#but now. looks at her picking up and carrying more and more and more. 'someone new must lead them from the vanguard.'

[brattyspence]

nothing matters | s.reid

summary: when reader catches her boyfriend cheating, she’s quick to run right back to spencer, even if she once swore she’d never do it again. he just has a way of making her forget about her troubles.( loosely based on lyrics of ‘Nothing Matters’ by The Last Dinner Party)

tags/warnings: pure fucking filth (at least for me), fem!reader, afab!reader, soft dom!spencer, lowkey asshole spencer, reader makes bad decisions and is aware of it, situationship, reader gets cheated on, minimal foreplay bc reader is horny af. 

a/n: um. so. about that.

word count: 1.7k

playlist i made just for this!

masterlist

"And you can hold me like he held her,

And I will fuck you like nothing matters."

-

Getting involved with Spencer was more complicated than you’d hoped. 

It had started as mindless sex. It was no secret that your job was stressful, and you both lacked the time and emotional availability to truly maintain a relationship. Still, after spending days running around and chipping away at a case, it seemed that the only real way you could unwind was by getting in his bed. 

There were logical explanations for why the sex was so, so good. You both understood what the other had gone through each day, and the way that each case would sit heavy on your minds. Spencer was keenly aware that you were not in the mood to talk when you got home. What you really wanted was to turn off any part of your brain that could think, and let him rearrange your guts until you were too tired to remember any of the details of the day. 

The arrangement worked until it didn’t.  

You’d met someone else; someone you believed could give you everything you wanted in a relationship, and quickly called things off with Spencer. The friendship you’d once shared had crashed and burned in an instant. Spencer couldn’t understand why you thought you would suddenly be capable of a relationship with someone else, and this only fueled the growing frustration you’d had with him.

Recently, you were seated across from one another on the jet, your feet tucked up under you on the seat, boots kicked off and strewn somewhere under you. You were engrossed in something, reading texts on your phone with narrowed eyes. 

“You okay?” he asked. He flipped a page of his book, looking up for a moment. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, eyes lingering on the device for a moment longer than he’d have liked. “Boyfriend. It’s nothing.”

“Is everything…alright?”

You nodded, chewing the inside of your lip. “Yeah.” 

Spencer couldn’t figure out why you stayed with him. Even if he didn’t know the extent of the situation, it was clear you were unhappy. It wasn’t something you’d ever been too careful to disguise. He couldn’t seem to figure out why you’d never pull the trigger and admit you were wrong. Part of him was convinced you were holding on out of spite.

“You always avoid that question,” he noted.

“I said ‘yeah’. I answered.”

“Hm.” He seemed to hold your gaze for a moment before picking up his own book again. 

“Spencer,” you replied, your tone biting. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He didn’t look up when he spoke this time.

“Judging.” 

“Not judging,” he replies. “Just waiting for you to admit you were wrong.”

Now, here you were, standing in the doorway to your own apartment, keys in hand, watching the reality of your impulsive decision unfold right in front of you. Another woman in your apartment, in your bed, with the same man who had promised to treat you better. 

All rational thought seemed to escape you in an instant. Before you had time to process, you were flying through the stairwell and out into the night, your feet carrying you quickly to the one place you swore you’d never be again. 

The cold night air didn’t bother you as you hastily made your way through the streets. You weren’t aware of the tingling cold that bit your nose and cheeks, but instead you were so caught up in the rising heat and mix of emotions that were threatening to spill through your tear ducts and onto your face. 

Within the next ten minutes, you were standing outside his door, rocking on the balls of your feet. You only had to knock once before the door opened. Suddenly, the intense quiet of the street behind you seemed to be all too loud. 

Spencer looked you over once, that same smug look on his face. 

“So?” he asked. “Tell me I was right.” 

“Oh, would you please-”

“I know. I know. Sorry. Come in.” 

You crossed the barrier of his doorway with less hesitation than you'd expected. 

You watched as he shut the door behind you, the solid clunk of the lock a reminder of the decision you were about to make.

“So… what happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I don't want to talk about it.”

He took a step closer, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. 

“You don’t want to talk at all, do you?”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. 

“So tell me what you do want.”

He took another step closer, the gap between your bodies becoming increasingly smaller. He knew exactly what you wanted, and he was determined to make you spit it out. You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyed that he had to make everything so difficult for you. 

“Drop the attitude,” he said, his voice low. “And use your words.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself for what was to come. You took another breath before finding the right words. 

“Spencer,” you breathed. “Will you please just fuck me?”

“Mm,” he hummed.  He was already tugging your coat off by the sleeves. “So polite. That's not like you.” 

You thought better than to quip another remark back his way this time, instead letting him pull you further into the apartment. You offered no resistance as he guided you through the doorway of his bedroom, spinning you around to catch the foot of the bed against the back of your knees. You let yourself fall against the mattress with an exhale. 

You quickly kicked your shoes away, letting them fall to the floor with a thump. Spencer had already climbed over you by the time you settled against the bed. He carefully slipped one hand just below the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely skimming your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“You ready for these to come off?” He asked, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, quickly tugging the button undone.

“Eager,” he chuckled, pushing your hand away. “I got it. Relax.”

You watched as he undid the button with practiced ease, then quickly tugging away your jeans entirely to discard somewhere on the floor. With one hand holding his weight over you, the other continued its path up your side, pushing your shirt further up your stomach.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked. 

You knew the implications. Nothing had changed, of course. You'd do this, and things would still be the same. Spencer was adamant about refusing to settle down. 

It would hurt tomorrow.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Really sure.”

“You're not gonna regret this?”

You huffed. “Yeah, I’ll regret this. It doesn't matter. I just need you to fuck me..”

 “I know,” he replied, settling his hand against your side. “Like nothing matters.”

You nodded again, impatience creeping back into your body. “Now.”

You heard him chuckle softly, and he quickly disappeared from your line of sight. You stared at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily above you, and listened to the soft sound of rustling fabric, anticipation gnawing at your bones. You were quick to lift your hips when he queued you, letting him remove your underwear in one swift movement. 

 You let him pull you closer to the edge of the bed, his hands sitting firmly over your hipbones. 

“Look at you, honey,” he breathed, running a thumb slowly over your core. “Missed me that bad?”

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned. “Just-”

“Is that how we ask for things that we want?” He asked, leaning in. 

You sighed. “Please?”

You watched with half lidded eyes as he carefully lined himself up, pushing himself slowly inside of you. He continued rubbing circles against your clit with one thumb, easing the growing ache of need between your legs.

“That's okay?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Please move.”

You weren't quite prepared for how good he would feel after so long apart. The sensation caught you off guard, leaving you unable to control the desperate pleas for “more more more” that spilled from your lips. 

