trusting a lunatic to honour a deal was like handing a lit match to a pyromaniac and hoping he wouldn’t strike it.

Stealing the formula back had been the only move he had left—the only way to try and make amends for the damage he’d done. But he’d underestimated just how badly the Joker wanted it.

He was running out of options.

He was brilliant enough to create a weaponized toxin—yes. But crafting an antidote? That had never been his strength. His genius lay in design, not repair. And this toxin, twisted using the strands of the newest Joker venom, was the worst thing he’d ever created.

Joke venom was notorious precisely because it had no cure. No antidote. Yet, there was only one person he knew who’d ever come close to breaking that fact.

You.

You had cracked Scarecrow’s fear toxin. You’d neutralized half a dozen of Poison Ivy’s most lethal poisons. You’d even managed to stall the effects of early-stage Joker venom—something the best minds in Gotham had written off as impossible. 

He had hoped—foolishly—that he’d be the one to fix it. That he could undo the damage he’d done without dragging anyone else into the fallout. Especially not you. He hadn’t wanted to involve you because that risked putting you in Joker’s sights.

But he was out of time. Out of places to run. And deep in his bones, he knew the truth he’d been avoiding:

You were his last chance.

And more than that—you were the city’s best hope.

BATCAVE

It only took Dick a day to decide that if Jason wasn’t going to play fair then neither was he. If Jason was going to use Tim as an accomplice then Dick would build his own damn team to help him with the case and the girl. 

He kicked a protesting Tim out of the Batcave with little ceremony—ignoring every muttered complaint and dramatic sigh—and pulled out his comm to make a few calls. 

It didn’t take long for his backup to arrive.

Now, Dick stood at the helm of it—arms crossed, one ankle hooked over the other, posture deceptively casual, like it was a casual meet-up and not, in fact, the beginning of his carefully orchestrated campaign to absolutely destroy his younger brother in the world’s most passive-aggressive war over a woman. 

He wasn’t in uniform tonight. Just dark jeans and a Henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows.

The soft whir of wheels broke the silence as Barbara was the first to arrive, her auburn hair damp, twisted up in a lazy clip. She rolled out of the elevator with one brow arched high and a tablet tucked under one arm, her other hand dragging down her face.

“This better be good,” she said, her voice dry. “You dragged me out of a bath and three episodes deep into a murder docuseries.”

Stephanie trailed behind her, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, nursing a cold brew like it was the only thing keeping her upright. The hoodie read Crime-Fighter, Coffee First in bold black letters.

Damian, on the other hand appeared from the shadows from god knows where, his posture stiff with irritation and a frown tugging at his mouth, as if simply being summoned here was an inconvenience to him.

“This better not be another attempt to make us play game night again, Grayson,” Damian warned, arms folded. “I will not pretend Monopoly is a viable training exercise.”

Dick rolled his eyes and nodded toward the glowing holoscreen behind him. “It’s about the Joker case.”

Stephanie squinted. “Then… where are the others?”

“And why is the girl I set you up with on the screen?” Barbara asked, already suspicious.

Damian whirled to face her. “You set him up with the only lead we have?”

“Lead?” Barbara repeated, eyes narrowing. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Grayson was assigned to extract intel from her,” Damian stated before Dick could speak. “She’s the sister of the target Joker has been pursuing—and the individual we’ve all been trying to locate.”

“Wait, what?” Stephanie yelped, nearly sloshing her coffee. “This is the woman Tim was telling me about? The one you and Jason are fighting over?”

Dick exhaled hard through his nose, jaw flexing. “We’re not f—”

“She’s pretty,” Stephanie cut off, squinting at the projection as she leaned forward. “No wonder you’re both acting like idiots.”

“Can we please go back to the part where the woman I matched you with on a dating app is now a lead in an active Joker case?” Barbara said sharply, pointing an accusing finger at Dick.

“It’s not like I knew who she was when you set me up!” Dick snapped, voice rising in defence.

“You could’ve called!”

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair, fingers dragging roughly across his scalp. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But can we please focus on why I called you all here?”

Stephanie didn’t miss a beat. “You want our help sabotaging Jason.”

“No!” Dick said too quickly, then paused. His mouth tugged into a grimace. “Okay—maybe slightly.”

Barbara groaned.

“I’m serious,” he said, the humour draining from his voice. “I need your help to figure her out. Get closer to her. Her brother’s the only thread we’ve got in this whole mess, and she might be the only one who knows where he is. But she’s not going to tell me a thing unless she trusts me.”

He glanced back at the projected image, something unreadable flickering across his face—frustration, maybe. Or guilt.

“So I need intel,” he continued, voice lower now. “What she likes. What she hates. What makes her laugh. What pisses her off. I don’t care how small—anything that gives me an edge.”

“And if that intel just so happens to give you an edge over Jason…” Stephanie prompted, eyebrow raised.

Dick didn’t even try to look innocent. He shrugged one shoulder. “Then that’s just a bonus.”

Barbara narrowed her eyes. “You do realize if she finds out about this, she’s going to hate you.”

“Good thing Jason and I are in complete agreement that she won’t,” he said, far too confident for someone with a growing list of poor decisions.

“Steph’s right. You two are idiots,” Barbara muttered, dragging her palm down her face.

Dick exhaled slowly. “Look, I’m not trying to manipulate her. I just need to understand her. If we figure that out, we get closer to the brother. That’s the mission. And yeah—if it happens to help me one-up Jason in the process…” He gave a lopsided smile. “Well, I’m not going to lose sleep over that.”

Barbara stared at him for a long moment, like she was trying to calculate just how much of this was about the case—and how much was pure, unfiltered ego. Then, with a sigh that carried the weight of years of dealing with these boys, she flicked open her tablet.

“Fine,” Barbara said, already typing as her eyes scanned the screen. “I’ll start hacking into her communications—look for any mention of her brother and flag any unknown calls or suspicious messages.” She didn’t even bother looking up. “Just so we’re clear—I’m doing this for the case. Not to help you win whatever stupid romantic grudge match you and Jason have going.”

“It’s not a grudge match,” he insisted. “It’s… a strategic lead acquisition initiative. That just happens to come with some personal incentives.”

Stephanie nearly choked on her cold brew. “That’s the prettiest way I’ve ever heard someone say, ‘I’m losing and I hate it.’”

“I’m not losing,” Dick muttered, jaw tightening.

“Uh-huh,” Stephanie said, dragging out the sound, clearly not believing him. “Sure. Denial looks great on you.” She leaned back in her chair, sipping noisily from her drink. “Alright, boss. What do I need to do?”

Dick straightened, grateful for the shift back to business—even if it was steeped in sarcasm. “I want you to build a psychological profile on her. Dig through her digital footprint. Socials, archived forums, anything public. Old blog posts, research articles, maybe even school club bulletins.”

Stephanie grinned. “So… you want me to cyberstalk her.”

“It’s not stalking. It’s remote behavioural analysis,” Dick corrected.

“Sure.” She gave him a knowing look. “You want me to find out what kind of coffee she drinks, which books she reads, and whether her Goodreads account is a shrine to tragic vampire romances or slow-burn academia smut.”

Dick opened his mouth, thought better of it, then sighed. “I have no idea what that even means. Just stay focused. If she has any habits or preferences—or mentions Jason—flag it.”

Stephanie’s fingers were already flying across the screen. “I’ll compile a profile. Interests, habits, emotional cues, digital presence.”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding. “The more we know, the better.”

“And if I stumble across her dating history?” Stephanie asked sweetly without looking up.

Dick hesitated. “Only if it’s… relevant.”

“To you or the case?” she teased, flashing him a grin that danced at the edges of mischief. But she didn’t give him the chance to answer. She was already turning away, her voice trailing over her shoulder as she shot him a wink. “Don’t worry, Boy Wonder—I’ll be discreet.”

Damian made a noise that sounded suspiciously like disgust. “You’re all embarrassing.”

Dick ignored him. “You’re tailing her. Quietly. No interaction unless absolutely necessary. I want to know if she’s meeting anyone connected to her brother or Joker’s network…Or Jason.”

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose, the kind of sound that somehow conveyed the full weight of his disdain for everyone in the room. It was the sigh of a boy who believed he was surrounded by fools.

“Tt. Fine,” he muttered, arms crossing stiffly. “I’ll tail her. Discreetly. No contact. No interference. Happy?”

He didn’t sound happy.

Dick gave a short nod. “Good. Just remember—this doesn’t mean you can skip school.”

That earned a visible twitch in Damian’s jaw. He crossed his arms tighter, glaring like Dick had personally insulted his lineage. “I am engaged in tactical surveillance on a high-priority target.”

“And you’re also twelve,” Dick replied, entirely unfazed. “If Alfred catches wind of another all-nighter and hears you slept through algebra again, I’m not covering for you.”

“I do not sleep through algebra.”

“Sure,” Stephanie muttered. “You meditated aggressively with your eyes closed and your hood up.”

Damian shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass.

“Anyways,” he said, raising his voice just enough to halt the impending bickering. “Glad we’re all on the same page. But remember—most importantly…”

He paused, gaze sweeping across the room.

“She, Alfred, and Bruce cannot find out.”

MEANWHILE...

Tim hadn’t meant to overhear. Not really.

But the cave echoed, and Dick’s voice—especially when wound up in righteous competitiveness—carried. Loudly. And Tim had lingered—just a moment too long—behind the server banks, just long enough to catch the important bits

“…You want our help sabotaging Jason…”

“…if she ends up being a better match for Jason, I’m not lying to you…”

“…we get that, we get closer to the brother. That’s the mission. And yeah, if it helps me beat Jason…”

Tim blinked, deadpan.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

It wasn’t the fact that Dick was crushing on a girl. Or that Jason was too. That brand of drama barely registered anymore—not after years of rooftop arguments, near-death team-ups, and family dinners that often ended in batarangs embedded in walls. Honestly, it ranked somewhere between mildly irritating and background noise on the Wayne household disaster scale.

It wasn’t even the part where they were turning a high-priority Joker lead into some twisted rom-com disaster.

No. The true offence—the unforgivable part—was that Dick didn’t include him.

Tim pulled out his comm, thumb hovering over the screen as he debated just how petty he wanted to be. The answer came quickly.

Very.

He tapped the name with a smug flick.

Jason picked up after one ring. “What?” He grumbled.

Tim didn’t waste time. “Dick’s building a team to spy on your future girlfriend.”

There was a pause on the other end. A beat of stunned silence.

“…You wanna say that again?”

“I said,” Tim repeated, already turning down the side tunnel toward the garage, “Dick dragged Steph, Barbara, and Damian into a secret meeting in the cave. He’s using the Joker case as cover—but it’s very clearly a dick-measuring contest over Y/N.”

On the other end of the line, Jason exhaled slowly, “That little—”

“Yep.”

Tim could practically hear the scowl forming on Jason’s face.

“It’s just the three of them?”

“Barbara’s hacking the communications. Stephanie’s building a profile on her. Damian’s tailing her.”

There was a pause on the other end. 

“…And you?” Jason asked, his voice slower now. 

Tim’s jaw tightened. He kicked a loose bolt across the garage floor with the heel of his boot, the metallic clink skipping into silence. “I wasn’t invited.”

Jason snorted. “Ouch.”

“I know, right?” Tim muttered, irritation bleeding through the sarcasm. It wasn’t about the girl. It wasn’t even about the case. It was the exclusion—the assumption that he’d pick sides without even being asked.

Jason’s voice came back cool and sharp. “Alright. Then we build our own damn team.”

Tim’s steps slowed, a grin tugging at his lips. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Cass?”

“Told her to head to your place.”

“Duke?”

“I’m sending him the same thing.”

“So that I guess this means you’re now my tech guy,” Jason stated.. 

Tim grinned. “Obviously.”

The amusement didn’t last. Jason’s tone shifted to something more serious. “This is still about her brother. Joker’s not finished. If she’s in the middle of this, she’s a target—maybe the only one who can figure out an antidote to that damn toxin.”

Tim’s smile faded. He nodded to himself, already flipping through the mental file he’d started building the second her name crossed his screen. “We’ll figure out what she knows. Piece it together.”

“Whatever happens, we protect her,” Jason said firmly. “and during all of this, if we happen to beat Dick in the process?”

Tim shrugged. “Then that’s just a bonus.”

JASON'S APARTMENT

The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the open window where the city glowed in quiet pulses. It smelled faintly of gun oil and leather, and the TV was playing some old movie on mute. Jason stood at the kitchen counter, arms braced against the surface, fuming quietly.

Across the room, Tim sat perched on the arm of the couch like he owned the place, sipping a soda with far too much smug satisfaction. He didn’t say anything, but the occasional sound of his slurping straw was loud enough to be irritating—If the twitching of Jason’s left eye indicated anything.

There was a knock—two short, one sharp.

Jason pushed off the counter and crossed the room, unlocking the door in a single motion. Duke stood on the other side, a backpack slung over one shoulder and confusion etched into his brow.

Behind him, Cass stood in silence. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were scanning the space like she was preparing for a fight.

Duke stepped inside, gaze bouncing between Jason and Tim. “Okay, what’s the emergency?” he asked, frowning. “Tim said it was important.”

Cass didn’t say a word. She just drifted toward the window and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

Jason nodded at both of them. “Glad you came. We’ve got a situation.”

Tim tossed a chip into his mouth. “A tactical situation,” he said dryly, voice laced with sarcasm.

Jason threw him a look. “Shut up.”

Duke glanced between them, eyebrows raised. “So… are we talking Joker, or—?”

Jason held up his phone to show a picture of you.

Duke blinked, squinting at your image. “…Is this not Dick’s date?”

Cass tilted her head, lips twitching in something that might have been curiosity.

Jason didn’t answer.

Duke’s eyes widened slowly. “Oh my God. This is about a girl.”

“It’s about a lead,” Jason corrected flatly, lowering the phone.

“A lead Dick did in fact go on a date with,” Tim added helpfully, not even pretending to hide the amusement in his voice.

Jason shot him another warning glare.

“This is the emergency?” Duke asked, incredulous. “You said it was important. I thought someone died.”

Jason huffed, the sound tight with frustration. “Someone could die. Her brother’s the lead we’ve been chasing for months—the one Joker’s gunning for. And she’s the only real shot we’ve got at finding him before he does.”

Duke gave him a long, slow look. “So this isn’t about stealing Dick’s girl?”

Tim snorted. “Oh, it totally is.”

Jason bristled. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter, jaw tight. “She’s not Dick’s. Yet. She hasn’t chosen.”

Duke blinked. His frown deepened. “Wait—she’s dating both of you?”

Jason looked away, suddenly very interested in a spot on the wall. “She… doesn’t know it.”

There was a pause.

Duke stared, mouth parting slightly. His voice, when it came, was flat with disbelief. “…How the hell doesn’t she—?”

“Look,” Jason cut in, rubbing a tired hand down his face. His fingers dragged across the stubble on his jaw, like he could scrape off the weight of the conversation. “Me and Dick agreed not to tell her we know each other. It’s a… gentleman’s agreement. No interference. Let her choose without pressure.”

Duke blinked. Then squinted. “You both agreed to lie to her?”

“It’s not lying,” Jason muttered defensively. “It’s withholding a minor detail.”

He pushed on. “Anyway, Dick broke the spirit of the deal. He’s already called in backup—Stephanie, Barbara, and Damian are all running surveillance for him now.”

“Wait—what?!” Duke’s voice pitched up, shocked indignation blooming across his face. “He didn’t even ask us?”

Cass, who had been silently watching, gave a small nod—her lips drawn into a frown, the betrayal practically radiating off her.

“I talked to him this morning,” Duke muttered. “We had breakfast. He said nothing.”

Jason leaned back against the counter. “Exactly. He’s building his team. So now I’m building mine.”

Duke threw his hands into the air, exasperated. “Unbelievable.”

Cass tilted her head toward the picture of you still lit up on Jason’s phone, then looked back at Jason. “You care about her,” she said quietly, but it wasn’t a question. It was a statement

Jason met her gaze. “Yeah. I do.”

Cass nodded once, decisive. That was all she needed.

Duke stared at them both, then slumped into a chair with a dramatic groan. “Fine. Count me in. But when this ends with her hating both of you and ghosting the entire family, I want it on record that I saw it coming.”

Tim, still sitting smugly on the arm of the couch, raised his soda can in salute. “Duly noted.”

Jason pushed off the counter and started pacing, the natural commander emerging. “Tim, you’re on tech. I want to know everything. Her schedule, her habits, what makes her laugh, what makes her cry—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim cut in, waving a hand, “you want a list of guys she’s slept with too?”