“There’s my girl,” he cooed. “So good. I knew you were still in there.”

Spencer moved one hand from its spot gripping your hips, instead tucking it against the back of your neck, anging your head up just enough to force your gaze on him. 

“Can you- more, please?”

“More? You sure?”

You nodded, bringing one hand to hold onto his arm. “Mhm. More. Please.”

If the goal was to fuck you until you forgot why you came, he certainly succeeded in that. You squeezed your hand against his arm, holding on for dear life as each thrust pressed you against the mattress a little further.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he breathed. “So, so good, baby.”

Spencer knew exactly where he had you. Your nails were just beginning to dig into his skin with the familiar sting you always left him with. He watched the flush of color in your cheeks slowly darken as the seconds ticked by. 

“That’s… please don't stop, Spencer. Please, please, please,” you whined.

“I know,” he replied. “I've got you, baby. You can let go.”

Sure, he'd made you come dozens of times before, but there was something about the circumstance that made today more intense than before. You were only half aware of your body, seemingly lost somewhere between your brain and outer space. By the time you were just beginning to drift back into your body, he was still pressed into you, breath heavy with the aftermath of his own orgasm.

As you lay against the mattress in the minutes following, nothing seemed to be going through your head. This was exactly what you came crawling back to him for. 

You felt the soft touch of his hands again as he quickly cleaned you up. 

“You feel okay?” He asked, carefully climbing back over you. He pressed one final kiss against your stomach before settling down on the comforter next to you. 

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “So good.”

Spencer chuckled, turning his head towards you. “I can't believe you waited for that guy to cheat on you before coming back to me.”

You could have given him a hard time about it, or gotten upset all over again about his lack of willingness to commit. The point was though, you wanted him to fuck you like nothing mattered. That was exactly what you got.

[the-oblivious-writer]

A Hard Day's Night

Sam Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After a hard day's night, only you know what to do to make Sam feel okay.

Warning(s): References to past trauma, brief mentions to workplace harassment, no pronouns, and they kiss and bathe together but it's not explicit.

Notes: More one-shot angst coming your way. Here's a soft blow in the mean time!

You hear Sam before you see her - the jangle of keys, the tired thud of her bag hitting the floor, and an exhausted sigh that seems to come from somewhere deep in her soul. Working at a coffee shop might not be as intense as some of her past experiences, but you know how draining customer service can be, especially for someone carrying as much weight on their shoulders as Sam does.

"I'm home," she calls out, her voice carrying a slight rasp of fatigue. You peek around the corner from the kitchen, where you've been preparing a surprise dinner, and catch sight of her slumped against the doorframe. Her dark hair is coming loose from its ponytail, and there's a coffee stain on the sleeve of her work shirt.

"Rough day?" you ask softly, already knowing the answer from the way she's holding herself - shoulders tight, jaw clenched just a bit too hard. Some habits die hard, even now that things have settled down.

Sam lets out a hollow laugh, running a hand through her hair. "You could say that. Some guy spent fifteen minutes arguing with me about the difference between a macchiato and a latte. Then had the nerve to tell me I should 'smile more.'" She rolls her eyes, but you can see the tension radiating through her frame.

"Come here," you say, opening your arms. She hesitates for just a moment - another old habit, that instinct to stay guarded - before crossing the room and melting into your embrace. You can feel some of the rigidity leave her body as she presses her face into your shoulder.

"You smell like garlic bread," she mumbles against your shirt, and you can feel her smile.

"That's because I'm making your favorite - my grandmother's lasagna recipe." You press a kiss to her temple. "I had a feeling you might need some comfort food tonight."

She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those expressive eyes that first drew you in. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," you say simply, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides, you've been working so hard lately. You deserve to be taken care of sometimes."

The vulnerability that flashes across her face makes your heart ache. Sometimes you forget how new this still is for her - having someone who wants to take care of her, no strings attached, no hidden agendas. Just love, pure and simple.

"The lasagna needs another twenty minutes," you continue, letting your hands slide down to her shoulders, feeling the knots of tension there. "How about you go change into something comfortable, and I'll run you a bath?"

"With the lavender bath salts?" she asks, a hint of playfulness creeping into her voice.

"Of course. Only the best for my overworked barista."

She laughs - a real laugh this time, not the hollow sound from before - and stretches up to press a soft kiss to your lips. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Existed," you reply simply, earning another kiss.

While Sam changes out fo her cloths, you busy yourself running the bath, adding her favorite lavender bath salts and lighting a few candles. The bathroom fills with soft, warm light and soothing scents. You can hear her humming quietly in the bedroom - a habit she's picked up from you, though she'd never admit it.

When she emerges in her favorite towel, her face freshly washed and hair loose around her shoulders, your breath catches a little. Even after all this time, moments like these still get to you - seeing her soft and unguarded, trusting you with these vulnerable moments.

"Bath's ready whenever you are," you say, pulling her close again. "Want me to wash your hair?"

She practically purrs at the suggestion. "Yes, please." Then, after a pause: "Join me?"

You raise an eyebrow. "What about the lasagna?"

"We can reheat it," she says, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. "Right now, I just want to be close to you."

How can you resist when she looks at you like that? You set a timer on your phone for the lasagna, then follow her into the bathroom. The steam has made everything slightly hazy, the candlelight creating dancing shadows on the walls. Sam strips off her clothes without ceremony - she's never been shy around you - and sinks into the hot water with a contented sigh.

You take your time undressing, watching as she tilts her head back against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, tension visibly melting from her frame. When you slide in behind her, she immediately leans back against your chest, fitting perfectly in the space between your legs.

"Better?" you murmur, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"Mmm," she hums in agreement. "Much better."

You reach for the shampoo, working it through her dark strands with gentle fingers. Sam practically melts under your touch as you massage her scalp, working out the tension from the day. It's these quiet moments you treasure most - when all the walls come down, when she lets herself be completely vulnerable with you.

"Want to talk about it?" you ask softly, knowing sometimes she needs to process things out loud.

She's quiet for a moment, letting you work the conditioner through her hair. "It's not just the annoying customers," she finally says. "It's… everything. Sometimes I still catch myself looking over my shoulder, expecting… you know." She doesn't have to finish the thought. You know all too well what ghosts she's carrying.

"That's normal," you remind her gently, running your fingers through her hair to work out any tangles. "After everything you've been through? It would be weird if you didn't have those moments."

She turns slightly in your arms, water lapping at the edges of the tub. "How do you always know exactly what to say?"

"Because I know you," you reply simply. "And I love you. All of you - even the parts that are still healing."

The vulnerability in her eyes takes your breath away. She leans in, kissing you slow and deep, her wet hands coming up to cup your face. You can taste the trust on her lips, the gratitude, the love that sometimes still overwhelms her with its intensity.

When you break apart, she rests her forehead against yours. "I love you too," she whispers. "So much it scares me sometimes."

"Good thing you're the bravest person I know then," you say with a soft smile, earning a quiet laugh.

You stay in the bath until the water starts to cool and your timer goes off, reminding you about dinner. Sam protests when you insist on getting out, but the promise of food - and more cuddles - eventually convinces her. You wrap her in your fluffiest towel, pressing kisses to her shoulders as you help her dry off.

The lasagna is perfect when you pull it out of the oven, the cheese golden and bubbling. Sam inhales deeply, closing her eyes in appreciation. "God, that smells amazing."

You serve up generous portions, adding garlic bread on the side, and settle onto the couch rather than at the table. Sam curls into your side immediately, balancing her plate on her lap. The first bite draws a moan of appreciation that makes you grin.

"Good?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

"Perfect," she sighs contentedly. "You're perfect."

You kiss her temple. "Far from it. But I try my best for you."

The evening settles into a comfortable rhythm after that. You put on one of her favorite movies - something light and funny, nothing with too much violence or suspense - and she gradually relaxes completely against you, her head in your lap as you run your fingers through her damp hair.

"Thank you," she says softly during a quiet moment in the film. "For taking care of me tonight. For always taking care of me."

"Always," you promise, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "You've carried enough weight on your own. Let me help shoulder some of it."

She turns her face into your stomach, hiding the emotion you know is written across it. You don't push, just keep stroking her hair, letting her process in her own time. When she looks back up at you, her eyes are slightly wet but there's a smile on her face.

"Move in with me," she says suddenly, pushing herself up to look at you properly.

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"Move in with me," she repeats, more confident now. "You're here most nights anyway. And… I sleep better when you're here. Everything's better when you're here."

Your heart feels like it might burst. "Are you sure? I know how important having your own space is to you…"

"You are my safe space," she says simply, and oh, how those words make your chest ache with love for her. "Please? Say yes?"

As if there was ever any doubt. "Yes," you breathe, pulling her into a kiss that says everything words can't quite capture. She laughs against your lips, bright and happy, and you can feel her smile.

"We can start moving your stuff this weekend," she says excitedly, already making plans. "The closet in the spare room can be your office space - I know you need somewhere quiet to write. And-"

You cut her off with another kiss, amused and charmed by her enthusiasm. "Slow down, love. We've got all the time in the world to figure it out."

She settles back against you, practically glowing with happiness. "All the time in the world," she repeats softly, like she's testing out how the words feel. "I like the sound of that."

Later, when you're both in bed, Sam curled around you like she's afraid you might disappear, you think about how far she's come. How far you both have come. From those first tentative conversations over coffee, to helping her work through her trauma, to building this life together - every step has been worth it.

"I can hear you thinking," she mumbles sleepily against your neck.

You smile into the darkness. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."

She makes a noise of disagreement. "I'm the lucky one."

"How about we're both lucky?" you compromise, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Mm, deal," she agrees, already drifting off. "Love you."

"Love you too," you whisper, holding her close as her breathing evens out into sleep. "Sweet dreams, my brave girl."

And as you follow her into sleep, you think about tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that. About building a life together, one day at a time, helping each other heal and grow and love. It won't always be easy - you both know that better than most - but nights like this remind you that it will always, always be worth it.

Because at the end of a hard day's work, this is what matters: coming home to each other, finding peace in each other's arms, and knowing that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

-----------

A/N: "He can talk, then, can he?" - "Of course, he can talk. He's a human being, isn't he?" - "Well if he's your grandfather, who knows? Ha ha ha ha!"

[lucygraysboy]

“once we’re done here, i’ll wash it and it’ll be as good as new,” he promises, knowing how much sentimental value the dress has. fingertips absently stroking her hair, not even trying to brush it anymore, just trying to make her feel good and help her relax. “i haven’t, by the way. gone through your songbook, i mean.” in case she’s wondering. she gave him permission to do so last night, but it seemed too personal, too invasive. “thank you, lucy gray.” it’s been a while since someone complimented his heart. people often admire what’s on the outside — his blue eyes and dark curls, his nose or cheekbones. she’s one of a very few who seem to care more about what’s underneath. “it means the world to me. i won’t let you down, i swear it.” scooping up a handful of water, he carefully pours it over her back to ensure she stays warm. “so are you, little bird. you’re very smart, too. way smarter than me.” she wouldn’t be here with him if she wasn’t highly intelligent. she wouldn’t have escaped coriolanus. which is still such a strange thought… “oh, yeah?” thankful for the distraction, he lets out another laugh. “never noticed you were also bird-sized and i was horse-sized,” he counters, getting to see her sense of humor for the first time and letting it bewitch him. he adores this side of her, but it has him wondering if this is the girl that she used to be — full of sassy remarks and giggles and sweetness. maybe she’ll be that girl again one day.

“i see…” billy hums, nodding his head even if she can’t really see him. he quickly picks up on what she’s implying, putting two and two together. the stories that she told him last night… “you don’t think my brother was born with a good heart, is that what you’re sayin’?” as children, they were like daylight and dark. polar opposites. but can he call that little boy evil? sure, they’d had their differences, but he wasn’t bad to the bone. he didn’t chase stray cats around the neighborhood or rip the wings off flies. “i’m not sure if i agree. maybe the capitol and our grandmother did that to him.” or maybe he was born with evil already inside him and it just came to light later in life. who knows? “i’m not defendin’ him, just thinkin’ out loud,” he says quickly when lucy gray’s head snaps around, looking at him with something that he can’t quite name or understand. it has him wondering if he’s said something wrong. a small, uncertain smile remains plastered to his visage, his own heart picking up pace. “did i —” say something wrong? but before he can get the words out, she’s speaking up again and he’s falling silent. gesturing for her to carry on.

“you planted a snake to scare him away and slow him down?” dark brows lifting, impressed and wary in equal measure. what if she still thinks he’s coriolanus? will he wake up with a snake under his pillow one morning? and lucy gray nowhere to be found? the idea has his heart missing a beat, chest constricting. but if she wanted to run, she would have done that while he was out by the creek. “i didn’t know ‘bout that. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to bring back any bad memories with that story.” features softening, understanding her reaction better now. amusement fills his eyes, and he can’t help but think it’s such a badass move, setting a snake trap. “oh, i bet he thought it was venomous. what does he know ‘bout snakes? nothin’. i think that was a smart move. risky but smart. and it served its purpose, right?” it’s scary to think that his own twin brother was trying to hunt her down, shot at her, but then he thinks about their father, the kind of person he was… and it’s not so surprising anymore. “you think he would have hurt you anyway? if you came back to him instead of runnin’ away and plantin’ that snake?” is his brother truly as ruthless and heartless as their father? his heart aches for lucy gray, but for coriolanus, too. it must be awful, living that way, filled with hatred. “mhm, yeah. it’s just a silly story, but the moral is very accurate, i think. if you go through life with hatred festering in your heart, you’ll never be happy. but if you learn how to forgive and focus on healing from the bad experiences, you’ll be alright.” as if reading her thoughts, he adds, “he won’t ever find you, lucy gray. reva blue and i won’t allow it. we will always protect you. i will protect you.” 