Jason hesitated. 

Tim blinked, staring at him over the rim of his soda can. “Oh my God. You do.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jason muttered, scowling.

“You didn’t not say it.”

Duke groaned into his hands. “This is gonna end so badly.”

Jason ignored them, jaw tightening. “Just… get me the information,” he gritted out. Then he turned to Cass, tone shifting again. “Cass, you’re tailing her. No contact and don’t let her know about your presence. If Joker’s anywhere near her, I want you between them first.”

Cass sent him a two fingered salute.

He nodded once, then pivoted to Duke. “And you’ve got surveillance. I want everything—traffic cams, building feeds, street-level activity. If Joker’s people show up… or if Dick so much as breathes near her, I want eyes on it.”

Duke, still half-lounging in his chair with a faint scowl tugging at his brow, straightened slowly. “So just to be clear—I’m tracking a girl, her possibly homicidal brother, the actual Joker, and the Nightwing himself?”

He let out a long, exhausted breath and grabbed his bag off the floor, slinging it over one shoulder. “This is either going to be brilliant… or the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

Tim raised his soda can in lazy salute. “I vote both.”

Jason ignored the jab. “I’ll handle the direct approach. I’ll find out what she knows about her brother,” he said, his voice calm but hardening at the edges. “The rest of you—watch her. I want everything. If she’s hiding something, I want to know. Who she trusts. Family, best friends. Any unusual changed in routines.”

He glanced around the room, making sure every pair of eyes was on him.

“If she mentions Joker—or if Dick starts getting too bold—I want a full report.”

His voice dipped slightly, “But most importantly… she can’t find out. Alfred can’t find out. And definitely not Bruce.”

YOUR APARTMENT

You came home after a long day at the research lab, the key turning in the lock with a soft click before the door swung shut behind you. The heels came off first—kicked lazily into the corner with the kind of relief that only came after hours on your feet—and were quickly replaced by a pair of fuzzy socks. You peeled off your work clothes and slipped into your favourite oversized sweater and loose shorts.

Your phone buzzed once against the table, screen lighting up with an incoming call—but you didn’t check it. You were off the clock. Whoever it was could wait.

Padding into the kitchen, you flicked on the stove and poured a bag of popcorn into a pot, humming the chorus of a catchy pop song under your breath. It wasn’t long before the music took over completely. With no one to hear and the apartment walls blessedly thick, you gave in, singing freely and swaying your hips with every beat.

You didn’t notice the flicker of movement in the shadows behind you.

The glow of the television lit up the living room as you scrolled through movie options, finally settling on an action flick with gratuitous explosions and an absurdly high body count—just the way you liked it. The title screen illuminated the apartment in soft bursts of light as you turned back toward the kitchen to check on your snack.

Behind you, a figure stepped silently out of the darkness.

Jason moved like a phantom, his eyes scanning your living space. He paused at the bookshelf, fingers brushing the edge of a vintage car figurine, seems you had an interest in cars.

You were still humming, still lost in your own rhythm and oblivious to the intruders in your home, as you disappeared into the bathroom.

The second shadow emerged from the stairwell.

Dick moved lower to the ground, planting a bug inside the hollow base of a decorative lamp. He lingered just long enough to glance at the painting on your wall and the artist who painted it.

By the time you stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying your hands, Dick had already melted back into the dark.

Jason, meanwhile, was at your laptop. The screen’s soft glow reflected in his eyes as he skimmed through your recent work—notes from the Charity Gala, advocacy for underserved kids in the city, a half-written proposal aimed at funding science programs in rougher neighbourhoods.

Dick had moved to the living room, eyes catching on the paused screen. The sequel was releasing in a few days—he remembered the trailer.

The sound of your footsteps pulled them both into motion.

By the time you re-entered the room, popcorn in hand and still humming softly, they were already gone

You had no idea that your apartment was now a surveillance web. Microphones tucked inside air vents. Cameras disguised in houseplants. Motion sensors hidden in innocuous corners. Only your bedroom and bathroom had been spared—barely. That was the one line they both agreed not to cross with their teams.

But even then, microphones had been installed just outside the doors.

Just in case they could pick up something about your brother.

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[seokminfilm]

graduation — y jeonghan & j wonwoo

PAIRING 𐂴 yoon jeonghan x reader x jeon wonwoo

TAGS & WARNINGS 𐂴 non-idol au, high school au, hinted love triangle, fluff, hurt/comfort, a little angst, skinship, jeonghan calls reader honey (even tho they aren't dating), mutual pining goes CRAZY, romantic tension ALSO goes crazy, jeonghan wants reader but wonwoo also lowkey wants reader too, open ending

SUMMARY 𐂴 graduation had a way of bringing you, jeonghan, and wonwoo closer together.

LYR'S SIDENOTES 𐂴 requested by liza (@kissbyoon)!! she said i could write for either jeonghan or wonwoo but i didn't want to choose so..here we are!! a fic that could be emotionally damaging and too cute for either you OR me to handle!! i'm so sick i miss them so badly 😭 here's my way of comforting (or hurting LMAO SORRY) both wonwoo stans AND jeonghan stans!! love u guys we'll make it 🙏

NOW PLAYING 𐂴 beanie (chezile) (note: yes i've probably used this song 6 times in the past week....yes i'm in a phase)

WORD COUNT 1.5k 𐂴 FOR @kstrucknet

the cold water of jeonghan's pool perfectly reflected the night sky, tiny stars sprayed throughout the darkness that winked at you with every blink of your eyes.

you and your best friends jeonghan and wonwoo sat by the pool, quietly thinking about the last few days of your high school years: the three of you had graduated tonight, and each of you was moving on to bigger things. it was somber, watching your faces reflect in the pool's shimmering water.

you were all getting older, whether you wanted to or not. you saw how wonwoo's jawline was getting sharper, and noticed how jeonghan's voice became more velvety and deep over the past few months.

"you have that look on your face, honey," jeonghan's voice comes from beside you, and you come back to the present, eyes going to jeonghan's smirking face. shaking your head, you shrug, dipping your finger in the water.

"what look?" you question innocently, and wonwoo speaks up, dark eyes already on your body, running up and down your skin.

"that faraway look you have on your face when you're thinking about something." wonwoo's voice is low and deep as it runs along your spine, and you can't help but chuckle, kicking your feet under the water.

"we're getting older, guys. things are changing, whether i want them to or not," you say, finally hearing how the words sound on your lips. jeonghan and wonwoo both stare at you, enamored with how you look as the moonlight hits your skin.

"you just realized that?" jeonghan teases, and wonwoo cringes, fingers going to the bridge of his nose as he grimaces. you laugh aloud, reveling in how good it feels to do so.

"seriously, though—we expected this, didn't we? high school is over. now, we're heading to college. if you ask me, now's our time to live it up." jeonghan shrugs, trying to lighten the mood. his brown eyes dart to you, trying to measure your reaction.

even though jeonghan's statement is true, it doesn't sound very good. you have the same look in your eyes, and wonwoo notices it too, hand going out to hold yours as he looks at you from behind his lenses.

"i know you're going to miss school. even though we joked about how much we wouldn't—" wonwoo pauses, sighing as he softly smiles at you. "we started crying the moment we received our diplomas."

even jeonghan can't deny it, chuckling in embarrassment to himself as you glance over at him, smiling. it was true—jeonghan was the main one saying how much he hated coming to school, but the moment his name was called to walk across the stage, he took one good look at you and wonwoo and started tearing up.

"i hate you, wonu," jeonghan frowns playfully, and you laugh again, voice ringing like a chorus of angels to jeonghan and wonwoo.

"i'm gonna miss you guys," you say after a few moments of silence, and both jeonghan and wonwoo go silent at that thought, hearts breaking at the thought of you being without them.

"i'm not leaving you. i would never even think about leaving you." wonwoo says with a finality in his voice, brown eyes serious as he stares at you. jeonghan places a hand on your thigh, nodding as the usual mirth in his eyes fades for a split second. "me either."

all three of you knew there was some unresolved tension between you: ever since you guys met in middle school, there was something between jeonghan and wonwoo that related to you. you were the reason jeonghan and wonwoo became friends in the first place, and they owed their friendship to you and then some.

you had shown them both something that both were convinced they wouldn't learn without you.

you had shown them what love felt like.

the air suddenly felt heavy, and jeonghan couldn't look away from you, throat bobbing as he watched your pretty eyes watch the ripples dance through the water. wonwoo watched you too, silently studying the slope of your nose and the length of your eyelashes as you smiled to yourself.

time seemed to still, and you with it, frozen in a place of innocence as jeonghan and wonwoo watched at you from the outside in.

this would be a distant memory in the future, a time when you'd look back and joyously recall the awkward moments you shared with jeonghan and wonwoo. awkward moments that were truly just simple, tender moments that neither jeonghan nor wonwoo would forget (or care to admit).

for now, though, they were content with watching you dip your feet in the pool the night of graduation.

[carmen-berzattos]

Y'all. I'm just gonna say that Hozier at Red Rocks is an out of this world experience. He's just incredible. He sounded amazing. The acoustic were out of this world. And he was so sweet! He kept pausing between songs to say something along the lines of "holy shit this place is beautiful". At some point he pointed to one of the rock formations in the ampitheater and went "whose hands scultped this?" One of my favorite moments was when he said that he has moments where he cannot believe that this is his life, this is one of them. And he said that if he looked straight ahead and took in a full image of the crowd, it gets really overwhelming and distracting. He seemed so happy and excited to be there and I was so endeared the whole time I love him SO much and I cannot wait for night #2 tonight!!

[harrysfolklore]

Hi could you please write something about Charles Leclerc x famous reader attending the f1 75 live event and jack whitehall decided to address the fact that she's always been more famous of Charles in a funny way

i love doing charles and famous reader so much

The crystal glasses clink softly around you as Jack Whitehall's voice echoes through the venue. You're nestled comfortably in your seat at the Ferrari table, Charles' arm draped casually across the back of your chair, his thumb absently stroking your shoulder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we need to address the elephant in the room," Jack announced, pacing dramatically. "We have actual royalty here tonight - and no, I'm not talking about Prince Charles of Monaco over there." He gestured to Charles, who was already starting to blush.

From your seat, you squeezed Charles's hand under the table as he tried to maintain his composed smile.

"We have YN, global superstar, winner of literally every music award invented, and somehow - somehow - she's dating a man whose biggest achievement this year was finishing a race without Ferrari messing up his strategy."

Charles dropped his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter while you covered your mouth, trying to stifle your own giggles.

"It's fascinating really," Jack continued, "YN's last stadium tour had more attendance than the entire F1 season combined. She's got more platinum records than Charles has pole positions. When they go out, people ask him 'Oh, are you YN's boyfriend?' and he just has to nod and say 'Yes, I'm the Ferrari driver who can't catch Verstappen.'"

You leaned into Charles's shoulder as he wrapped an arm around your waist, both of you red-faced from holding in laughter.

"But look at them - they're adorable. She shows up to every race wearing Ferrari red, probably the only person still believing in Ferrari's strategy besides Charles himself. It's true love, people. Though I have to wonder if she wrote 'Crash Into Me' before or after watching Charles' qualifying sessions..."

Charles buried his face in his hands while you rubbed his back soothingly, both of you unable to contain your laughter anymore.

As the laughter around you settled, Charles grinned, his arm still comfortably around your waist. He leaned in closer, his voice playful but sincere. "You know, despite all the teasing, I really enjoy being your less famous boyfriend."

You looked up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. "Oh, do you now?"

"Absolutely," he said, his smile widening. "It's actually kind of nice to be the one who gets to sit in the crowd while you’re on stage, getting all the attention. Makes me feel… special, in a way."

You chuckled, nudging him gently. "I think you're just here for the perks. Free front-row seats to concerts, and I guess being in the Ferrari pit lane doesn’t hurt either."

He pretended to think it over, then smirked. "Okay, maybe a little bit. But mostly, I just love being the guy who gets to hold your hand when you're not on stage, and be the one you turn to when you need a break from all the chaos."

You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Well, lucky for you, you’re stuck with me, you softie."

Charles grinned, pulling you a little closer. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: CAN I CALL YOU TONIGHT? * CHRIS STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　Where during the Orlando show of the Surprise Party Tour, the Group Chat segment is interrupted by a call from Y/N to Chris, and who said him being on a stage, in front of so many fans, would stop him from answering it?

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: Go stream LIKE ME right now!

The screen behind the triplets flickered as the group chat segment loaded in, the audience instantly cheering. This part was one of the public's favorites, mainly because it gave them the feeling of seeing a little more of the three's lives behind the cameras.

The screen displayed the first screenshot of their chaotic text thread. The crowd leaned in, ready to hear them narrating it.

Chris was already smirking when he noticed which one was it. He was sunken into the couch, one leg bent, the other hanging off the side, his left arm resting on the back of the arm rest. His mic sat comfortably in his lap as he bounced his knee.

Matt leaned forward a little.

"Oh god, this scared me so much." He said, leaning into his mic. "AC is on."

A few giggles rolled through the audience.

Nick sat on his solo couch across from them, completely deadpan. He leaned his mic up to his mouth, squinted dramatically at the big screen, then read aloud.

"Goodnight, I love you guys."

Matt added quickly, still scrolling through the screenshot with his eyes.

"And it’s set to 70."

Nick dragged the mic to his lips and repeated again in the exact same tone.

"Goodnight, I love you guys."

The crowd cracked up, especially when Chris’s laugh echoed through the mic.

Matt kept going.

"It was already at 71."

Nick glanced at the crowd with an exasperated gaze, then back to the screen.

"Goodnight, I love you guys... Matt, are you serious? Goodnight, I love you guys."

Chris was already leaning forward, giggling, eyes creased in joy as he grabbed the mic closer, gluing it to his pinkish lower lip.

"Okay, um..." He said through a grin, reading from the screen. "Matt, leave the AC alone. Nick, goodnight, we love you too." He read it in a light, soft voice, unsuccessfully trying to imitate her voice.

The audience chuckled, some screaming with the slight appearance of Y/N on the GC, but then something buzzed.

Loud and sudden.

Chris paused.

From his pocket, a low, rhythmic vibrating started up, followed by a specific ringtone that every real fan in the room knew belonged to one person only.

That dreamy little indie-pop loop.

Matt raised his eyebrows without even turning his head.

"Oh my god." He said, just loud enough for the mic to catch it.

Nick groaned, running a hand down his face.

"Here we go." He muttered, already sitting back in the couch like he was preparing himself to stay there for hours.

Chris blinked, laughing as he reached into the pocket of his grey sweatpants.

"No, wait, just hold on-" He pulled the phone out, looking at the screen, smile growing even bigger the second her name popped up, pearly teeth shining below warm lights.

Matt didn’t even need to see it.

"It’s Y/N. It’s always Y/N." He said, throwing his arms up.

Nick leaned into his mic and tilted his head to the audience, a bored expression resting on his facs.

"Y’all, we gotta pause the show real quick so Christopher can take a call from his missus."

The crowd started giggling, observing closely.

Chris didn’t care. He held up a casual hand to the audience, signaling for a quick second of patience and silence. Then he slid his thumb from left to right, brought the phone to his ear, and spoke in the softest voice ever.

"Hi, doll."

He was still smiling a boyish smile, head tilted a little, his voice low in contrast to the booming echo of the theater. The audience sat in stillness, just watching him.

He nodded, tongue peaking between his lips, still listening to the other end.

"You made it? That’s good." His eyes flicked to Matt for a second. "She’s in Boston. Just landed."

Matt gave him a thumbs-up. Nick stared at the ceiling like this was an everyday occurrence.

Chris kept his tone gentle, adjusting his body above the couch.

"Dinner with mum? Okay. Have fun with her, doll. Take care, alright?"

And that was when it happened.

As if Y/N wasn't already enough, at the mention of Mary Lou, the crowd collectively lost it.

Screams erupted across the theater.

Chris chuckled and pulled the phone slightly away from his ear. On the other side, Y/N’s voice got a little louder.

"Wait... what was that sound?"

Chris grinned.

"Hold up, baby." He brought the mic closer to his mouth and leaned forward again. "Alright." He said to the audience, voice playful and warm. "On three, can y’all say hi to Y/N?"

The fans screamed in agreement before he even counted.

He put her on speaker, flipped his phone toward the mic, and started counting.

"One, two, three-"

"HIIIIII, Y/N!!"

The theater shook. It was chaos. Screams, laughs, some people yelling "WE LOVE YOU!", the whole thing sounded like a stadium.

Y/N’s laugh echoed from Chris’s phone, loud and shocked.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL?!"

Chris was laughing too, just beaming at her voice.

"You forgot what time it was, huh?"

"I forgot y’all were on stage! I thought it was, like... four."

Nick leaned into his mic, voice dramatically dry.

"It is. Four. In California."

Matt waved at the phone like she could see him, smiling widely.

"Hi, Y/N!"

"Hi, Matt! Sorry for interrupting the show!"

Nick added quickly.

"Don’t worry, Chris interrupted it for you."

Chris, with zero shame, smiled into the mic.

"She’s allowed."

Y/N’s voice still came through speaker.

"Tell everyone I’m sorry! I’m gonna go eat with mum now, okay?"

Chris was back to soft-mode, all sweet and boyfriendy, heart warming - as usual - with how Y/N called his mom 'mum'.

"Okay, love you. Say hi to her for me. And text me when you’re back home, alright?"

"Uh-hum. Love you. Bye, everyone!"

The crowd screamed again. Chris finally ended the call and tucked his phone away, looking dizzy and flustered.

Nick shook his head, pretending to scribble something in the air.

"Someone write 'Chris Sturniolo is whipped' on the big screen, please."

Chris shrugged, unapologetic.

"I am. And I’m thriving."

Matt leaned forward, grinning.

"Anyway! Where were we? Oh yeah. 'Matt, leave the AC alone'."

© vanteguccir

[domxmarvel]

I’d let you guess 

Masterlist

Pairing: Billie eilish x Female!Reader

'Y/N likes boys but she knows I’d hit it'

Billie had changed the lyrics during one of her shows,you were her friend for years and despite you being straight you were shipped together. The lyric change was all over social media,the clip of her singing it was going viral. The next show she repeated it again,she would do that at every show with a smirk on her face. She never said anything to you about it directly,but it was clear she hoped you’d say something back. And you wouldn't just take it,you joined her as a surprise guest for her next show. Singing with her until that line. At this point everyone was going off, the fans screaming and yelling, her own heart was pounding out of her own chest. She looked right at you,biting her lip.

"Y/N likes boys but she knows I’d hit it" she smirked at you as she sang those words. You lifted your own mic.

"Billie knows I'm straight but she knows I'd let her hit" The crowd gasped and went silent for a second as you said that,but swiftly went crazy while Billie slowly turned to look at you with her mouth open. As the song ended, the two of you walked off of the stage and she quickly pushed you up against a wall out of eye sight from everyone. You froze up,not expecting her to do this. She smirked and put her hand up against the wall next to your head

“What was that back there?” she said in a low voice.

"What? You can't keep saying that about me and not expect me to stay quiet"

“Well I didn’t think you’d be so confident about saying that” she said while keeping a smirk on her face as she looked at you.

"Well you surprised me when you said it first,so I figured now we're even"

“I guess we are,” she said as she moved even closer to you, barely any space apart now. “But I have to admit, I really liked it when you said that” she said as she got closer to your ear, her breath faintly hitting your ear. This was far from over and both of you knew it.

It only took a few hours before the moment had gone viral,with various people talking about it,re-posting it with different captions.

”Billie trying to hint at Y/N. it’s obvious the two have something going on off stage”

”How Billie kept biting her lip throughout the song. She obviously knew what she was doing”

"Y/N coming out as bisexual by saying that is the best thing I’ve ever seen"

"Y/N definitely has to be bisexual after she said that" But people were quick to point out that you never actually came out and maybe to not jump to conclusions. 

“It’s probably all just a publicity stunt”

“Just because they were standing close on stage doesn’t mean that they’re in love”

“I doubt Y/N is bisexual,she’s just Billie’s friend”

“Guys maybe we shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions, they’re just best friends” Shows continued and Billie kept using the line about you,changing it up very slightly. 

"Y/N is straight but everyone knows she’d switch teams for me"

"Y/N likes boys but knows I’m much better"

"Y/N is straight but I know she secretly wants me"

"Y/N likes boys but I think I could change that" The changes only drove the ship further,it was all everyone was talking about, some comments saying you were 100% dating and that you were in fact gay, some saying that it’s all for attention, and some just saying that they ship it. You decided to join her for the last four shows. She changed the line ever so slightly every time,tonight it was.

"Y/N is straight but everyone knows it won't last" she sang with a smirk on her face, her hand gripping the microphone tightly.

"Billie knows I like boys,but she does it better" The whole crowd erupted in yelling and screaming after you said that, the look on Billie’s face was almost unreadable but she seemed impressed at that line. The next night it was another line.

"Y/N likes men, but she knows I do it best” she said with a smirk on her face

"Billie thinks I'm straight but I'd sit on that face" You knew this one was a bit further that the rest but you were getting close to the end of the tour so you amped it up. The crowd went absolutely insane when you said that and the look on Billie’s face showed that she was shocked and amazed, her cheeks were also a bit redder than usual. And that line caused quite a stir all over the internet. 

"Y/N IS 100% BI, NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE"

"I CAN'T EVEN TELL IF THEY'RE DATING OR NOT AT THIS POINT, THAT LINE WAS SO DIRTY"

"THAT LINE REALLY JUST CHANGED EVERYTHING"

"I have no idea if Y/N is straight anymore, that line changed everything"

"Oh my god that line literally almost killed me"

"SHE REALLY SAID THAT IN FRONT OF MILLIONS OF PEOPLE-"

"Guys she literally said she'd sit on Billie's face!!"

"SHE LEGITIMATELY SAID THAT ON STAGE IN FRONT OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE AND BILLIE'S FACE WAS RED"

Even Billie had to say something about that line,after the show she found you backstage and said to you.

"I really liked that line from you" she said as she smirked at you

"Figured you would,amping it up for the last three shows" There were two more shows.

"Well it definitely worked" she said while smirking, her cheeks still a bit pink from the line. "I’ll probably have to top that for the next show" And the next show her line was.

"Y/N likes boys but wants me more" she sang out, her eyes looking right at you.

"Billie thinks I like boys but knows I'd let her hit til the sunrise" Billie’s face went bright red and her hand gripping the microphone was white as a ghost,her knuckles gripping it tight. You put your arm on her side,pulling her in to whisper. "How about one more?"

"Y-yeah" she whispers back, her cheeks going darker if that was even possible. "Y/N likes men but wants me more" she sang, her confidence showing.

"Billie knows I'm straight but I'd let her hit,front and back" The crowd absolutely lost it after that line, she could barely hear herself from all the yelling and screaming, her gaze not leaving yours as you smirked at her. She surprisingly went again.

"Y/N likes boys but she wants me more" she sang more confidently, not daring to look away from you.

"Billie thinks I like boys,but I prefer her hands around my throat" you smirked,knowing it would rile up the crowd which it did. The crowd absolutely went insane, screaming, squealing, yelling your names, and the look on her face was an obvious mix of shock and admiration. "Billie thinks I'm straight,but I'd let her pick my underwear" you referenced it back to the actual song. The crowd was literally losing it as you said that, the look on her face was a mix of shock and almost disbelief, but there was something else in her eyes and you could tell that she was enjoying this just as much as you were.

"Y/n like men but she'd be all mine" she sang, her gaze not leaving yours as she smirked at you.

"Billie thinks I like men but I'd let her take me any time" 

As usual the lines were quickly going viral,the comments flooding in. People commented,mostly about the back and forth between you. The lines you had said driving them crazy.

"The 'Billie thinks I'm straight,but I'd let her pick my underwear' is absolutely crazy"

"Guys 'front and back' front and back???"

"She said she'd let Billie 'hit till the sunrise' she's definitely not straight"

"Y/N's lines😭😭"

"They said it so many times."

"They added multiple lines,I'm so jealous of everyone at that show" 

Everyone was also wondering what the last one would be,what could possibly top this. The last show arrived and every second was spent waiting for that critical moment. The crowd was filled with excitement and anticipation, waiting for the two of you to take the stage, eager to see what would happen during the last show. Billie smirked,confident that she had something good.

"Y/N likes boys but she'd rather have me" she said while winking at you.

"Billie thinks I'm straight,no I'm not" you said louder,it wasn't the dirty line she was used to but you had just come out on stage. "Billie knows I'm not straight but I'm all hers" You looked at Billie,seeing if she wanted to do a back and forth like the previous show. She looked right back at you, the smirk on her face growing as she nodded, signaling that she wanted to do a back and forth once again

"Y/N likes men, but she's mine tonight" she sang, the line making many in the crowed start to freak out, the back and forth between the two of you becoming a huge hit with the fans

"Billie knows I like women,but I'm her girl"

"Y/N knows I'm better, but she loves the chase" She sang, her confidence only increasing with each word, her cheeks still slightly red as she looked at you

"Billie knows I want it,want it all day all night" Billie's cheeks had gone deeper red and she looked at you, she knew she had to think of something even more insane to top that. 

"Y/N wants me, but I want her even more" She sang out, biting her lip as she finished the line, knowing many fans would lose it, and they did. You knew your last line would be a bigger reveal than when you came out a few minutes ago,it would change things. Reveal things you kept hidden,things you were ready to finally tell. 

"Billie knows I like women,but I love her" Billie simply stood there in shock, frozen in place as she stared at you, her cheeks now completely red. The whole crowd went dead silent after you sang that, you could hear a pin drop for a few seconds before the crowd erupted in cheers. She stood there in shock, her brain completely unable to process what you had just said. She knew it would change everything, her feelings and yours, but that's what she wanted, and she had a feeling that you wanted it too. You moved closer to her,leaning to whisper. "I love you" She looked up at you,wide eyes until she finally spoke.

"I love you too,but I’m so making you pay for those lines”

“Looking forward to it” 

[chroniclesofskz]

31 days apart

"I can't believe you forgot the milk again!" Y/N yelled at the empty fridge, her voice echoing through the quiet apartment. It was one of those days where everything felt off, like the universe was conspiring to annoy her. She slammed the fridge door shut and tossed the empty cereal box into the trash, resigning herself to a sad breakfast of black coffee and dry toast.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, and she checked the screen, hopeful for a text from Chan. But it was just another work email. She missed him more than she cared to admit. Their relationship had been a rollercoaster of passion and companionship, but this was the first time he'd been away for so long. Thirty-one days, to be exact. Thirty-one days since she'd felt the warmth of his body next to hers, the gentle touch of his hand, or the way he'd make her toes curl with his magical mouth.

"Maybe I should get a dog," she mused aloud. "At least it'd be around to keep me company."

As the day dragged on, Y/N found herself counting down the hours until she could call Chan. They had a standing "good night" call, but tonight she needed more. The ache in her chest was palpable, and she couldn't ignore the wetness pooling between her legs. She decided to break protocol and dial his number a few hours early.

The phone rang once, twice, and she was about to hang up when she heard a sleepy, "Hello?"

"Baba, did I wake you?" she asked, her voice thick with need.

There was a pause, and then a groan. "No, baby, I was just… lost in thought."

Y/N felt a thrill run through her body at the sound of his voice. "What were you thinking about?"

He took a deep breath, and she could almost feel him smiling through the phone. "You know what, Y/N. Your sweet little voice is all I need."

The conversation grew more intimate as they talked, the distance between them shrinking with every shared secret and whispered confession. Y/N's hand slid under her shirt, her nipples pebbling at the thought of his rough hands on her skin.

"I miss feeling you inside me," she murmured, the heat growing in her core.

There was a rustling of fabric, and then a click. "Keep talking, baby," he breathed, and she knew he was touching himself, thinking about her too.

Y/N leaned back against the kitchen counter, her hand moving down to her jeans. She unzipped them and slid her fingers under the fabric, stroking the slickness that had gathered there. "I miss the way your fans scream for you," she teased, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They all want a piece of you, but only I get to hear you sing to me, only I get to feel you deep inside."

"Mm," he groaned. "You know I'd rather be back home, fucking you in every way possible than being on this stage."

"I know," she assured him, her eyes closing as she pictured him up there, under the hot lights, singing his heart out. But she also knew that his career was his life, his passion. He was the lead singer of a wildly popular K-pop group, and this tour was his dream come true. She'd always been supportive of his ambitions, even if it meant being apart.

"Tell me more," he urged, his voice growing more strained. "What do you miss about me?"

The words spilled out of her, a mix of love and lust. "I miss your smile when you wake up in the morning, the way you smell after a show, like sweat and cologne and something uniquely you. I miss the way your cock feels, thick and hard, filling me up."

The line grew quiet for a moment, and she could hear his ragged breathing. Then, his voice was in her ear, low and urgent. "Tell me, Y/N, tell me how much you want it."

"So much," she whimpered, her hand moving faster. "I need you so badly."

He groaned, and she knew he was getting closer. "Keep going, baby," he encouraged, his voice tight with restraint. "I'm right there with you."

And just like that, they were connected again, despite the thousands of miles that separated them. The sound of his voice, the thought of his body, was enough to push her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her, making her tremble and cry out his name.

"I'm coming," he grunted, his voice a mix of pleasure and pain. "I love you, Y/N."

They both panted into the phone, the intimate moment hanging in the air like a secret shared in a crowded room. After a few moments, she giggled, feeling a little silly for being so dramatic. "I love you too, Baba. Now go get some sleep. You've got another big show tomorrow."

"I will," he promised, his voice already dropping into a sleepy drawl. "But first, tell me again how much you miss me."

"I miss you so much it hurts," she confessed.

He sighed, content. "That's all I need to hear. Good night, baby. I'll see you in your dreams."

Y/N hung up the phone, a smile playing on her lips. Despite the distance, she felt closer to him than ever. And she knew, deep down, that their love could weather any storm. Even if it meant going thirty-one days without milk.

[mywritersmind]

I hope your requests are open. I had this idea of Lando dating either a singer or dancer. Mostly inspired how he said in a video that he would like to be a singer for 24h. Basically Lando surprises the reader on tour on a location of your choosing. The fans are freaking out about him being there, because they haven’t made it official to their fans and after the show they make it public. Maybe by a post where he is backstage with her being fluffy or something. It’s purely an idea so if you don’t like it then feel free to ignore it.

ROCKSTAR BOYFRIEND - LN4

listen up : kissing! cuteness! some smau! thanks for request!! i love lando x singer for some reason and even tho this is short, it’s adorbs!

word count : 1098

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I squeal as I jump into my boyfriend's arms, he spins me around while my head is buried in his neck, “I missed you!” Once my feet are back on the ground, I look at him. Taking every bit of him in, the face I have memorized. I look into my favorite eyes in the world, and smile.

“I missed you too.” He tugs at my waist a bit and kisses me softly. “I’m excited for tonight.”

“Great to see you too, Y/n.” Max fewtrells tone makes me laugh instantly. He’s staring at us like we’ve commuted some crime.

“Hi Max. I’m happy you could come!” I lean into my boyfriend, noticing the camera around his neck.

He nods, “I’m worried how much you like Lan but, you’re good so.” I laugh as he gets distracted by my manager walking by with food.

Because he’s gone, I drag Lando to my dressing room where he immediately falls onto the couch, smiling widely. “Look at you, all famous and talented.”

“Right!” I tease, “You have no idea what it’s like!” I walk closer and Lando’s hands slide up the back of my legs, staring up at me.

He stops them right before the hem of my skirt. “You look good. Not fair that I have to share you with the thousands of people out there.” He refers to my current packed venue just as the opener starts another song.

He tugs me a bit closer so I move down slowly until I'm straddling him, his hands now on my ass as he smirks at me. Lando has this look that he does, like everytime he sees me he just has to be as close as possible to me.

I rest my hands on his neck and kiss him. He mumbles, “I really missed you.” He tugs me closer and kisses me harder.

I laugh into him, “I do have to go out eventually so don’t get too excited…” He groans when I say it and moves his lips to my neck, “Lando…”

“Don’t all rockstars do this?” He eyes me as I laugh, his lips meeting mine again as there’s a knock at the door.

Lando and I end up backstage with my crew while my guitarist strums on his guitar and my manager Ally goes over tonight as if I haven’t done it a million times.

I’m sitting on Lando’s lap, a bit more PG this time, with his hand on my hip as I listen to Ally talk.

She’s pacing before she turns and sigh at us, “You two are adorable.” It catches me off guard a bit because she’s always been the one saying we shouldn’t be public because of our careers.

It makes me happy that she supports us, even if she does think he’s bad press.

She’s pulled away as I get a five minute stage call. “You’re going to be amazing and i’ll be front row!” Lando grins, pushing my hair back behind my ear.