"it does look like feathers." maybe that's how her mama decided to design it, thinking so as the songstress sweetly smiles. "thank you, that means so much to me." that he likes the way she sings. lucy gray laughs at first before shaking her head to correct him, "because you and horses have good hearts and brave ones." she just had to be careful praising someone's heart before really knowing it first, just like the moment of phrasing you seem like a good man, coriolanus snow. she scolds herself constantly for being so naive. "they're smart and you're smart." knowing how to survive like this. "and you are a lot taller than me way down here, so that could be another thing..." her turn to tease.

perking up in interest, brows raising as she sits with his fingers in her hair. finding what he's saying really fascinating when it sounds familiar to something she'd say. "i used to think they were made, too. sometimes i have my doubts." if coriolanus was right, people like him really were born that way. "but maybe now there's proof, they're either born or made." with him being the twin to coriolanus. then he tells this next story and a strange flash of fear strikes through her. that was a coincidence, right?

shifting slightly to glance at his face, making sure he once again wasn't somehow coriolanus– not going to drown her in this water while she's not looking after telling her this story, mind backtracking all the way back to her first theory of his mind being twisted by dr. gaul. until she realizes there's no way he knows all that stuff about district thirteen, that this type of kindness can be faked and she's back to reality. she really has to stop doing that... when she realizes even her heart's picked up speed beneath her chest.

"well, snake's and me are very familiar with one another." forcing herself to chill out, a wry laugh quietly emitting from her. "and there's a lot of irony in that..." she points out, an odd smile gracing her face, "when i placed a snake out, i set it as a trap. to stall time for myself. it bit coriolanus and i knew it wasn't venomous, then that's what really set him off to go shooting at me." wasn't like he wasn't going to do that anyway, probably. but that's what's so crazy about the similarities with billy's story. "the one who went back to the village. that's the one who lived a happy life?" she answers, while feeling scared that's how coriolanus probably feels towards her... hating her guts, obsessing over hating her guts each day, ready and waiting for the second chance at killing her for revenge. "i agree... i could have definitely turned rotten by now, yet i've not. and the same for you..." as long as he's telling the truth about it all.

[crazerk]

Dear author, we need a mother-daughter (or even one with Kaz 🥹) snippet now that we've seen how adorable MC's sons are with her!

Omg yes! This ask reminded me of a scene in magnificent century where mihrimah defended her mother from Hatice. I based this snip on that.

"Soraya, your posture," you murmured, barely moving your lips as you adjusted your daughter's silk sleeve. The great hall buzzed with conversation and the sweet notes of the court musicians, but all you could focus on was the way Soraya's shoulders kept slouching in defiance of years of training.

"Mother, I'm dying of boredom," Soraya whispered back, straightening briefly before slumping again. Her eyes kept straying to the door as if plotting an escape. "I should be with Cyrus. He's all alone in that stuffy room, in pain and bored to tears..."

"Your brother has three physicians attending him and more books than the imperial library. What he needs is rest, not you hovering over him like a mother hen." But your own thoughts drifted to your younger son, wondering if his fever had broken yet.

Across the room, Arman's laughter boomed over the refined murmur of conversation. He was trading war stories with a group of young officers, his cup of wine sloshing dangerously as he gestured. Soraya watched him with naked envy.

"At least someone's enjoying himself," she muttered.

"General Dastan seems to be enjoying the evening as well," you observed carefully, noting how the man's eyes kept finding your table. The Hero of the Northern Campaign, they called him. The Scourge of the Steppes. The man who'd saved the empire's borders through cunning and steel. He cut an impressive figure in his formal military attire. At thirty-two, he was in his prime – battle-tested but not war-worn, his dark good looks unmarred by the campaigns that had made his name.

Soraya's lip curled. "He can enjoy it somewhere else. I don't like the way he stares."

"He's a good match," you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "Intelligent, successful, with strong support among the border provinces—"

"Mother, please." Soraya's fingers twisted in her lap. "I'd rather join the priesthood. I've already picked out my temple."

"You've been threatening that since you were twelve."

"Well, maybe this time I mean it."

You sighed. "I just want—"

"I know what you want." Soraya's voice softened. "But I can't be the perfect princess you're trying to make me into. I wish..." She glanced at Arman again. "I wish Cyrus were here. He'd tell me exactly how many battles Dastan actually lost, and how many of his victories were just good luck and better weather."

Despite yourself , you smiled. "Your brother does have an uncanny memory for other people's failures."

"It's not fair that he gets to skip this because of a fever. He probably isn't even that sick. I bet he's in his room reading those new scrolls from—"

"My, my, what dreadful posture."

The voice cut through your conversation like a blade. Consort Zina, one of prince Parvis’ concubines, settled onto a nearby cushion with practiced grace, resplendent in jewels that couldn't quite disguise the years etched around her eyes. Despite being aunt by marriage to the shah, she carried herself as though she were the empress herself. A younger woman hovered at her shoulder, wearing the latest court fashion and an expression of carefully crafted concern.

"Really, you grace," Zina continued, her tone dripping with false sympathy, "I would have thought you'd taught your daughter better. Though I suppose we can't all have the advantage of proper breeding."

Soraya’s eyes flashed with rage while your face remained perfectly composed, though your fingers tightened on your cup. "Your concern is noted, Consort Zina."

"And where is your younger son?" the younger woman chimed in, clearly eager to curry favor. "Surely an imperial prince understands the importance of state functions? Or perhaps he finds himself... above such duties?"

Soraya's head snapped up. "My brother is ill."

You squeezed your daughter’s hand in warning before turning to face the haughty noble. "Prince Cyrus is indisposed," you said coolly. "As I'm sure you've heard, Lady...?"

The woman flushed at the deliberate slight. "Lady Mercen."

"Ah yes. New to court, aren't you?"

"Now, now," Zina said, lifting her cup to her lips. "No need to be sharp, y/n. We're all concerned for the proper appearance of the imperial family. After all, these children reflect on all of us, even those of... humbler origins."