I laugh, “Lan, you’re in a box.” I’ve sat him and Max in VIP for my friends and family with Gracie Abrams and Finneas so that should be interesting.

“I’m seriously so proud of you.” His smile is so contagious, “You’re so talented and amazing and beautiful and perfect.” I want to cry at his words. But there’s no time because my stage manager hands me my microphone and points at his wrist.

I kiss him one last time before he leaves to find Max and go to their seats. Before I can step closer to the stage though, I get stopped by Ally.

Her face is stern, “I need to talk to you after the show, about Lando.”

I frown, immediately, scared of what she has to say. But her face goes soft, “I think you’re right, you should go public. You’re sickeningly in love and if that’s what you want…” I wrap my arms around her so tightly that she has to pry me off.

“I love you!” I scream so loud that even the crowd can hear me.

“Yeah yeah, say it with a raise.” she finally cracks a smile and squeezes my arm, “Go kill it out there.”

⋆༺

I’m sweating by the time the show is over. I can still hear the crowd screaming when I walk off the stage, the same grin I started with, still plastered on my face.

I scream when I see Lando. I could see him watching me the whole performance and I’ve never been so happy.

“Hey, you did insane!” Max is first to talk as Lando hugs me again.

I let out a breathy laugh as Lando kisses my cheek, “Thank you, Max!”

“Lando is so lucky to have someone so cool because it really evens out his weirdness.” Lando eyes Max who pulls up his hands in defense and wanders away.

Lando kisses me again, “You did… I can’t even explain it! You fit so well on stage and I was singing every lyric!”

I raise a brow, “You know every lyric?”

He nods enthusiastically, “Me and everyone in my garage! I play nothing else before a race.” I shake my head, running my hands through his curls, “But you seem extra happy… is it because i’m here?”

I roll my eyes even though he’s right, “I have some news.”

His jaw drops when I tell him we’re going public. He doesn’t even consult his PR people before posting the pictures.

⋆༺

LANDONORRIS

liked by yourusername and 823,644 others…

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↳ landonorris : my love 😍🧡

↳ carlosainz : WHIPPED

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↳ georgerussell : am I the only one who thinks this is cute?

↳ lewishamilton : George.

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↳ francocolapinto : WHIPPED🫵

[anticipatedexhale]

Could you do a drabble of Arcane x rockstar reader? Classic prompt that's been overused 😞

I believe this prompt will never get old darling I absolutely love this idea!!

I'm a Rockstar~~!

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, sevika, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi,

☆ ◞ summary: them absolutely being smitten by their Rockstar partner

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader, the tension is crazy , suggestive like really, I must say Viktors and sevikas parts made me feel smth..

Jayce Talis.

Jayce had never been the type to feel starstruck. He was the golden boy of Piltover, a man who walked into any room and commanded attention without even trying.

And yet, here he was, sitting front row at your concert, absolutely wrecked by the sight of you on stage.

The lights flashed behind you, turning your silhouette into something almost otherworldly. Your voice—strong, sultry, powerful—cut through the air like a drug, and Jayce swore he could feel every word vibrate through his chest.

You weren’t just performing. You were owning the stage, strutting across it with a confidence that made his blood run hot. Your fingers danced along the microphone stand, your outfit hugging every inch of you just right, your movements sharp and fluid all at once. The way you tilted your head, the teasing way your lips curled into a smirk every time you met his gaze—it was all too much.

Jayce sat there, legs spread, arms resting on his thighs, pretending to be composed when, in reality, he was anything but. His fingers twitched against his knee, gripping the fabric of his pants as his jaw clenched.

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

And you loved it.

Your gaze flickered to him mid-song, and instead of looking away, you leaned into the mic, voice dropping lower, sultrier. “This one goes out to a very special someone tonight…”

Jayce swallowed hard.

His fingers twitched again, his body instinctively shifting in his seat. Fuck.

It wasn’t fair. He was used to being the one people looked at like this. The one who had admirers swooning over him, not the other way around. But you? You had him wrapped around your damn finger, and you knew it.

The concert ended in a blur. He barely registered the cheers, the way the entire crowd was completely enamored with you. The only thing on his mind was you—how fast he could get backstage, how soon he could have you all to himself.

When he finally pushed through the crowd, security recognizing him instantly and letting him through, he found you in your dressing room, still glowing with post-show energy.

“You,” Jayce started, voice thick, heated, as he leaned against the doorframe. “You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”

You turned, feigning innocence. “Me? Torture you?” You took a step closer, tilting your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jayce.”

His hands were on you before you could say another word, fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you close. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips brushing against your jaw before he murmured, “You know exactly what you do to me.”

Your grin was devastating, a slow, lazy thing that sent a shiver down his spine. “Maybe I do,” you mused, fingers tracing up his chest. “And maybe I like seeing you like this.”

Jayce let out a low, almost pathetic groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?”

You laughed, hands threading through his hair. “But what a way to go, huh?”

And yeah. Jayce couldn’t even argue with that.

------------------------------------------------

Mel Medarda

Mel Medarda was not the type to lose her composure.

She had spent her entire life mastering the art of control—her words, her expressions, even the subtle tilt of her head that could make men beg for her attention. She played the political game better than anyone, moving through high society like a queen among pawns.

But then she met you.

And you—the reckless, magnetic, wildly talented rockstar who seemed to command the attention of an entire city without even trying—had the audacity to be hers.

Tonight, she sat in a private VIP booth, legs crossed, wine glass in hand, watching as you performed under the blazing stage lights. The world saw you as untouchable, a star burning too brightly to hold. But Mel? She saw the way your gaze kept flickering to her. How, even with thousands of people screaming your name, you sang for her.

The song slowed, the bass humming low through the speakers as you stepped toward the mic, voice dropping into something sultry, teasing.

“This next one,” you said, letting the words roll lazily off your tongue, “is dedicated to someone very special in the audience tonight.”

Mel raised a brow, lips curving into a knowing smirk as you lifted your hand and pointed directly at her.

A murmur ran through the crowd, people turning to try and spot who had caught your attention. Some guessed, some whispered, but Mel? She simply sipped her wine and held your gaze, unfazed.

You lived for the way her expression never wavered—cool, controlled, elegant. Unshaken. But you also knew better.

You knew how to crack that perfect, composed shell of hers.

So you turned away from the mic, running a hand through your hair, letting the sweat from the performance cling to your skin in a way you knew would drive her insane. Then, as the guitar hummed in the background, you let your fingers drag down your chest, slow and teasing, as if tracing where her hands would be if she weren’t across the room.

Mel exhaled through her nose, slow and measured, shifting in her seat.

Oh, she was seething.

Not in anger—no, Mel Medarda didn’t get angry over things like this. But she did get possessive.

She let you play your little game. Let you soak in the crowd’s adoration, let you tease and smirk and act like the stage belonged to you (which, to be fair, it did). But the second the show ended?

She was waiting for you.

You barely made it three steps backstage before her hand caught your wrist, tugging you aside into the privacy of an empty dressing room. The door clicked shut behind you, the hum of the concert still ringing in your ears as you turned, grinning.

“Enjoy the show?” you asked, feigning innocence.

Mel tilted her head, gaze sharp as she stepped closer. “You enjoy making a spectacle of yourself, don’t you?”

Your grin widened. “Only for you.”

She studied you for a moment, eyes trailing over the way your chest still heaved from the adrenaline, the way your hair was slightly damp from the stage lights. Then, without a word, she reached up and dragged her thumb across your lower lip, slow and deliberate.

A shiver ran down your spine.

“You drive me to madness,” she murmured, her voice impossibly smooth, like velvet and steel wrapped into one. "And you know it."

The air between you thickened, the tension sharp enough to cut. You swallowed, throat suddenly dry, but you refused to back down. “Maybe I do.”

Her fingers traced lower, featherlight, trailing over your pulse, her touch both gentle and possessive. “And what should I do with you now?”

The question sent a delicious shiver down your spine, but before you could answer, her lips brushed against yours—not quite a kiss, just a ghost of contact, enough to send heat pooling low in your stomach.

Then she pulled away.

“Come home with me,” she murmured, voice softer now, quieter. “I’d rather have your voice just for myself tonight.”

Your breath hitched.

You could handle teasing, the playful power struggles, the tension, but this? This was something deeper.

This was Mel Medarda wanting you—not just to chase, not just to possess, but to be with you.

And for the first time tonight, you were the one caught off guard.

------------------------------------------------

Viktor.

Viktor wasn’t one for loud crowds.

He wasn’t the type to thrive in the flashing lights, the deafening cheers, or the overwhelming press of bodies all moving as one. He spent his days buried in blueprints and research, lost in the quiet hum of his own thoughts.

But for you?

He would endure the storm.

Because even though concerts weren’t his scene, you were.

So now, he found himself standing at the edge of the stage, tucked away from the madness of the crowd, cane resting against his leg as he watched you move under the lights.

And damn—you were breathtaking.

Not just because of how you looked up there, all fire and confidence, a force commanding the attention of an entire stadium. But because this—this—was your element. The way your body moved with the music, the way your voice carried through the speakers, raw and unfiltered, sent something sharp curling in his chest.

Viktor had spent his life chasing brilliance, seeking genius in numbers and theories. But tonight, you were the most brilliant thing he’d ever seen.

The song shifted into something slower, the guitars easing into a sultry rhythm, and you turned just slightly—just enough that your eyes found him through the haze of stage lights.

Viktor barely had time to react before you did something utterly, devastatingly reckless.

You jumped down.

Right off the damn stage.

The crowd roared, and Viktor’s heart nearly stopped as security scrambled, but you just laughed, weaving through the fans like you belonged among them. The sea of people parted for you, hands reaching, voices calling, but you weren’t stopping for them.

You were walking straight to him.

Viktor’s grip on his cane tightened. His brain short-circuited as you strode through the VIP section with that effortless, infuriating confidence—grinning, sweat still clinging to your skin from the stage lights, a live wire of energy.

Then you were there, standing in front of him, so close he could see every rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” you murmured, voice teasing, but your eyes—your eyes were something else.

Viktor swallowed thickly, forcing himself to breathe. “Somehow, I think you would’ve found me anyway.”

Your grin widened. “Of course I would.”

And before he could get another word in, before he could even process what was happening, you grabbed the front of his vest and kissed him.

The crowd screamed.

The music surged.

And Viktor? Viktor forgot how to think.

Your lips were warm, demanding, still buzzing with the adrenaline of the performance. He knew he should pull away, should say something, do something, but all he could do was brace himself against his cane and fall into you.

You broke away just enough to whisper, “You look good in the spotlight.”

Viktor let out something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head as heat curled at the tips of his ears. “I think you might be trying to kill me.”

You pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Not yet.”

Then, just as quickly as you came, you stepped back, flashing him one last wicked grin before turning and jogging right back onto the damn stage.

Viktor exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his mind struggling to catch up.

The scientist in him despised the lack of logic in how you made him feel.

But the man in him?

He was completely, utterly ruined for you.

------------------------------------------------

Caitlyn kiramman

Caitlyn had been raised in a world of refinement—strict etiquette, hushed conversations over expensive wine, and appearances that had to be meticulously maintained.

Which is why she had no idea what the hell she was doing here.

The room throbbed with bass, the crowd a sea of energy, bodies pressed together as the lights cast dazzling colors across the venue. The air smelled like sweat, spilled drinks, and electricity.

And yet, despite the overwhelming chaos of it all, Caitlyn couldn’t focus on anything but you.

You, standing on that stage, confidence oozing from every motion, every note you sang, every teasing smirk you shot toward the audience.

You weren’t just performing—you were owning the damn room.

Caitlyn knew she was staring, but she didn’t care.

She had been raised to maintain her composure, to keep her emotions in check. But watching you up there, commanding thousands of people’s attention, only to flick your gaze right at her between verses? It did something dangerous to her.

She should have been used to it by now. You flirted with everyone—the audience, the cameras, your bandmates. It was just part of your stage persona.

But damn it, when you locked eyes with her and winked before hitting the next note, Caitlyn felt her heart stutter.

She needed a drink.

---

The concert ended in a blur of flashing lights and roaring applause, but Caitlyn didn’t move from her spot near the back.

She waited.

Security was already guiding you off the stage, fans still chanting your name as you disappeared behind the curtains.

A moment later, her earpiece crackled.

"Your VIP pass still gets you back here, Kiramman."

She rolled her eyes at the teasing lilt in your voice but didn’t hesitate to slip past the barriers, her polished boots clicking against the concrete floor as she strode toward your dressing room.

She found you exactly how she expected—leaning against the vanity, still glowing from the performance, towel draped over your shoulders, hair damp with sweat.

And grinning at her.

“You should really sit further up next time,” you mused, tilting your head as she stepped inside. “I could barely see you from back there.”

Caitlyn scoffed, crossing her arms. “I was trying not to be a distraction.”

Your smirk widened. “Oh, love, you think you’re the distraction?”

She arched a brow. “Considering you nearly tripped over a speaker when you saw me in the audience last time?”

You let out a groan, dragging a hand down your face. “That was one time—”

“—And the crew hasn’t let you live it down since.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, but the corners of your lips twitched. “Okay, detective. You win this round.”

She took a step closer, tilting her head. “There are rounds now?”

“Always.” You leaned in, lowering your voice. “And I fully intend to even the score.”

Caitlyn felt her pulse quicken, but she kept her expression unreadable. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Without missing a beat, you reached for the towel on your shoulders and, with an utterly shameless grin, tossed it at her.

Caitlyn let out a startled noise as the damp fabric smacked against her, the heat from your skin still clinging to it.

You laughed—really laughed, the sound warm and utterly carefree—before stepping closer, plucking the towel from her hands before she could react. “Don’t look so scandalized, officer. I thought you’d be used to a little sweat.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes, but her lips betrayed her, curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. “Oh, I don’t mind a little sweat.”

Your eyebrows lifted in interest, but before you could throw out another flirty remark, she turned the tables on you.

She reached forward, grabbing the front of your shirt, and yanked you in.

Your breath hitched as she leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur against your ear.

“You’re still a bit breathless,” she noted, feigning concern. “Hope I wasn’t too much of a distraction.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re always a distraction.”

Her smirk widened. “Good.”

Then, before you could regain control of the situation, she pressed a kiss to the edge of your jaw—just enough to leave you completely off balance—before stepping back with an infuriating amount of poise.

You blinked. “You little shit—”

“See you at the next show,” she said smoothly, already walking toward the door.

And just as she reached for the handle, she threw one last glance over her shoulder, smirking.

“Score: Kiramman—one.”

Then she was gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the dressing room, utterly wrecked.

“...Oh, it is so on.”

------------------------------------------------

Vi.

Vi wasn’t exactly used to this kind of scene.

Sure, she’d been to her fair share of rowdy clubs and underground fights—places where the air buzzed with adrenaline and the energy made your bones vibrate.

But this?

This was a whole different kind of chaos.

She stood at the very edge of the packed venue, arms crossed, boots planted firmly on the ground as she watched you command the stage like you were born for it.

And damn—maybe you were.

Vi wasn’t the type to get all poetic, but shit, you were a sight.

Sweat clung to your skin under the flashing lights, your voice carried through the speakers with that raw edge that made people feel something. Every movement, every glance, every grin sent the crowd into a frenzy.

And the way you owned it?

It made her chest tighten in the best and worst ways.

Because while everyone else in the room was watching you like you were some untouchable star, she knew the version of you that crawled into bed at ridiculous hours, the one who bitched about setlists and late-night rehearsals, the one who stole her shirts and stretched them out just to mess with her.

And yet, every time she saw you up there, looking like you belonged in this chaos, she found herself falling all over again.

Which was why she wasn’t even surprised when you did something completely reckless.

Because, of course, you did.

---

You should have known better.

Vi was already giving you that look from the sidelines—the one that screamed, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Naturally, you did something stupid.

“Let’s make this interesting,” you called into the mic, and the crowd roared as you hopped off the stage without warning, security scrambling to keep up.

Vi groaned, running a hand down her face. You are going to be the death of me.

You waded through the crowd effortlessly, high-fiving fans, grinning as people reached out, soaking in the energy. And then—just to push your luck—you made your way straight toward her.

Vi could feel the heat of a thousand eyes on her the moment you grinned and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her forward.

“C’mon, Vi,” you purred into the mic, the teasing lilt in your voice making her stomach drop. “You’re not scared of a little fun, are you?”

Vi arched a brow. “Oh, you’re a menace.”

But she let you pull her in anyway.

The band picked up a steady rhythm, and before she could even process what was happening, you slid an arm around her waist and—

Oh.

You were dancing with her.

Not just moving—dancing. Slow, teasing movements, your body pressed against hers, the heat of your skin seeping through the thin material of her shirt. The crowd screamed, people losing their minds as you twirled her once, keeping your grip firm.

Vi could handle fights, she could handle explosions, she could handle damn near anything—

But this?

This was just unfair.

She should be annoyed. She should be cussing you out for pulling this stunt in front of thousands of people.

Instead, she found herself smirking.

“You’re playing with fire, babe,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You grinned. “Lucky for me, you’re fireproof.”

Oh, you were gonna pay for that.

With a wicked glint in her eye, Vi suddenly flipped the script—yanking you flush against her, dipping you low enough that you gasped into the mic.

The crowd lost their minds.

And then—just because she could—Vi dipped her head and kissed you, deep and slow, right there in front of everyone.

You barely had time to recover before she pulled back with a smirk, letting go just as fast as she’d grabbed you.

“Better get back up there, rockstar,” she teased, stepping back as you blinked up at her, dazed. “You’ve got a show to finish.”

You swallowed hard, eyes flickering between her and the screaming crowd.

“…Holy shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Vi just winked.

------------------------------------------------

Jinx.

"Beautiful, Beautiful Chaos" (Jinx x Rockstar!GN!Reader | Reckless Love, Wild Nights, and Kissing in the Mayhem)

---

Jinx wasn’t the type to sit still.

Not in a fight, not during a job, and definitely not in a crowd of sweaty, screaming people losing their minds over you.

She thrived in chaos, lived for it, breathed it in like air.

And tonight?

Tonight was the kind of chaos she loved.

Neon lights flashed across the stage, strobes flickering as you jumped onto an amp, mic gripped tight in your hand, voice cutting through the thick, electric air of the underground venue. The bass thundered through the floor, shaking the ground beneath her feet.

Jinx wasn’t watching the crowd.

She was watching you.

Because—fuck—you looked so good when you lost yourself in the music. When you screamed into the mic, when your body moved like you didn’t care if the world fell apart around you.

You had that wild look in your eyes.

The same kind of reckless, untamed spark that made her chest tighten and her pulse race.

God, you were so—

“YO, YOU LITTLE SHITS WANNA HAVE SOME FUN?”

Your voice rang out over the speakers, wild and breathless.

The crowd roared.

Jinx grinned.

Oh, she knew that tone. That devious, impulsive tone that meant things were about to get stupid.

And Jinx loved stupid.

She pushed herself up on her toes, trying to get a better view as you suddenly jumped off the damn stage—barreling straight into the crowd, no hesitation, no security, just pure adrenaline-fueled insanity.

"OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE—"

Jinx shoved her way forward as you disappeared into the chaos, people screaming, hands grabbing for you, the whole place erupting into something unhinged.

A bottle smashed somewhere. Someone tripped over a speaker. A guy with a mohawk straight-up passed out from excitement.

And in the middle of it?

You.

Grinning like a maniac, letting the crowd carry you, singing the last chorus like you didn’t have a single fucking care in the world.

Jinx didn’t even realize she was moving until she was right there in front of you—arms crossed, head tilted, looking so unimpressed despite the fact that she was definitely impressed.

You grinned, still breathless. “What’s wrong, trouble? Didn’t think I’d come to you instead?”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah?” You leaned in,“You like it.”

Jinx didn’t like it.

Jinx loved it.

But she’d rather die than say it out loud.

So instead, she did what she did best.

She grabbed your face and kissed you stupid.

Right there.

In the middle of the chaos, with neon lights flashing and people screaming and beer spilling onto the floor.

You gasped into her mouth before melting into it, arms sliding around her waist, your body pressing flush against hers like you wanted to burn the moment into your skin.

And Jinx?

Jinx just smirked against your lips.

Because, yeah.

Maybe she did like this.

Maybe she loved it.

And maybe—just maybe—she was never gonna let you go.

------------------------------------------------

Sevika.

The venue was packed, the air thick with anticipation. You had the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand, your voice cutting through the bass, a raw, magnetic presence on stage. The lights flickered in sync with the beat, flashing as your body moved effortlessly with the rhythm, the mic gripped in your hand like you were born to hold it.

And Sevika? Well, she was front and center, standing just off to the side, watching you with an intensity that almost felt suffocating. Her posture was rigid, her arms crossed, her gaze never once leaving you.

Her heavy, leather-clad frame was nearly a stark contrast to your energy—wild, chaotic, and untamed as you commanded the stage. But you knew what she was thinking. Knew that under all that tough exterior, there was a fire. A fire that you had kindled long ago.

And tonight? That fire was burning brighter than ever.

---

The song ended, and the crowd erupted into a roaring applause. You took a breath, your chest heaving with exertion, sweat dripping down your neck. But you weren’t done yet.

With a wicked grin, you grabbed the mic, looking straight at Sevika.

“You think you can keep up, big girl?” you teased, voice dripping with playful arrogance.

Sevika’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was a cold, almost predatory glint in her eyes. “I could do this all day,” she muttered, her voice low, the words meant just for you.

The crowd was still cheering, but all you cared about in that moment was the tension that was crackling between you and Sevika. You’d both been dancing around it for so long—the chemistry, the constant pull, the teasing glances, the silent challenges that never seemed to break. But tonight? Tonight you were done playing games.

You took a few steps toward the edge of the stage, reaching out for her, pulling her closer. The crowd was still lost in the music, the band riffing off to the side, but all that mattered now was her—her and the way she looked at you like she wanted to devour you whole.

Sevika’s large hand gripped your wrist with a firm, almost possessive force, pulling you into her space. She towered over you, but her breath was steady, controlled, as if she was trying to hold back a flood of desire.

“You think you can just waltz in here and—”

Before she could finish, you closed the distance, your lips crashing into hers. The kiss was fierce, hungry—no longer playful, but desperate. Your body pressed against hers, and you could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she resisted just enough to drive you crazy. But you weren’t having it. You needed her. And you weren’t going to stop until you had her.

Sevika’s hand slid down your back, gripping your waist with a force that left your breath stolen. She pulled you closer, her lips moving against yours with urgency, heat building between you both. Her other hand threaded into your hair, tugging you even closer, pulling you deeper into the kiss like she couldn’t get enough.

You gasped when she bit your lip, just enough to make you shiver. “You’re playing with fire,” Sevika growled, her voice raw, breath hot against your skin.

And all you could do was smirk up at her, feeling the thrill of the chase. “I’ve never been afraid of fire,” you whispered back.

Without warning, Sevika spun you around, pushing you against the nearest wall backstage, her body pressing against yours, heat radiating off of her. She leaned in close, her lips brushing your ear as her breath ghosted over your skin. “If you think this is just a game,” she murmured, “you’re wrong.”

Your hands found their way to her chest, tracing the muscles hidden beneath her leather jacket. “Then stop playing and show me,” you dared her, your voice low, taunting.

The air between you crackled with electric tension, both of you pushing, pulling, testing the boundaries until it felt like something was going to break. Sevika’s lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breathing ragged, as if she was barely holding herself together.

And then she leaned in, capturing your lips again, deeper this time—no more teasing, no more games. It was as if the kiss itself was a release, a breaking point of every silent moment between you, every want you both kept locked away.

When she finally pulled away, she smirked down at you, her voice a dangerous whisper, “This is just the beginning, sweetheart.” Her hands were already trailing down your sides, her lips just inches from yours, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

---

Back on stage, you finished the set with a wicked grin. You knew you’d both be facing the aftermath of that moment soon. But for now, the music carried on, and you knew Sevika was right where she belonged—on the edge of control.

And you? You were done being patient. Tonight, there would be no more running from this intensity.

The chaos had only just begun.

[f1cflcfic]

The Prophecy (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) Part I

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader (y/n)

summary: what happens after the break-up that noone saw coming? as Y/N L/N gears up to release her next album, each song reveals a little bit of the past, present and future of her relationship with Lando Norris. Inspired by a curated playlist built around "The Prophecy". note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons. Also, this story is angsty with a happy ending - it does not contain any smut or suggestive themes. [A/N: This is my first SMAU and hooooooly shit did I totally underestimate how much work it is, and how things work within Tumblr to make it look alright. If you have any tips, let me know lol. I had to split it up in pieces, but i've got all the content written out already, so will be updated soon with the next part!]

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

December, 2025

February, 2026

[Excerpt from red carpet interview at the Grammy's with Y/N]

How are you feeling tonight? You're up for 3 awards, one of them Album of the Year for All I Ever Needed - that's huge!

"It's so overwhelming, to be honest."

Even when you've gone through this experience before? This is your fourth time attending, second time as nominee.

"Yeah, maybe even more so! It's a great chance to hang out with friends and meet new people, but it's also really prestigious still. Being nominated - I try to act like it doesn't matter, because awards always involve politics too - but at the end of the day, you do want it."

And who're you most looking forward to seeing tonight?

"Honestly? I came alone tonight, so I can't wait to find Sabrina [Carpenter] and Jade. I'm gonna need my girls."

Your friend Miley is also up for an award tonight in the same category, what's that like?

"Ha, if the Grammy's do the right thing tonight she'll win it - I know I voted for her!"

You'll also be performing one of your songs - Ruin My Life, can you tell us a bit about what to expect?

"I really wanted this to be visually interesting, but it took me a while to get the right concept for it. I think it's because to me this album and song already feel sort of far removed, and lived in? I'm in a different phase of my life right now, so I had to find a new way to still connet to it. I was really grateful to work with a great art director to bring a different version to the stage."

March, 2026

July, 2026

[SkyNews excerpt]

Lando Norris wins Silverstone GP, dedicates his 20th podium win to his family

The man of the hour is none other than Lando Norris, who’s just gone on to claim his 20th victory at his home race. You’re reading that right, his home race! While he still owns his apartment in Monaco, Norris revealed today that he’s been living back in England for the past few months. “I just wasn’t in the right headspace anymore and wanted to live closer to my family. Especially now that my brother’s kids are growing up, I just like knowing I could drive over – rather than having to fly across countries.”

Speaking on the importance of his family being present, Norris shared that it means everything to him. “In this sport you need to have skill, talent, trust and investment from your team, but also you need that stable sense of safety from the people you love. If your mindset isn’t there, you can’t be competitive.”

Norris has been vocal about mental health in the past, and has advocated for more access to mental healthcare facilities and professionals across motorsport.

“Especially in tougher years where there’s just a lot of noise and turmoil, it’s nice to have a professional coach you to mental fitness as well.”

It was the only notable reference to Norris’ private life, which ended on a low note last year after splitting from long-time girlfriend y/n l/n. The two were originally thought to have had an amicable split, but recent reports hint at a different story, with Norris unfollowing his ex and her friends unfollowing him in return.

August, 2026

September, 2026

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

Part II can be read here! likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

[mypoisonedvine]

𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 | raymond leon x reader

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 | since you've managed to outsmart (or, more accurately, seduce) your last four bodyguards, your wealthy father decides it's time to take a new approach: hire a timekeeper to watch you. after all, a man who dedicates his life to the law can withstand the wiles of a spoiled, lonely girl... right?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 | 4.7k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 | dubcon smut (rough sex, daddy kink, choking, slapping, creampie, breeding kink, glove kink, degradation), age gap (raymond is ????, reader is early 20s), slight dd/lg undertones, reader is a bit dark and manipulative hehe

You were rolling your stockings up your legs, one of the final stages in dressing for the party tonight, when your bedroom door opened.  “Hey, Ray,” you greeted with a purr as he stepped inside.

“Officer Leon,” he corrected you.

“Right,” you smiled, tilting your head.  “I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

He scoffed, looking away, and you bit your lip— he was getting frustrated, in more than one sense of the word, and you were going to get what you wanted (like always). Boys are simply too easy.

This whole cat-and-mouse thing was starting to drive you a little crazy— none of the other bodyguards had taken this long to crack.  But really, the anticipation just added to the fun.

You stood up and turned your back to him, hoping he was eyeing the V-shaped portion of your back he could see with your gown still open.

“Will you help me zip up my dress?” you asked sweetly, making sure your hair was out of the way and looking back over your shoulder at him sweetly.  He sighed but stepped closer to you, but tugging on the zipper only lifted the bottom of your dress a bit— so he had to put his other hand on your hip to hold it in place as he pulled the zipper up, and you were thankful he couldn’t see your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.  His hands were so strong, you could feel it even through the gloves— and those fucking gloves, shiny black leather, he knew damn well what he was doing to you.  He just didn't seem to care.

"There," he said when he'd tugged it up to the top, stepping back, and you turned around to face him.  The dress was more elegant than you usually went for: you traded in your lace and bows in pastel shades for a dark purple silk that fell to the floor.

"What do you think?" you asked, biting your lip.  "Daddy picked it out for me."

"He has expensive taste," Raymond noticed, though he conspicuously didn't comment on your appearance.  He was very uptight, especially about professionalism.  You sort of got the feeling that if you could just pull one of his strings hard enough, he'd totally unravel: which is why you kept trying.

As he tried not to look at you, you gave him a slow look up and down.  "Is that what you're wearing tonight?" you asked incredulously, pointing to his high-neck black sweater and long leather trench.

"I'm working tonight, so yes," he answered.

Everyone thought Raymond stuck out like a sore thumb in your room— his angular, dark form against the soft baby pinks and white laces around your bed, a hardened cop amongst the porcelain baby dolls and fluffy stuffed animals and gold-edged tea sets: but you thought he fit right in, standing there amongst all your playthings.

~

The party was a bit dull— you were having more fun toying with your bodyguard than anything else.  “Try this,” you’d insist as you held up an hors d'oeuvre to feed him; he had to give in, he had to do whatever you said in front of all these people, but he glared at you as he leaned forward and took a bite out of the mini-tart.

You bragged to your father’s guests about your new bodyguard— or toy, as you called him more often.  “Daddy bought him for me,” you’d say, “and he has to do whatever I want.  Show them your gun, Mr. Leon!”

He only looked at you sternly again, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s sort of grouchy,” you explained to the amused dinner attendees.  He didn’t react much, still standing there with his gloved hands held in front of him, but you saw a little tightness in his jaw.

Best of all, you flirted with as many suitors as you could get away with in a night, just to bother him.  The tricky thing about a world without aging is men who’ve been around quite some time were still just as eligible for your hand as men closer to your age— you wondered if it would bother him more knowing that one of your father’s wealthy friends who had been alive at least 80 years was doting on you.  Didn’t matter either way: you let them all stand a bit too close, put their hand on your lower back— you laughed too hard at their shitty jokes.  All to make Ray jealous, but when you glanced over your shoulder at him, you could never catch a reaction.

After the guests had left and the staff had begun cleaning, you went back to your room to change.  You’d coyly asked Raymond if he would watch over you during that, too, but he didn’t answer because he knew you were joking.  It’s not like you were ever really serious… but you did want him.  Not just for fun, and not just to prove to your father that there was no use hiring these bodyguards— he was fucking sexy, obviously.  Definitely your favorite so far, and exactly your type… for how much he thought you were trying to tease and tempt him, he was the one driving you a little crazy.

Still, you kept your cool as best you could; you needed to keep control over him, and thankfully with him working for you, that was pretty easy to exert.  (Well, technically he worked for your father, but it was close enough.)

“Oh, Mister Officer,” you called out to him through the door as you sat on your bed, hearing him step closer.

“Yes?” he asked, voice slightly muffled.

“I just need your help with something,” you explained, but he still hesitated.

“Are you decent?”

Damn, he wasn’t that gullible anymore.  “Enough,” you replied, and he sighed before opening your bedroom door.

You were in your bra and panties now— but with your heels and stockings still on, of course; he lost track of his step for a second when he saw you, then frowned at you.  “That’s not what I would consider decent,” he said.

“Well, I need your help and I wasn’t going to put on a turtleneck just for that,” you replied.  “You’ve seen me in my bikini by the pool, anyways…”

And you’d made him apply sunscreen on your back as well; you smirked to yourself at the memory.  “What do you need my help with?” he reminded you of the original topic.

“Well, these shoes are too small for me now,” you said, “I didn’t realize how much I’d grown since I wore them last…”

You hoped he’d find that a little intriguing, as someone who himself hadn’t grown in… you didn’t even know how long.  He obviously never talked about it— for all you knew he could have been alive a hundred years, though he certainly didn’t act like it.  

You lifted a stiletto-clad foot forward towards him.  “Now they’re stuck.  Will you help me take them off?”