Soraya went very still. When she spoke, her voice could have frozen flame.

"Consort Zina. You're addressing an imperial consort and the mother of two princes." Her smile was razor-sharp. "How many sons have you given the imperial house again? I forget. Is it... none?"

"Soraya." Your voice cracked like a whip. "You will leave. Now."

"Mother—"

"Now."

You raised your hand slightly, and a servant materialized at Soraya's elbow. Your daughter rose, trembling with fury but trained too well to make a scene. As she was led away, you turned back to Zina, who sat with her mouth still open in shock.

"My daughter speaks out of turn," you said softly, "but she is young, and protective of her family. I trust you understand." You lifted her cup in a subtle mockery of a toast. "After all, we can't all have the advantage of proper breeding."

The musicians played on, and somewhere in the hall, Arman's laughter rang out again. You caught sight of General Dastan watching your daughter's retreat with an expression of mixed alarm and fascination.

Good, you thought. Let him see exactly what he'd be getting if he pursued this match. Your daughter might never be a proper court lady, but she had something far more valuable – the courage to bare her fangs when those she loved were threatened.

[kikyoupdates]

Changing Plotlines ⭑˚💞⭑ 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑝

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

A desperate cry on your deathbed leads to you being given a fresh start at life. You're overjoyed at having finally obtained a healthy body and a real chance at living normally, only to discover that you've been transported into a yandere game, where danger lurks at every corner. Determined to protect your new life at any cost, you vow to stay as far away from the major characters of the game as possible. But things don't always go as planned.

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Sergei Garin. A major supporting character in Zodin’s Benevolence, and a man unfortunate enough to have fallen in love with the protagonist, unaware of how many twisted yanderes were pining for her affection.  

The game branched off from the main storyline after the player picked enough choices that would put them on a certain yandere’s route. Needless to say, regardless of whoever’s route it was, Sergei ended up dead in some shape or form. He wasn’t always killed off by one of the yanderes, but his self-sacrificial nature, especially towards the protagonist, sealed his fate no matter what. He would either protect the protagonist until his dying breath, or be killed off by a yandere when they discovered Sergei’s romantic feelings towards her.  

Put simply, he didn’t have any good endings. Which is why seeing him here, right in front of your very eyes, was something both awe-inducing and incredibly depressing. He didn’t even know it yet, but his days were numbered.  

Is it possible to keep him from dying? So long as he doesn’t meet the protagonist, then... 

You quickly shook your head. No, you couldn’t think like that. You’d already made up your mind not to interfere with the canon events of the game. If you tried to protect Sergei, you could unwittingly place yourself in danger. As upsetting as it was, you couldn’t risk interfering.  

“Er, my lady?” Sergei frowned. “Is everything alright? Were you perhaps expecting someone else...?”  

“Not at all!” you spluttered. “I’m very happy you’re here! Sorry, I’m just really eager to start training, so I guess I must look like I’m a bit out of it. It’s nice to meet you, Sergei. I’m [Name], as you already know. Thank you for making the effort to be here on such short notice.”  

“It would have been discourteous to refuse your family’s request. Although, it was certainly a rather strange request,” he said with a knit brow.  

You laughed. “Right. Sorry. It’s probably not every day a noblewoman decides to take up sword-fighting. But I’ve always been interested in it, and what’s the harm in learning to protect myself?”  

“It’s far from traditional,” he admitted, “but I’m not one to scorn a person looking to hone their strength. If this is truly what you want to do, I will do my best to facilitate the process for you.”  

“Great! So, can I try swinging a sword now?”  

“I’d say it’s a bit early for wielding a real blade, so you can start with a wooden sword first.” He removed the bag he’d been carrying over his shoulders and pulled out two wooden swords. One of them was noticeably bigger than the other. He handed you the smallest of the two. 

You weighed the object in your hands. “It’s a bit heavier than I was expecting. Aren’t these things usually hollow on the inside?”  

“They can be. But I thought it was better for you to get used to something with a bit more weight to it, especially since a real sword is quite heavy.”  

“Pfft, I’m sure I can handle it,” you waved off, grossly overconfident for some reason.  

Sergei gave you an unimpressed look. “And what makes you so sure?”  

“Uh... I’m optimistic?”  

“I see. So, no real reason, then.”  

“Ugh.” You obviously couldn’t tell him that you’d watched countless anime and were stupidly hoping that the moves you’d seen there could be somehow applied to real life.  

Sergei took a step back and crossed his arms. “Show me how you would swing that thing. Treat it as if it is a real sword. Go on, I’m curious to see what kind of approach you’ll have.”  

“Ready to be impressed?” you grinned.  

“No, not really.”  

“Hey!”  

Sergei looked like he wanted to crack a smile, but he maintained his stern, stoic expression. He wasn’t fooling you. You already knew full well from the game that despite his serious-looking face and rather blunt mannerisms, he was a real gentleman at heart.  

“Okay... here goes nothing!”  

You inhaled sharply, gathering up all your energy, then proceeded to lunge forward and slash the wooden sword through the air, in a downwards motion.  

“Ooh, that actually felt pretty powerful!” you enthused, turning towards Sergei with a bright smile. “Well? How was it? Amazing, huh?”  

Sergei’s expression hadn’t changed. “Definitely not amazing.”  

“But pretty good, though?”  

“Definitely not good.”  

“Uh... at least sort of okay?”  

He didn’t respond, which made you nervous. What was the big deal? It was just a wooden sword, for crying out loud! And it was your first time swinging one. For a total newbie, it couldn’t have been that bad. 

“Sort of okay,” Sergei hummed, pressing his forefinger against his lips. “I suppose that’s a reasonably accurate description. Then again, it’s only a wooden sword. If you were to replicate that same motion with a real sword, your score would drop considerably.”  

“You’re scoring me?” you gaped.  

He tapped on his head, smiling faintly. “In here, yes. But I’ll be keeping your scores to myself, so as not to discourage you.”  

“That just means I suck!”  

“There’s no point in getting worked up right at the start. Come on, try swinging it again. This time, adjust your grip so that it stays higher on the hilt. It’ll be easier for you to swing it that way. And make sure to keep your torso firm. A strong foundation is what determines how hard your attack will hit.”  

“Like this?” you asked, inadvertently arching your back. 

“What? No, that’s not—ah, I’ll just show you myself,” he sighed, picking up his own sword. “Look closely now. See how I hold the sword, and what angle I’m striking at. See how my body stays perfectly straight and doesn’t wobble around the way yours does.”  

It was only a wooden sword, but you could swear you felt the air in front of you being sliced in half. His motion left a distinct whipping noise behind, fierce enough that it rang in your ears.  

Sergei looked back towards you. “Do you understand now?”  