He sighed that trademark, frustrated sigh of his, and you fought off a smile.  “You can’t do that yourself?” 

You shook your head.  “I’m not strong enough,” you explained with a shrug.

Clearly not buying it but in no position to accuse you of lying, he knelt down in front of you.  Taking the shoe in his hand, he looked at you with annoyance in his eyes as it slipped off easily.  

“You’re so strong,” you cooed, wiggling your toes inside the pantyhose, then putting your foot down to hold out the other in front of him.  “Now the other one,” you demanded.

He took the shoe off of you, tossing it aside, and you let your foot brush against his thigh as you lowered it down— just long enough to make it not quite believable as an accident.

“Now my stockings,” you continued, and he got up and started to walk away.

“You’ll have to do the rest on your own,” he insisted.

“But who’s gonna help me undress?” you pouted, and he stopped walking halfway to the door, dropping his shoulders a bit.

“I don’t know, how about you ask one of those boys that was sniffing around you all night?” he suggested, and you smiled proudly.  Oh, you noticed that?  

“I can’t,” you sighed, “you know Daddy doesn’t let me have any boys in my room— except you.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “because I’m the one who keeps the boys out of your room.”

“It’s no fair,” you whined.  “It’s so boring up here by myself…”

“Please,” he groaned, finally turning around, “with all these things you have?  You shouldn’t have any trouble being entertained.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, “I shouldn’t— but I do.  There’s only one thing I really wanna do right now…”

You started to slowly and delicately run your fingers up your legs, spreading them a bit.

“But I don’t wanna have to do it alone…” you continued, blinking up at him as you saw his nostril twitch— could this finally be the moment you caught him?

In an instant, he stormed towards you and grabbed you by the neck.  “So fucking spoiled,” he growled, his black leather gloves crinkling softly as you whimpered and held his wrist.  “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?  You think your father didn’t tell me what happened to the last four bodyguards?”

“I— I didn’t fuck them all,” you defended, voice a little thin from the pressure on your throat, “the third quit on his own—”

“Because he knew what would happen if he gave in to you,” Raymond sneered.  “And so do I.  You think I’ll give up on a job like this that easily?”

That was one thing that made Ray different than the others before— they were all professional bodyguards, used to working for the elite class.  Most of them probably already had plenty of time, or could at least keep getting jobs of this caliber to earn a similar keep.  But Timekeepers weren’t especially well compensated, paid daily but only paid just enough to keep going until the next per diem.  He’d probably never had more than a couple days on his clock, and now he was earning a month a week just to babysit you.  That was why your father hired him for this, you finally realized: he’d said before that he simply hoped a lawman would have a little more integrity and not give in to temptation with you, but it was far more than just that.

Raymond let go of your neck and tossed you back onto the bed, but just when you hoped he’d climb on top of you and pin you down, he scoffed and turned away.  “You’re too young, anyways,” he said as he crossed his arms.

“Am not,” you denied.

“Your clock hasn’t even started yet,” he noticed.

“I’ve only got a few more years left,” you frowned, “but I’m still an adult.”

“Then fucking act like one,” he suggested sharply, and left the room with slam of your door.

You sighed, once again left frustrated with another unsuccessful attempt to get him into bed.  But, you smiled, too; because you knew this was a step in the right direction.

~

Your father tried not to travel much, since it was one of the few things that exposed him to the risk of death.  Wouldn't it be absurdly ironic, dying in a plane crash after living for hundreds of years and with nearly a millennium left on his clock?

Still, he didn't get all these years by sitting around in his house, he was a busy professional.  And his work sometimes required him to leave for as long as a few weeks.

He had you come and see him off at the hangar, Officer Leon not far behind as you kissed your father on the cheek and bid him safe travels.  

You loved when he left, it gave you a lot more freedom.  But Raymond didn't know that, he just knew you were a billionaire's youngest daughter left alone in a massive mansion, and you'd already had planned for weeks how you could use that to your advantage.

You knew he was outside your door, you could see the shadow of his boots through the crack between the wood and the plush rug.  Fighting off a little smile, you whimpered softly— but not too soft, he needed to hear it.  The first one didn't seem to work, so you dropped your head and did it again.

He swung open the door a second later, and though he seemed relieved to find you alone and not being kidnapped or something, he still had to ask: "Are you alright?"

You sniffled and wiped at your eye, acting like you were trying to hide your tears as if it all wasn’t a performance in the first place.  “Daddy’s gone away,” you pouted, “and left me all by myself… m’so lonely, Mr. Leon.”

“Officer,” he corrected, but his voice faltered when you looked up at him with big, needy eyes.

“I don’t wanna be all alone,” you whimpered, “I need somebody to take care of me… protect me…”

You rubbed your thighs together as you sat on the bed, toying with the lacy hem of your nightgown.

“Somebody big and strong,” you continued as he crossed his arms, “like you.”

His stare was icier than ever, yet those eyes still could’ve melted you if you let them.

“Will you be my new daddy while he’s gone?” you asked sweetly, biting your lip, and he tensed his jaw as he looked away.

“What do you get out of toying with me?” he asked sharply.

“Fucked, hopefully,” you smiled.  

“You know, I’ve known a lot of women,” he informed you; you had no idea where he was going with this, but you liked how it started.  “Rich, poor— prostitutes, politicians— young, or just young-looking.  But I don’t think I’ve ever met such a brainless, insatiable little whore as you.”

You stood up from the bed, stepping closer to him carefully.  “Really?” you smiled, taking it as a compliment, and that only angered him further.

“What is it that makes you think you can get whatever you want?” he wondered, his blue eyes like daggers as he glared at you. 

“Experience,” you shrugged, reaching up to trace a finger over his lapel, but he batted it away harshly.  “Ooh,” you breathed, “you’re a mean daddy, hm?  The type that believes in lots of discipline?”

He didn’t respond, even when you stepped so close that your body was nearly touching his.

“I can be a good girl,” you promised sweetly, “for you.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he snapped.

“Let me prove it, daddy,” you purred, “just give me a chance…”

You leaned in, wondering if he’d let you kiss him— he hadn’t backed away, but he hadn’t relaxed out of his bodyguard posture, either.

“Just make me yours,” you pleaded under your breath, lips nearly brushing against his.

Before you even realized he’d given in, he slammed you back against the wall with a hand around your neck, the other instantly grabbing you between the legs, and you mewled joyfully.  “Fuck,” he snarled, like he was just as frustrated with himself as with you; his gloved hand roughly navigated up under your nightgown and into your panties.  

Two leather-covered fingers slid inside you, and you arched your back up off the wall.  

“Needy whore,” he grunted as he shoved his fingers deeper into you, making you whimper as your knees almost buckled.  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes, daddy,” you moaned happily, though he slapped you across the face hard with his other hand right after you said it, and you yelped as you clutched your cheek.

“I’m not your fucking daddy,” he spat at you.  “Such a goddamn brat— if I was your daddy, you’d have some fucking manners.”

“Teach me,” you begged, “fuck, please— I need to learn.  Teach me right now.”

He let go of you, and pulled his fingers out of you, and stepped back slightly as he shed the gloves and his long coat.  “Get on your fucking knees,” he growled, watching you slide along the wall onto the floor.  

You didn’t need to be told what to do after that, you simply smiled as you reached up to rub the bulge in his pants.  Unbuckling his belt for him, you had to catch your breath when you realized how big he was.  

He smirked when you whimpered slightly while taking it out, stroking him as he got harder in your grip.  “More than you bargained for?” he wondered smugly.

“Nothing a brainless, insatiable little whore can’t handle,” you promised just before leaning forward and taking him into your mouth.  He gasped a little before humming in satisfaction, and you suckled as you swirled your tongue around his head, fitting what you could in your mouth and trying to coat the skin with your spit.

His hand suddenly held onto your hair when you started to bob your head, and he groaned when you choked slightly on the tip of him.  “Fuck,” he whispered, “yeah— like that, baby…”

You moaned around him, not just for show but a reaction to the satisfying weight of him on your tongue— and the slightly salty taste of leaking precum.  Your fingers brushed gently over his balls as you blinked up at him: you were pulling out all the stops, you wanted him to lose his mind over you even more than he already had.

He pushed your hair back, tilting your head further to meet your gaze.  You thought he might speak when he opened his mouth, but you gagged on him again and he just sighed.

Your hand wrapped around the rest of his length that you couldn't reach with your lips, stroking him in time with the way you bobbed your head; and your other hand couldn't help but reach down between your bent legs, pressing against your core— bare, as you'd already thought ahead and forgone panties— and making you hum at the smallest hint of friction.

You were just starting to set a rhythm with it, the bobbing of your head and the stroking of your hand and the way you swirled your tongue… but of course he had to throw you off and shove your head down, making you choke again unexpectedly, as he groaned at the feeling.  “S’what you wanted,” he reminded you, starting to roughly fuck your mouth.  “What you fucking wanted, right, little whore?”

You could only barely nod with him holding your head, and your clit throbbed just from the way he looked down at you with his teeth bared.

“Fuck, just need a cock to choke on,” he growled.  “Only way to shut you up, huh?”

He gave your throat a few more aggressive thrusts before pulling back, and you coughed and wiped your chin as you looked up at him.  “It’s not all I wanted,” you reminded him when you caught your breath, and he smiled at you in a condescending sort of way.

“Right,” he recalled, tilting his head, “you wanted to be fucked.  Poor thing.”

“Please, daddy?” you batted your eyelashes up at him, and he just laughed thinly.

“Nothing’s stopping you, princess,” he replied, holding his hands out, as if to suggest you come and take it.  You couldn’t resist an offer like that.

Standing up and grinning at him, you pushed him back by the shoulders and down onto the bed, straddling his lap.

He smirked up at you; “Really need it that bad, huh?” he mocked as you pulled your nightgown up over your head and tossed it aside quickly.

“Uh huh,” you agreed with a nod, “need you so bad— you’ll let me ride your big cock, right, daddy?  Please?”

But you were already lining him up to your entrance and sinking down, and you both groaned loudly as he filled you.  “God, it’s so wet,” he hissed, watching you gasp as you lowered yourself further.  “You get that wet just from sucking cock?  Fuckin’ slut.”

Your eyes rolled back as the tip of his cock pressed further than you thought possible.  “Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, “you’re so deep…”

“Yeah,” he panted in agreement, “can’t believe that little pussy’s taking all of me…”

You started to grind on him right away, holding onto his shoulders as you rocked your hips desperately.  “Oh my god, oh my god,” you chanted, “it’s s-so good, it feels so good—”

He bit his lip as he watched you, and you loved how it felt to have those steely eyes looking up and down your body as you moved.

You'd been sort of on edge the whole time, sucking him off and all— not to mention that the foreplay with you and Raymond had started, in your mind, months ago when he was first hired.  The satisfaction of finally having him exactly where you wanted him was nearly as good as the physical sensation… but it did feel incredible, the curve of his cock rubbing up against your spot with so much pressure that you shuddered all over.

His hands ran over your body, the strength of them more than apparent even when he was touching you somewhat delicately, and you moaned as his rough fingers punched your nipples.

You shifted from grinding down on him to properly bouncing up and down, arching your back to get the perfect angle as you both groaned.  "Fucking tight," he mumbled his praise.

You held on tighter to his shirt, really wishing you could see him without it, but there was something hot about him still being in his uniform… especially when you were totally naked.  It probably made him think he had more power over you, which was exactly what you wanted him to think.

Moving faster, you felt the pressure building inside you already, pulsing and swelling as you let your head drop forward to look down at him looking jus perfect underneath you.

He grabbed you by the neck, only to be unexpectedly sweet and pull you down into a kiss— but it was still a hungry, dominating kiss, one that made you whine and tense up inside as he tasted all over your tongue and mouth.  And he didn’t let go of your neck, either, in fact he tightened his grip just enough to make you choke out a raspy moan against his lips, which you felt smirk a moment later.  

“So good, daddy,” you mumbled into the last moments of the kiss.  His hands moved down to your body, following your movements, and you pulled back enough to look at his face closely.  “You’re so fucking good, daddy,” you praised again.

He groaned and held your waist tighter, making you hum and smile.  "Little slut," he scolded through his teeth as you moved faster.  “Show daddy how you make yourself come.”

You beamed as he really accepted the title for the first time.  Sitting up higher and bouncing faster, you moaned loudly as you chased your high: shocks of sensation hit inside you, faster and faster the longer you continued.

You grabbed his hands off your hips and pinned them down beside his head, riding him harder while he smirked up at you.  "So desperate," he cooed— but you could hear in his voice that he was close, too.

Whimpering at the feeling, you felt your walls bearing down on him as it nearly hit you— it was sort of difficult to come like this, since you could only move so fast, but the way it was drawn out just made you sure it would build up even stronger and hit you harder.

“Fuck, get off,” he warned, “gonna come.”

You grinned, biting your lip, and kept grinding your hips.

“Get up,” he demanded, but you just tightened your grip on his wrists.  “Fuck, are you—?”

“Shh, m’close,” you scolded, feeling him try to struggle under you— but he was flexing inside you, too, and you knew he couldn’t hold back forever.  He was obviously more than strong enough to fight you off if he really wanted, but it wasn’t about your body overpowering his— it was about you forcing him to give in to his instincts… to temptation.

“I swear to fucking god,” he groaned through his teeth, “if you don’t fucking get off me right now—”

“I’m coming, daddy!” you announced suddenly as you bounced on him even more fervently.  “Oh my god, daddy, m’coming on your big cock!  Yes!”

It felt great, don’t get me wrong, but you were definitely playing it up and giving him a real show as you tossed your head back, screamed out his name, dug your nails into his wrists— you wanted him to be totally helpless to you for just that moment.  “Fuck!” he groaned, and you laughed excitedly as his cock pulsed inside you, heat flooding between your legs and his head falling back onto the mattress with the most gorgeous fucked-out look on his face.  

“Oh fuck, come in me, daddy,” you demanded, rocking your hips and squeezing him tight for every drop, “wanna be so fucking full—”

He groaned through his teeth as it all started to die down a bit, scrunching his face up for a second before relaxing under you again; you felt his cock pump just a few more times, weaker than before, and you hummed proudly.

“God— oh my god—” he panted out, opening his eyes wide as he started to catch his breath, looking at you like you were crazy.  You just laughed and bit your lip as you finally stopped moving.  “What the fuck did you just do?” he snapped, but he still whimpered a bit when you deliberately clenched your walls around him.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “I just really needed some come inside me— been really in the mood to get bred lately—”

You giggled as he grabbed you and threw you down onto the bed, turning you both over as he held your arms tight and pulled out— he blinked quickly, his lips slack and still a little stained from your pink gloss, as he watched his come leak out of your pussy.  “Fuck,” he snarled, clearly trying to use his anger and panic to hide how much it turned him on.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  Do you realize what fucking happens if you get—?”

“Pregnant?” you finished for him, licking your lips excitedly.  “Doesn’t it sound so hot though?  You knocking me up, getting me all nice and full with your baby, ‘cause I’m so young and fertile— and then you can be a real daddy—”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he spat, sitting back at little on the bed and running his hands over his face in dismay.  “You’re— oh god— I can’t believe this is happening—”

“Calm down, grumpypants,” you scolded with a smile as you sat up and looked at him closer.  “I’m on the pill, haven’t missed one in years.”

Ray’s terrified expression fell into relief and frustration simultaneously.  “Fucking— you could’ve told me that before,” he frowned, dropping his hands to his sides.

“But then I would’ve missed out on your little meltdown,” you laughed proudly.  “You looked cute like that, panicking and thinking you really got me pregnant.”

He watched you get up out of the bed and snag your silk robe from off of a hook on the wall, slipping it on as you walked to the bathroom.  You looked over your shoulder at him as you turned the door’s golden handle, smirking when you saw the dumbfounded look on his face.

“I think I could use a bath,” you explained, “care to join me, big boy?”

The look on his face was that sort of incredulous denial— like he couldn’t believe that you’d ask him that, expecting him to ever want to be near you again after pulling that stunt.  “Are you serious?!” he choked.

“Of course,” you laughed, “I’m not in a joking mood anymore.  Are you coming or not?”

He laughed in bewilderment and looked around for a moment, before sighing in relent.  “Yeah, I am,” he admitted, sliding off the bed to come join you.  You smirked to yourself; these boys are simply too easy.

[fayes-fics]

To All, A Good Night

Parings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome), modern AU

Summary: 'Twas the night before Christmas at Bridgerton House, and many things are stirring...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Dom/sub dynamics, brat taming, spanking, mild restraint, dirty talk, voyeurism/exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, masturbation, edging, vaginal sex, handjob, hair pulling, verbal degradation, orgasms, creampie, aftercare.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Happy Holidays, everyone! Have a filthy Christmas threesome. This is a sequel to Driven To Distraction, which I've been meaning to write for over a year. Best to read that first if you haven't already. This immediately follows that eventful car ride. Thanks to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta. Enjoy! <3

As Benedict pulls the car up outside their impressive London family home, all you can think is that it looks beautiful, the foliage clinging to its handsome facade bedecked with lights. 

It’s also the last place you expected to be tonight: a spirited spat with Anthony turning into something else entirely on your journey to London, with Benedict as an eager voyeur. Now, here you are with both Bridgerton boys—a flutter behind your ribs as to what awaits you behind those imposing doors.

Anthony rounds to your side of the car and chivalrously opens the door, offering a hand to help you out as Benedict retrieves the night bag you stopped at your place to grab from the boot of the car. Anthony doesn't let go as you walk up the steps to the front door.

“Welcome to Bridgerton House, y/n,” he smiles, entering a code onto a glowing keypad as the door silently pops open, revealing a grand hallway decorated so festively. 

“This is beautiful,” you gasp, the hallways almost fully lit just by the huge twinkling tree and lighted garlands hanging from every rail.

“I think we should all have a nightcap, don't you?” Benedict offers smoothly, a warm hand landing on your lower back.

“Excellent idea, brother,” Anthony concurs, offering an elbow for you to take and leading you down a corridor from the grand hallway.

You are swept into a wood-panelled games room, a large billiards table taking centre stage, a bar across one side of the room and collections of wingback leather chairs arranged in clusters. Another Christmas tree makes the room glow. You wonder idly if they have a tree in every room.

“Your very own private club,” you jest lightly, impressed.

“Indeed,” Anthony chirps, releasing your hand to round behind the bar and grab an expensive whiskey bottle from one of the glass shelves. Benedict slides closer behind you as you watch Anthony pour out three generous helpings.

“No one really comes in here except the two of us and Colin,” Benedict assures. “And Colin is off in South America on his travels.”

“So this is a private space. Devoid of interruptions?” you smirk, leaning backwards into his warm body, unmistakable in your intentions, his hand curling possessively around your hip. You doubt anyone else is awake in the house anyway, seeing as it’s almost 2am on Christmas Day.

“Very much so,” Benedict rumbles, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

You all grab a glass each and raise them in a silent toast. The caramel smoke of the drink is exceptional as it slides over your tongue.

“A game?” Anthony suggests, gesturing to the table.

“I'm terrible at it, but sure,” you shrug, thinking it an excellent excuse to have both teach you the correct technique, ideally close up.

“We will help,” Benedict chuckles as if he knows where your thoughts have slid before releasing his hold on you and moving to set up the table.

Within a few minutes, you have had both men instructing you. But you are not paying a jot of attention to their guidance, just enjoying the warm, solid press of their bodies as you line up each shot. It's Benedict’s second turn assisting you when Anthony throws out a statement that kicks things up a notch:

“I meant what I said in the car...” his words echoing into the crystal glass he sips from.

Anthony’s offer for you to fuck his brother while he watches rings in your mind as Benedict's hand slides over yours, guiding your placement. 

“I just have one other condition,” Anthony appends, his stare intensifying.

“What’s that brother?” Benedict queries, his breath warm on your shoulder as you retract the cue from the ball, aiming as best you can.

“You fuck her right here, over this table,” Anthony breezes, making you miss the shot entirely, the ball spiralling way off to the left.

“That was sabotage,” you decry, even as molten heat settles low in your stomach at the very thought. 

“Think of it as a Christmas gift for me,” Anthony quips, ignoring your indignation.

Benedict is still leaning over you, even though there is no reason for him still to be there, the warmth of his torso seeping through his shirt. You watch as Anthony stands, picks up his cue and bends over the billiards table directly opposite you to assess his shot. 

“I warn you though, brother, this one is a handful,” he advises coolly, looking at Benedict over your shoulder as you stare at Anthony’s mouth, wanting to kiss him so bad your lips tingle. “You saw how she was in the car. She is a brat who needs to be brought into line. Isn't that right?” he taunts, snapping his gaze to you.

“Only to you, Bridgerton,” you challenge, your heart quickening as he raises an eyebrow. “If your brother is nice to me, I’ll be a good girl. Just for him,” you goad, a craving to push both of their buttons, tilting your pelvis a fraction into Benedict’s, an insistent swelling brushing your bum.

“But what if I'm not inclined to be nice either?” Benedict queries dangerously, his teeth grazing your earlobe. A depth charge of lust as you realise they are cut from a similar cloth.

“Then I’ll rebel against you too,” you murmur, stuttering as the hand on your hip suddenly slides over the round of your buttock and yanks up your dress, exposing your flesh and scrap of underwear to the air of the room.

“Will you now?” he dares, fingers swirling promisingly on your bare bottom.

Anthony chuckles again, seemingly uncaring he cannot take his shot with you still bent over the table, Benedict bearing you down onto the slightly ticklish green felt.

“Most certainly,” you vow, twisting to look coquettish over your shoulder, your core burning hot already.

He grabs your jaw so your mouths almost touch, and there is a sharp, stinging slap to your bottom cheek. It makes you moan over his lips, adding to the inferno between your legs.

“Behave,” Benedict warns in a tone that makes you want to slide to your knees before him.

“Never,” you challenge, your lips hovering on his, as out of the corner of your eye, you see Anthony withdraw, abandoning his cue, the game apparently over. He rearranges a chair to face you directly. 

Well, he did say he wanted to watch…

“Her safeword is pineapple,” Anthony calls out nonchalantly as he settles into the wingback. “But she never uses it,” he smirks, the leather creaking slightly as he shifts his hips.

Benedict huffs a bemused noise over your lips; you taste the warmth of the whiskey on his breath.

“Kiss me,” you murmur.

There is another stinging slap to your bare bum, and again you groan.

“Only good girls get kisses,” Benedict teases, his chest rumbling against you. “Earn it.”

“How?”

He slides the billiards cue from your grip, standing upright.

“Hands behind your back.”

You follow the clipped order immediately, your chin resting on the felt. The cool, polished wood of the cue is fed between the crook of your elbows and your ribs, essentially pinning you down.

“If this moves, I stop,” his warning portentously, your stomach suddenly roaring with butterflies, on tenterhooks about what he might do.

He kneels behind you, large hands rounding your hips, tugging at your underwear, easing it over the globes of your bottom until it pooled around your heels. His breath is warm on your thighs as he taps your ankle to make you widen your stance, and then large hands pull your cheeks apart. You clench with excitement. To have one Bridgerton brother eat you out in an evening was wonderful; to have two seems miraculous. But instead, two long fingers trail down your slit and, with a force that robs your breath, hook into your leaking pussy. He groans as your walls cling hot and wet around his knuckles as he pumps in a rocking motion, his teeth grazing your bum.

“Come silently, then you earn a kiss,” he commands, and his fingers graze a spot inside that makes you want to scream, dragging harshly, making every hair on the nape of your neck stand on end.

Fuck, he knows precisely what he is doing too.

Your eyes lock with Anthony’s, who smirks at you across the room—making a show of toying with his straining fly. You want to kneel between his splayed legs and pull the metal tab open with your damn teeth. 

Benedict’s fingers are merciless inside you, the air filling with wet, cloying suction sounds. Your hands flex, pinned in place, needing something to grasp onto, toes scrunching into the satin footbed of your strappy heels. Wanting to call out, moan, or make any kind of noise but knowing it’s forbidden. Instead, you curl your lips under your teeth and whimper as silently as you can to the onslaught.

‘Say my name,’ Anthony mouths exaggeratedly, as his zip relents and his cock springs forth. Your eyes ping greedily between his fist, which starts to pump his cock lazily, and his face.

You know what this is. Even as his younger brother is taking you apart, he wants you to call out his name—a fraternal competition that just adds a delicious thread of tension. You shake your head, not wanting to break Benedict’s silence rule, needing to come.

‘Who is the best you’ve had?’ Anthony pushes the topic, mouthing slowly, overenunciating even though no sound comes out, his face arrogantly handsome, a bead of precum glistening on his knuckles.

‘Bridgerton,’ you mouth in return, just as Benedict twists his fingers, and your eyes roll, face planting into the felt, uncaring of the drool escaping the corner of your mouth as you fight the urge to scream. His thumb swipes between your cheeks and begins to massage your other hole. Not pushing in, just a circular surface motion that makes you shiver; it feels so good.

Benedict laughs richly as his little finger spears forward and catches your clit. You can't help it; you scream into your mouth, so much overlapping sensation at once, your thighs shaking, your body tensing, so close to breaking.

“You’re close now, aren’t you?” Benedict smugly assesses, his fingers moving so fast inside you, and you nod enthusiastically, your forehead rubbing harshly over the baize.

As you begin to circle that blissful edge, lungs and clit burning, he withdraws and stands up behind you. You can sense his victorious, lopsided smile as he looks down on you, writhing and squealing behind your teeth, the frustration of being denied at the last minute too much.

“Oh, you’re right, brother,” he sounds winded, “she’s glorious.”

You know your face is flushed and your eyes wild as you try to twist and look pleadingly at him to do something, anything, to nudge you over the edge.

“Shh shhh,” he hushes your quaking, moving to one side of the table but placing a firm hand on your lumbar, your skin dewy under the sequin dress gathered there. You stop moving but twist your neck to pout up at him, a trickle running down your inner thigh as you do.

A long, elegant pointer finger, scented heavily with your arousal, traces your chin and then lips.

“Don't pretend this isn’t exactly what you want,” Benedict withers, dripping with conceit.

“Please,” you mewl.

“Oh dear, you spoke before you came,” Benedict gloats. “No kiss for you, my girl.”

“I don’t care, just please let me come,” you plead, the cue a solid yoke across your back as you note Anthony, still idly pumping himself, in the periphery of your vision.

“How have you not married this one?” Benedict calls casually to Anthony, but he doesn’t turn to look at his older brother, his gaze holding yours blisteringly. “I would have her tied willingly to my bed all day.”

Your insides flip at the very thought. 

“She’s too wild to be a Viscountess,” Anthony responds laconically, cock still in hand.

Benedict’s thumb rubs around your ear, almost petting you like a cat. And you lean into his touch, desperate to do anything that will compel him between your thighs again.

“Hmmm, true,” Benedict hums, and you cry out as his other hand slaps your bottom. “Luckily for me,” he crows victorious and rounds out of sight again. 

You writhe in excitement as you hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down behind you, a thronging need to be thoroughly fucked.

Your eyes meet Anthony’s, and he twists his mouth into a bemused pout as you cry out with the force Benedict ploughs into you with one forceful thrust. He’s just as sizeable as you recall Anthony being: split open in just the same way, your channel clinging to him. 

Benedict curses and holds still. “Exquisite…” he groans, then his hands roughly grasp the cue looped into the crook of your arms, and he immediately withdraws and snaps back in. Your whole body rolling with the force of it, your hips slamming into the wood edge of the table. 

“Fuck her so hard she can’t walk,” Anthony growls through gritted teeth, making you tilt your head up to see him roughly tugging on his cock now.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Benedict grunts, spearing into you again, the smooth wood cue rolling over your skin as he uses it as leverage.

You cannot look away from the sight of Anthony’s cock, red and angry, leaking over his knuckles as he tugs himself almost violently. A vein in his neck pulsing in sync with his motions.

Benedict bears his weight onto you and changes angle, glancing that place deep inside that few are able to reach, but when they do, it has you babbling nonsense. Panting ragged, begging words you’d never admit to, if not strung out on a vicious tide of hormones

“What was that?” Benedict menaces, looming close to hear your hoarse, desperate words.

“Please make my pussy yours…” You repeat in a whisper, throwing your head back to look up at the underside of his string jaw, eyes rolling, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. 

Benedict curses, and his hands grab the dip of your waist, clutching so strong you squeak, your forehead lolling back down onto the felt.

“I fucking will,” he growls, his chin pressing into a notch high on your spine. “Look at him while I destroy you…” he gruffs hotly into your skin. You do as commanded: tilting up to stare at Anthony as your body is slammed over and over, silently telegraphing that he now has to raise the bar next time he fucks you. 

As if he picks up on your provocation, Anthony rapidly jumps to his feet, stalking up to you, his rigid cock bobbing out of his fly as he does, still otherwise fully clothed in shirt and trousers. He pulls up beside you, the hand that was wrapped around himself sliding into your hair and grasping, a touch rough. 

“Release one of her hands,” Anthony barks. “One cock isn’t enough for this greedy slut…”

As with earlier in the car, that derogatory term - something you’d slap anyone for calling you usually - just rockets you higher in this context. Aglow with the idea you have both of them utterly feral for you now.

Benedict manhandles your arm that’s nearest his brother out from under the cue, and instantly Anthony grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock, his other hand still holding your hair, your cheekbone pressed into the green felt.

“We will all come together, do you hear me?” Anthony instructs in a non-negotiable tone.

“Yes sir…” you demure, loving the feel of his heated, girth pulse in your palm as you say it.

“Lord,” he clips, “you can call him Sir…” he nods towards Benedict, not looking away from you for a second.

“Yes, Lord,” you correct, tongue sliding into your cheek and defiantly cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Fucking brat,” Anthony scolds, but it's breathy and commendatory; a little groan as you squeeze him, a bead of precum wetting your thumb as you swipe his head.

One of Benedict’s hands releases its vice grip on your waist and slaps your buttcheek so acutely you stutter an involuntary moan, the wind knocked out of your lungs temporarily.

“I want to tame this one in a hundred ways…” he grits out.

“And she’d love every single one, wouldn’t you?” Anthony prompts, his eyes wordlessly ordering you to respond.

“I’d like that, sir,” you enthuse, craning to look back at Benedict even with Anthony’s grip on your scalp.

“Fucking hell…” Benedict gusts, his cock rippling in response to your words, and you can tell he is getting close, his punishing pace wavering a touch as he closes his eyes and tilts to look up at the ceiling, needing to look away to last a little longer, his strong neck bulging as he swallows heavily.

“Come inside me,” you incite, needing him in your thrall. For him to paw at your skin, leave finger marks on your hips, handprints on your bum.

He tilts to look down at you, eyes ablaze. “I will. And you will take it all,” he warns, low and savage.

You nod, and your hand squeezes around Anthony’s cock, jerking him roughly towards his peak too.

“Please give it to me,” you entreat to both of them, burying your face into the table, pushing your hips as much as you can into Benedict’s pelvis, a febrile quake in your entire being, so strung out and close to ecstasy for the second time tonight. 

He is ruthless, almost brutal now, his steely tip glancing at your hilt with every deep thrust he takes, your toes lifting off the ground. Anthony’s hands slide to your shoulder blades and press your breast into the table harshly, nipples abraded by the sequins of your dress. Your mind supplies images of how things could be: you naked for days as they make you orgasm so often you feel detached from reality. Countless hours of visceral bliss, one debauched moment bleeding into another.

“Whatever you are thinking about, we need to hear it,” Benedict stutters out. “Your pussy is a fucking vice of fire right now… fuck!!” He exclaims, and you sense he is at the point of no return. 

His thrusts become erratic, and he unhooks the billiards cue from around your remaining arm, tossing it aside and grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers with his and hovering over your back, hot mouth open on your neck as he almost howls. He suddenly stills, then pulses deep within you. A warmth coating your walls that sends you over the edge, following him, your hand spasming around Anthony’s cock in time with the ripples of your pussy, floating away blissfully just as Anthony yells out, an arc of cum shooting across the table, landing in a glistening steak across the green felt.

For a few beats, there is nothing but heavy breaths; Benedict slumped over you. Anthony bent forward over the table, grasping the edge.

“Fucking hell…” he stumbles out, both you and Benedict puffing in agreement. 

You whimper as Benedict slides out of you, a slick of juices down your legs, your folds puffy and tender from his thorough treatment. A delicious ache you know you will still carry tomorrow.

“I guess you’ll need this rebaized…” Benedict remarks drolly, nodding to the table, and you all share a giggle. 

Tenderly, they both help you back up to standing, rearranging your dress and righting their own clothing, then pulling you into a sandwiched embrace. Soothing hands run over your form, one brother kissing your cheek, the other your shoulder. The room bathed in the soft, warm glow of the Christmas tree, the scent of the spruce pine needles and smokey whiskey competing with the smell of sex lingering around you.