“Totally,” you nodded. “Basically, it’s all about how big your muscles are.”  

“I see you’ve understood nothing.”  

“I was just kidding! Look, I’ll do it again.” You took up your stance, tensing up just enough that your torse was nice and stable, just like Sergei had said. With even more strength than before, you stepped forward and swung downwards. “Hyah!”  

You were hoping to have been met with enthusiastic clapping, but Sergei was merely staring at you in disbelief.  

“What was that sound you just made?”  

“A battle cry, I think.”  

“I can assure you it was not a battle cry,” he frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And a lady like you shouldn’t be making such vocalizations anyways.”  

“But I thought a battle cry drastically enhances your physical prowess.”  

“...”   

“I'm getting the impression that you might not want to be here.”  

“You’re imagining it,” Sergei coughed into his hand. “Anyways. It was... better, I suppose. But you still need a lot more work. Keep repeating that same motion with your wooden sword, and I’ll be watching you to make sure you have proper form.”  

“But that’s boring,” you whined. “I want to move on to using a real sword. A wooden sword won’t be enough to protect myself with.”  

“I understand that you’re excited, but why do you keep stressing that you’ll need to protect yourself?” he frowned. “A lady like you should never have to fear for her safety. Is there something in particular you’re worried about?”  

Yes. The crazy bastards that live in this world.  

“Not really,” you lied. “But you never know what could go wrong, right? It’s best to be prepared for even the worst-case scenario. It’s a dangerous world out there for women, you know.”  

“That’s certainly true,” Sergei nodded. “I must say, you’re quite earnest, trying to prepare yourself for situations like that. It doesn’t exactly match your personality.”  

“Hey, what’s wrong with my personality?”  

“Nothing, of course.” He bit back a chuckle. “Forgive me. I just meant that of all the noblewomen I’ve ever met, you stand out quite a bit. You don’t seem anywhere near as concerned with etiquette, and you’re even treating someone like me as your equal. Perhaps that’s why I’ve gotten comfortable voicing my opinions.”  

“Well, that’s not surprising,” you said, proudly sticking your nose into the air. “I am pretty amazing.”

“And your boundless confidence leaves nothing to be desired, that’s for sure.”  

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”  

“Yes, please do.”  

You rolled your eyes at him, though it was in a playful, well-intentioned way. Even if Sergei’s tale was a sad one, you were happy to be interacting with one of your favorite characters from the game. There were few genuinely good people in Zodin’s Benevolence, apart from the protagonist, and he was definitely one of them.  

“Just you wait,” you huffed. “I’m going to become so good at wielding a sword, I’ll surpass you in no time.”  

Although Sergei’s expression was stern, his eyes were filled with mirth.  

“I look forward to seeing it.”  

In the end, you hadn’t gotten to use a real sword even once during your training session with Sergei. It was a bit disappointing, but he was the instructor, so you had no choice but to trust in his judgment. It was probably for the best that you build up some skills and confidence first, before attempting the real deal. Plus, the plot had yet to officially begin, so you weren’t in any imminent danger.  

Your parents frantically approached you after your session was over, checking you all over for any cuts or bruises. When you told them you hadn’t even gotten to try out a proper sword yet, they exhaled loudly. Look at you, endlessly worrying your parents even in a different world. Some things never changed.  

Still, you felt confident about the way you were choosing to approach things. There was no reason to afraid so long as you never interacted with the yanderes or the protagonist. Although the initial revelation about being transported into a game had come as a massive shock, you could very well live out a happy life here, just like you’d always wanted.  

“You seem like you’re having a good time.”  

Sometime after your training had come to an end, and you were relaxing in a bubble bath, you began to hear an oddly familiar, distinctively masculine voice in your head.  

“Hello?” you jolted, glancing around. There was no one, as expected. You were all alone in the bathroom, and even your bedroom was empty since the servants had left to give you space to relax. 

No response came, so you sank deeper into the bath, knitting your brows together. Was it just your imagination? A lot of strange things had happened to you recently, so you wouldn’t be surprised if you were hearing the odd remark every now and then. But that voice... you knew you’d heard it somewhere before. It was practically on the tip of your tongue.  

“Hehe. It’s fun watching you get all worked up over nothing. Your reactions are so expressive.”  

“Um—?!” You glanced around for the second time, but there was nobody there again. The voice was definitely coming from your head, and based on what it was saying, it didn’t seem like it was just your imagination.  

You clutched your arms around your chest, though the bubbles concealed most of everything, because apparently, they could see you right now.  

“This isn’t cool,” you muttered. “Whoever you are, can you give it a rest? How are you even talking to me right now? You’re freaking me out.”  

“I’m afraid that’s a secret. You’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure.”  

Great. As if you didn’t already have enough things to worry about with yanderes dominating the major plot of this world, now you had some creepy voice that could talk to you whenever it liked. And why did it sound so familiar? 

Could it be...?  

You didn’t know for certain, since you’d literally been dying at the time, but a strange voice had called out to you back then too. That voice was the whole reason you’d been transported here in the first place. Was this that same voice? The higher power that had saved you and given you a new chance at life?  

“Are you the one that saved me when I was dying?” you asked.  

No response. Either they had no idea what you were talking about, or they really were the same being from before, and they were deliberating avoiding your question.  

“Fine, don’t respond,” you sighed, lathering bubbles and squishing them between your palms.  

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I definitely didn’t save anyone who was dying.”  

Ah, so they were still here.  

“Who are you, then?”  

“Like I said—that’s a secret.”  

“Ugh. Great. Looks like I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” 

“I’m not here to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just here to observe. Don’t worry about me and just focus on what you’ve been doing up until now. It’s quite amusing.”  

You weren’t sure how you felt about someone calling your life amusing, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. At the very least, you knew whoever this was wasn’t one of the yanderes, because none of them had these kinds of strange powers. The owner of the voice had promised not to hurt you, still, you weren’t sure how much you could trust them, especially since you didn’t even know who they were.  

For the time being, you just had one simple request.

“Please don’t spy on me while I’m taking a bath from now on,” you said crossly.  

Instead of answering, the voice laughed.

More chapters are available on Quotev!