“Thank you for our most wondrous gift,” Benedict plaudits sweetly. 

“I can’t think of a better present that simultaneously orgasms,” you admit wryly, snuggling into them, enjoying the way their chests vibrate against yours as they both laugh.

Anthony cups your face, drawing your attention to him wholly. “You will stay, won’t you? For Christmas Day?” His tone is so hopeful it melts something behind your ribs.

“Yes,” you confirm quietly. 

“I know you and I may play-act as if we are foes, but you are quite the most captivating, singular woman I have met.” His sincere tone is laden with respect and admiration. “And I do believe my brother now feels the same.”

Benedict turns you around so you face him in the joint hug, “Like you wouldn’t believe...” he murmurs fervently, his hazy eyes shining.

“So I hope you don’t mind having two Bridgertons devoted to your pleasure,” Anthony breathes, nuzzling your hair as you finally kiss Benedict for the first time—a sweet denouement to this thrilling evening.

What a Merry Christmas indeed. 

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict and Anthony taglist pt 1 : @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies

Lights divider by @/saradika [x]

[livwritessometimes]

End With The Spring Fling

: Part 12 (Oscar's Version)

: The Spring Fling is finally here!

: Prev

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

: author's note: And with that Oscar’s Version is finally over! Can’t believe it was a 12 part series, feels much longer than that. Can’t wait for other versions to come 💕

…

It was finally the time everyone had been waiting for. It was time for the names to go live. There was a sense of nervousness in the air, several students looking towards each other, wondering who their match was going to be. The Head of the Department of Mass Communication made her way towards the stage with a mic in hand. "I'm sure you all are excited for the grand reveal?" she questioned as cheers erupted in the venue. "Before we get on with that, I would like to call someone to the stage. You see, without this person, you would not have this reveal tonight. So please put your hands together for Ms. Y/n L/n, the person who came up with this idea," the HoD said as she passed the mic to Y/n.

"Ahh, I was not expecting this at all," Y/n said as she let out a nervous laugh. "I don't even know where to begin. I am so glad for my friends, who had to deal with me during this; I know it wasn't easy, and I really appreciate you guys for being there for me," Y/n said while looking at Alex, Dylan, Daniel, and Pierre. 

"The truth is that none of this would have been possible without a certain someone's help. You see, I had no idea how to get the form up and running, and that is when my dear friend Daniel told me about this guy who can help. Let's just say the ride from that hadn't been the easiest at first, I'll admit, but over time it had become the best part of this entire project," Y/n said, smiling at the memories of her and Oscar. 

"But of course life doesn't always go your way, and I messed things up with him. So what I'm trying to say here is that, if you end up finding someone through this, I hope you hold onto that person. I hope you love them and cherish them the best you can. So enjoy your night, because the results are out," Y/n said as she got off the stage.

The entire hall was filled with excitement as people pulled out their phones to see who they got. Y/n made her way towards her group when she saw him standing in the middle of the dancefloor amongst the chaos.

"Oscar?" she said as she made her way towards him.

"Did you mean that?" he questioned.

"What?" she said.

"Did you mean what you just said up there?" Oscar asked again, with a sense of urgency in his voice.

"i-um" "Yes, I did, Oscar," Y/n finally said after overcoming the surprise of seeing him there. 

"I'm sorry I left yesterday. I just did not know what to say to you at that moment. God had I known that you felt the same, why would I have don-," Y/n was cut off by Oscar grabbing her face and kissing her.

"God! Why do you always have to talk so much?" Oscar asked before he leaned in again.

Y/n could hear hooting in the distance, and as she pulled away from Oscar, she turned to find the source of this being their friends, watching everything that had just happened. 

Clearing his throat, Oscar said, "They're never gonna let this go, are they?" "Oh yeah, be prepared," Y/n said, shaking her head, and the two joined the dancefloor.

"Fair warning, don't let Dylan intimidate you; he likes to give the dad talk to the guys I'm dating," Y/n said, cringing at the memory of said 'dad talks' that Dylan was so fond of.

"So we're dating then?" Oscar questioned, looking at Y/n, who looked a little flustered.

"I can leave if you'd like," Y/n said as she pulled away from him.

"Oh, hush you," Oscar said, pulling her even closer than before, slowly swaying the song that was playing in the background.

… Tags: @regalbanshee | @be-your-coffee-pot | @mrsbrxkkxr | @princessria127 | @moonraysandstars | @prettiest-at-the-party | @theblueblub | @magixpracticality | @slytherinholland | @overlyexcitedoutlaw | @marvel-at-stucky | @crumbssss | @a-beaverhausen | @felicityforyou | @gigigreens | @jas0nluvr | @khaylin27 | @imsiriuslyreal | @cwiphswmwasohmm | @wobblymug | @e-nonsense | @raizelchrysanderoctavius | @brekkers-whore | @vintagefucksstuff | @aexitizen-ln4 | @redstappen | @iamred-iamyellow | @tsireyasgf | @ghost-of-student-sufferings | @saachiep81 | @lozzamez3 | @ravisinghs-wife | @elizamoe133 | @anthonylockwoodandco111 | @formulaal | @luvsforme | @annabellelee | @a-disturbing-self-reflection | @emryb | @grovelingmen | @illicit-affcirs | @iwilleatyourgod | @youre-on-your-ownkid | @originaldreamerdragon | @landorris | @mountvesuvu | @chezmardybum | @littlegrapejuice | @spitesfvl-blog | @juleshadalittlelamb | @vicurious28 | @niyu2208 |

[svelish]

hii idk if you write platonic relationships but could you write a younger sister!drummer!reader fluff/comfort on tour w billie? thank you!

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

Note !! : It's been a bit long since I haven't posted, been really busy these days. Also this has been in my drafts and i'm only releasing it out now from its confinement (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

You’d always known that Billie was larger than life—your older sister with the kind of presence that filled every room, even before she was famous. But on tour? She became something else entirely. Ethereal. Electric. Powerful. Every night, she was a star on stage, and every night, you were behind her—keeping time on your kit, grounding the music in rhythm while she soared in melodies.

The crowd never saw your face much, but that didn’t matter to you. You weren’t here for the spotlight. You were here for her.

But tonight, something was off.

You were sitting on the edge of your bunk, knees pulled to your chest, sticks resting loosely in your hands, hands shaking slightly. The adrenaline of the show had worn off, leaving behind a pit of anxiety you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the homesickness. Maybe it was the pressure of being the youngest on the crew. Maybe it was just the exhaustion finally catching up to you after weeks of city after city, stage after stage.

You hadn’t even realized Billie had slipped into the lounge of the bus until you felt the gentle dip beside you.

“Hey, drumline,” she murmured, voice soft with concern. “You okay?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to act casual, but the tears were already welling up in your eyes. You looked at her—Billie, in a huge hoodie, no makeup, hair pulled back into a lazy bun. Not the pop star. Just your sister.

“I dunno,” you muttered, voice cracking. “I just… feel weird tonight.”

Billie didn’t ask questions right away. She just nodded and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side. Her hoodie smelled like her perfume and a little like the stage—sweat, lights, and music. Familiar. Comforting.

“Talk to me, baby sis,” she said, brushing her fingers through your hair. “What’s going on in that drummer brain of yours?”

You sniffled, leaning into her. “I guess I just feel… out of place sometimes. Like I don’t deserve to be here. Everyone’s so good. And I’m just… me.”

Billie’s jaw tightened, and she pulled you in closer. “Don’t even say that,” she whispered fiercely. “You belong here. You’re the heartbeat of the band, you hear me? I can’t do this without you.”

You blinked at her. “You’d be fine. You’re Billie freaking Eilish.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m your sister first. I’m the Billie who used to steal your drumsticks and play on kitchen pots. I’m the Billie who begged Mom to let you come on tour. You keep me sane out here. You keep me grounded.”

A small, watery laugh escaped your lips. “You mean I annoy you with my snoring and steal your snacks?”

“Exactly,” she grinned. “It’s my favorite part of the day. Reminds me you’re here. Reminds me I’m not alone.”

The bus swayed slightly as it rolled down the highway, city lights fading behind you. Billie reached down and gently took the sticks from your hands, placing them aside.

“You’re more than your music,” she said softly. “But also? You’re a damn good drummer. The crowd feels it, even if they don’t always see you. I feel it.”

You rested your head on her shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh. “Thanks, Billie.”

“Always, baby sis.” She kissed the top of your head. “Now come on. We’ve got a show tomorrow. And I need my favorite drummer well-rested.”

· · ────── · ·

That night, you fell asleep in your bunk to the hum of the road and the quiet rhythm of Billie’s music playing through the speaker. And just before sleep took you, you thought:

Maybe you didn’t need to be seen by the whole world. It was enough to be seen by her.

And she always did.

[harrysfolklore]

So since the Oscars are happening next week I wanted to ask if you could please write something about charles leclerc and actress!reader where she's been nominated many many times before but never won (kind of like saoirse ronan) but this time she finally breaks the curse and win her first Oscar and Charles being just proud husband

u know you can always count on me for a charles x famous!reader fic and honestly i loved this one 🥺 i hope you like ittt

The Dolby Theatre buzzes with anticipation as you sit between Charles and your co-star. This scene is familiar - the sixth time you've been nominated, the same butterfly-inducing wait during the Best Actress category. Your first nomination came when you were just twenty-three, and now at thirty, you've earned the title of 'most nominated actress without a win.'

Charles has been there for four of those nominations, watching you smile gracefully through each loss. You remember how devastated he was last year - more than you, even - when you lost for what critics had called 'the performance of the decade.' He'd held you all night, whispering about how the Academy didn't deserve you anyway.

Tonight, though, feels different. Maybe it's the way Charles keeps pressing soft kisses to your temple, or how he hasn't stopped playing with your wedding ring - a nervous habit he picked up during particularly tense races.

"Mon coeur," he whispers as the Best Actor category wraps up, "no matter what happens, you're already the winner in my eyes. But tonight... tonight feels like magic, no?"

You're gripping Charles's hand so tightly you might be cutting off his circulation, but he doesn't seem to mind. Your heart is pounding as Emma Stone opens the envelope on stage, the same way it has during the previous ceremonies where you'd left empty-handed despite the nominations.

Charles leans closer, his lips brushing your ear. "I'm proud of you, no matter what happens," he whispers, his thumb stroking soothing circles on your hand.

"And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to..."

Charles's grip tightens imperceptibly. You feel him holding his breath alongside you.

"YN!"

For a moment, you're frozen. The applause sounds distant, like you're underwater. Then you feel Charles's hands on your face, see his beaming smile through your blur of tears.

"You did it, mon coeur!" he exclaims, his own eyes glistening as he pulls you into a kiss. "You finally did it!"

You're trembling as you stand, Charles helping you up. He's looking at you the way he does after winning a race - no, even more intensely than that. Like you've just won every championship in existence.

The walk to the stage feels surreal. You can hear the announcement echoing: "This is YN's sixth nomination and first win..." Through your tears, you see the standing ovation, catch glimpses of familiar faces who've been on this journey with you.

Your hands shake as you accept the Oscar, its weight both foreign and familiar after years of dreaming about this moment. You take a deep breath, looking out at the sea of faces until you find those green eyes that have been your anchor through every high and low.

"Wow," you begin, your voice trembling. "They say sixth time's the charm, right?" The audience laughs warmly. "I've had this speech written in my head since I was a little girl playing pretend with my mom's hairbrush, but now that I'm here, those words don't seem enough."

You pause, gathering yourself. "To the Academy - thank you for not giving up on me. To my incredible director who trusted me with this role that scared me as much as it thrilled me. To my amazing co-stars who pushed me to dig deeper, be braver."

Your eyes find Charles again, who's watching you with such pure adoration it makes your heart swell. "To my husband, who has sat through more award shows than F1 races this year so far, who runs lines with me even though he says my accent is better than his, who believes in me more than I believe in myself - ti amu. You've watched me practice acceptance speeches in our kitchen, held me through the disappointments, and somehow made me feel like a winner every single time. You told me once that in racing, it's not about how many times you don't make the podium, it's about never stopping until you do. Well, my love, we finally made it to the top step."

You can see Charles openly crying now, nodding proudly through his tears. "To my parents who let their little girl dream big, to my team who've been with me through every 'maybe next year,' to every young actor who's been told 'not yet' - keep going. Your time will come."

Looking down at the golden statue in your hands, you smile through your tears. "And finally, to every person who's ever felt like they're always the runner-up, who's heard 'better luck next time' so many times they've lost count - this is for you. Because sometimes the longest waitings lead to the sweetest victories. Thank you, thank you so much."

Later, at the Vanity Fair after-party, Charles hasn't let go of your Oscar once. He's been carrying it around, showing it off more proudly than any of his race trophies.

"My wife," he keeps saying to everyone who'll listen, his accent thick with emotion, "she's brilliant, no? I told everyone she would win. I knew it."

"Charles," you laugh, watching him polish the statue with his pocket square for the third time. "You're going to wear it out."

"Non, I'm protecting it. It's very precious." He looks at you with those soft green eyes. "Like you."

You lean into his side, feeling the familiar warmth of his arm around your waist. "You know what this means, right? Now we both have something gold to polish obsessively."

He chuckles, finally setting the Oscar down to pull you closer. "Oui, but unlike my trophies, this one was a long time coming." His expression softens. "You deserved this years ago, mon coeur."

"Well," you say, straightening his bowtie, "someone once told me that the sweetest victories are the ones you have to fight for."

"Sounds like a wise man," he grins.

"He's alright," you tease. "Bit of a show-off though. Keeps trying to steal my Oscar's spotlight."

Charles laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Never. Tonight is all yours, my love. Though..." he adds with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I might need to win another race soon. Can't have you being the only champion in the household."

You reach up to wipe a smudge of your lipstick from his cheek. "Race you to the next gold trophy?"

"Deal," he says softly, pulling you into a proper kiss. "But you've already won the most important race."

"Oh? Which one is that?"

His smile is tender as he touches his forehead to yours. "The race to my heart."

"That was terrible," you laugh, but you're already pulling him closer.

"Terrible but true," he murmurs against your lips. "Now, shall we go home? I need to practice my 'proud husband watching his wife's Oscar-winning performance' face for when we rewatch your movie for the hundredth time."

"You love that movie."

"I love you," he corrects.

And as you watch him carefully wrap your award in his suit jacket for the journey home, you think that maybe this victory is sweeter than you imagined - not because of the golden statue, but because of the golden heart beside you who never stopped believing it would happen.

[nonranghaes]

sometimes you think you hate jeonghan as much as you adore him. he's careful as he helps you into this costume. the perks of performing shakespeare with a production that's fully leaning into the renaissance costume is that you get to be a little up close and personal with... well, too many people at this point. jeonghan is simply your favorite of the costuming crew because he doesn't make it weird like some of the undergraduate students, who are new to this and get a little flustered over the lack of personal space. they'll get used to it in time.

"have i ever told you that you have pretty eyes?" he says as casual as can be while he's busy lacing your doublet into your joined hose. it's the kind of thing that nearly makes you choke on the little bit of water you're letting yourself have before the show: you'll drink more later since you have a costume change during intermission.

"funny thing to say when you're staring at the back of my doublet," you hum, capping your bottle. "my eyes are up here, i believe."

"can't i flirt with you without your comments?" but jeonghan chuckles anyway. "you do, though. i've been wanting to tell you, but..."

the two of you have held off on anything and everything until tonight: the last show of this production. there's nothing saying you can't date during it, but you didn't want to become this gushy showmance for the undergraduate students to gossip about.

"thank you, by the way." you can feel your face heating up a little. not everyone understands the way you work when it comes to theatre, dedicating everything into your performance and cutting out distractions where you can. even with your banter, you'd told jeonghan that if he wanted to take you out... he'd have to wait until after the show. "not everyone would wait."

he'd merely told you that he wasn't planning on it until then anyway. he knows how you work. other people get intimidated, but not him. he steps around, already working on the laces at the front of your jacket. "i'm just lucky you like me," he says with this cute smile on his face. "i like your passion. it's not waiting if i get to spend time with you like this anyway."

you crook your fingers for him to come closer, and he does. pressing your lips against his cheek, you lower your voice, "pick somewhere nice for us, okay?"

he just chuckles, and sneaks a little kiss against your cheek as well, "i will. break a leg. i'll watch from the wings."

(it's no surprise that you ended up giving the best performance of the entire run that night, as told to you by director seungcheol. you'll just have to kiss the smirk off of jeonghan's face after you strike the stage tomorrow... and maybe a million more times after that, if he'll let you.)