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[trainingdummyrabbit]

ok. ready now. talking about manager!donqui's story log ^w^

ok so first of all. fucking adore the way this one was written. its worded very vividly, and the way it builds up to the culmination of their actions, their emotions, circling around and around itself, again and again, redefining itself slowly, bit by bit. the slow descent from "it must be for the best" to "the family is suffering" to "Something Has To Be Done" was Very delicious.

that slow creep of distance between quixote and the family. from watching from behind a pillar, to across the hall, from the description of echoing laughter to him and the knight being in a little world of his own-- eventually to going off entirely by himself. [Step by step. One; Two; Three.]

especially taken by the description of the way the human guests regarded them- "...polite and innocent affability, at worst." / "Our sacrifice was all it took to perpetuate this idyllic reality. / … Yes. Our sacrifice, and only our sacrifice." the silent implication that not only were they nothing in the eyes of the guests, but that what they had to suffer through was an 'acceptable sacrifice'. that none of it mattered.

and then, the description of how sancho interacts with the rest of the family. dotted with awkward silences, this odd discomfort... but still so clearly noting that the entire time; she Had watched. she Had listened. she had simply never acted upon any of it before. perhaps never know How. especially the end of rodya's snippet-- allowing her to go off on her own, but quickly deciding to accompany her, as "It would be easier for you to have me there to smooth things out." as if she too began to understand the way sancho acts. knowing she has difficulty with that communication and preparing for it, yes; but also the fact that she is going out of her way to assist. no longer so intently avoiding one another.

(also intently thinking about "I merely thought to break the ice, given that you have remained entirely silent since the moment you stepped into this room." god. man. Man.)

i do think about the fact, though. that even as the cracks began forming, even as they were committing that Sin-- not a single time did it seem to focus on Sancho and Her Emotions, Personally. implications were there, yes, but the thread of the story dances around them, leaves them undefined. simply; "it must be for the best." "hating that echoing laughter-" "for The Family to be sealed away for another eternity--" "...while I bear the responsibility and the guilt; … go seek the happiness that you lost." she continues to completely avoid Herself as a factor. she takes this weight entirely upon herself. despite her opening up more to the family, she refuses to engage with how all of this afflicts Her. its painfully restrained.

the implication this "happiness" was not meant for her. that "dreaming" wasnt something that was in her bounds to reach for. and killing their father was the final nail in the coffin, asserting all of this to be undeniable, unbreakable. A Simple Truth. in this act, she proves his actions to be just as foolish as she had insisted them to be, and bars herself from ever thinking about them again. a conflict of ideals with no mediator.

"… but for me— … No, for us, our Family… it was nothing more than a culmination of our worst nightmares." / "In my hand that wielded the lance ... lingered a foreign and unfamiliar sensation. / My very own thoughts then are alien to me. How did I feel as I buried their still living bodies into the earth? How did I feel as I so mercilessly tore through their skulls? / I open my eyes and look at my hands, sodden with sweat. I wipe them dry." her complete and utter dismissal of self. 'I wipe them dry,' almost as if to disregard, to hide the proof of her emotions. the implication that the guilt she felt killing her family members on quixote's command was so immense she went to the priest on her own volition, only to immediately take up some of his burden instead of actually addressing that clear distress she was under.

the way her final words are interspersed with narration of her father, the rain, the collapse of la manchaland. her words speak of forward motion, but her eyes remain rooted to the spot. she cannot, and does not look away. sancho noticing quixote's hesitance, being the one to plead to him to stop. he doesnt fight back. "As if to say that his love for us hasn't changed." she breaks it with her own hands, but that tie between them doesnt fully snap. and instead, in the face of this sin she has committed, she relegates herself to holding the family aloft.

and in a way, she really does become him.

[mc-critical]

Bonus:

2.22 (46) / 2.24 (48) / 2.25 (49) / 2.35 (59) / 2.39 (63)

[obsesssedblerd]

You look up from your book to see your husband standing over the bassinet with his arms crossed, his brow raising as he looks down inside of it with a tiny scowl. He stays like that for about a minute. You sit up in your shared bed, then call out to him. “Ryo.” 

“Hm.” He doesn’t look up. 

“May I ask what you are doing?” 

“The little brat is staring,” Sukuna says matter-of-factly. “I am simply staring at her in return.” 

Inside of the bassinet, your baby daughter coos. Her scarlet eyes—exactly like her father’s—glitter with interest. You hear her giggle, and you scoff lightly and return your gaze to your book. “She thinks you’re playing a game.” 

“I am doing no such thing.” 

You flip a page. “Put a hand over your face for a few seconds.” He doesn’t respond, but you know he listens. “M’kay, now lift.” There’s silence for a few seconds, then your daughter bursts into a fit of giggles. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “I do not understand what is so entertaining about that.” When you look up again, you see that he’s covering his face again, then revealing himself to get the same reaction from the baby.

“It’s called peek-a-boo. It’s a game most babies love to play.” 

The little princess babbles as she lifts her arms up, and Sukuna tilts his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You snicker. “One: You’ll figure out what she’s saying the more you talk with her. Two: She wants you to pick her up.” 

He sighs dramatically, then reaches into the bassinet to pick up the small girl. Though she has her father’s eyes, she has your hair, the shape of your nose, and your ears. She also has your fearlessness, because she smiles directly in the face of the king of curses. Now at his eye level, she reaches her arms towards him excitedly. “What is it now, you brat? I’m already carrying you.” 

He looks over at you in question, and your smile grows. “She wants to touch your face,” you say. 

“Why?” 

“Because she’s a baby, and she’s curious.” 

Sukuna pulls her closer, and once in range, his daughter lays her tiny hands against his marked face. She giggles more, and you can see his eyes soften. “Hmph. You have your mother’s smile.” 

— — — —

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen where you hear Sukuna speaking with someone. When he turns to the side, you see your daughter nestled in the crook of one of his muscular arms, staring up at him as he concluded whatever story he was telling her. 

“...At the end of the battle, only I remained. Victory was mine.” 

The baby babbles excitedly, and Sukuna scoffs. “Ha, you will do no such thing. How do you expect to join me in battle when you aren’t even a year old, brat?” 

Her face scrunches in what looks like annoyance, and she repeats to him what he taught her the night before. “Hmph.” 

You burst into laughter, and Sukuna raises a brow at the little girl in his arms. “Great. Your mother’s smile, and her attitude.”

[koling2345]

Simon with a young and soft girlfriend. NSFW

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was completely whipped for you, would do anything you asked without question, he'd kiss even the ground you walked on, just say the word and he'll do it.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Bought a new cell phone just to talk to you, his old cubicle could barely hold a video call with you, and now he could finally listen to you chatting away with him every time he had free time. And.. You also sent him some really nice pictures, and he kept them all on his new cell phone for his own personal use.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Sometimes it took him a while to catch up with you in all your youth, not physically, but in your interests, hobbies, the games you liked, series you watched. He wasn't that old, but keeping up with everything you did wasn't that easy, but he tried to get into your vibe. Give him a few days, he'll soon have everything in a notebook, the game you're so excited about, he'll soon be talking with you about it. He makes a point of knowing something or other, just to get into your world, to make you happy.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Melted in place when you showed off your new hoodie, which had his name, 'Riley, written right across the chest. You looked so beautiful wearing an outfit with his name written on it, as if it were a ownership, and he was grateful that you wore the hoodie without any shame, proudly showing who you belonged to.

Boyfriend! Simon who: After listening to you nagging him all week to get a hoodie just like yours, with your name on it, he finally gave in and made one. Just like yours, it had your name on the chest, showing everyone what a couple you two were. As much as he thought it was corny to wear matching clothes, he didn't mind if it was with you. He even put a Kuromi print on his hoodie, since you almost cried for him to put something from Hello Kitty on it. Sometimes he hated this cat and her derivatives, but he did it for you. All for his princess.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Always bought things for you, every time he came to see you, he never came empty-handed. Were you on your period? He would bring you chocolates and flowers, along with your favorite snacks. Did you pass through a store and want to buy something? Well, it'll be at your house as soon as possible. If he couldn't bring it himself, you could be sure that the package would arrive at your house the next day. He wasn't petty, he had plenty of money to spend and he liked spending it on you.

Boyfriend! Simon who: When he went out with you, he wouldn't let you spend a penny, no matter if you wanted a simple ice-cream, he would pay for you. And if he saw your eyes glazing over at something you saw in the shop window, he'd go and pick it up with you. Every time you went out together, you always came back with several bags of shopping, along with the plushies you loved so much. Simon didn't even know how you were going to fit more stuffed animals into your room, with all the stuff you already had.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Is a complete gentleman to you, carries your bag, always takes his helmet off you, as well as before you get on his bike, he attaches the helmet in place himself. He's the type to take you on his arms, just to stop you stepping in a puddle of water and getting your feet wet. And if you're tired, he'll carry you like a princess all the way home without complaint.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Is quite jealous of you, you're young, beautiful, and you're with an old geezer like him. Although he recognized his own value, he couldn't help but feel a sense of possession over you every time someone looked at you with ulterior motives. As a result, he would always mark you on the neck, or put a hand around your waist, always putting a part of himself in you so that everyone would know who you belonged to.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was a completely kind prince to you on the streets, but he would wreck you inside the bedroom. He loved that you were all submissive to him, always taking him so well, accommodating him as if you were made for it. Even if he opened you all up with his fat cock, your tight cunt would stretch to accommodate him, it was like heaven on earth.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Made you bend over all night, fucking you on all fours, your ass up while he admired the new panties you made such a point of showing off to him. 'Simon's' was the writing on the lace, just seeing you wearing it made his cock throb, he took several photos of you wearing the panties, as well as giving you a good spanking session while you were over his knees, just because you loved being his good little girl.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Recorded a video as soon as he had worn you out on the bed, pulling his cock out of you, to see the mess coming out of your pussy that was full, opening your folds just to see his cum running down your thighs. Your cunt full of him, leaking because he came so hard in you. It's not his fault, seeing you on your stomach, your panties written 'Simon's', you were begging to be fucked. And he'd love to watch the video he recorded himself, his time alone at the base would be lovely.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Had a photo of you on his cell phone, bent over his knee while wearing a short skirt and thigh-high stockings, ass up, pink lace panties. On top of that, a bright red mark on your ass, the mark of the slap he had given you minutes before taking the photo, he is very proud to use this picture, and he's not shy if someone caught it. In addition, the lock screen photo was of you smiling while wearing his famous balaclava, one of the few times he let you touch the mask. Not that he regrets it.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Knew he was going on a dangerous mission, he didn't know when he was coming back, or if he was coming back. So a week before going on said mission, he took a whole week to spend with you. No work, no nothing, just him and you.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Fucked you all week, on your stomach, bending over, missionary, cowgirl, on the wall, living room, bedroom, bathroom, table, floor. Any surface he could slide his thick cock into your folds was fine with him. He couldn't stand the sight of you bending down to pick something up, or when you wore his clothes inside the house. The sight automatically made his cock throb, hard as a rock to fuck you again, always making sure to fill you with his seed, to the point where it was leaking out of you. Only then is he sure that he's filled you to the brim, like a good boyfriend does.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Wasn't very good with goodbyes, so he fucked you all night, all night he had you in a missionary, that's when he wasn't burying himself between your legs. He filled you up so well that night, the bed was full of wet spots, your pussy as full as ever, he'd leave you leaking with his cum, mixing your mess with his, just to bury himself in you and start all over again. He was relentless. His job was done, since you slept like an angel that night.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Went out on his mission early in the morning, grateful that you were out like a light, covered in sucks and marks from last night, making him tempted to go back to bed and hold on to you. But he couldn't, so he settled for a kiss on your lips and forehead. His farewell was a handwritten letter, explaining the details and saying that he loved you very much and would come back to you. Even so, it wasn't enough to prevent the tears that fell down your cheeks when you found out everything.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Even though he was on the battlefield, he couldn't stop thinking about you, always trying to maintain some kind of contact, sending messages every time he had a second of time, and if it was possible, when he was resting, he would call you. Every time the mission dragged on, he felt a sense of dread in his chest. Simon couldn't have realized how important you were, and that scared him, because for the first time in a long time, he was afraid that he wouldn't be alive to finish the mission. He promised himself that if he made it out alive, he would ask for your hand in marriage.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Stayed in a very remote area, his cell phone didn't work there, and he had no way of communicating with you, and that killed him inside, not being able to know how you were. And you were worried to death, thinking the worst.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Came home after four and a half months, of those four months he spent three without being able to talk to you. So as soon as he got off the plane that brought him back, he went to your apartment, stopping first at a jewelry store to buy you a ring, and he spared no expense. You were going to be his wife.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was all giddy about arriving at your house, preparing to give you a surprise. As well as coming back alive, he was going to ask you to marry him, get on his knees for you. Then he rang the doorbell, still dressed in his work uniform, the box with the ring in one hand, and your favorite flowers in the other.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you after all this time. It wasn't just emotion, his eyes caught your form, wearing one of his shirts, which barely did the job of covering your swollen belly. Well, it seems, he wasn't the only one with a surprise.

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ not for the money

x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: you are scared that rafe thinks you’re only in the relationship for his money

WORD COUNT: 833

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: soft!rafe cameron

the scent of saltwater and pine carried through the open balcony door of rafe cameron’s bedroom, where you perched, fidgeting with the hem of your sundress. it had been a week since you overheard them—the cruel whispers in the back of the country club that claimed you were only with Rafe for his money.

“she’s so lucky,” one girl had sneered. “he pays for everything. i wouldn’t lift a finger either if i had a guy like that.”

“she’s totally using him,” one said, her tone dripping with disdain. “i mean, look at her. rafe’s always paying for everything.”

“right?” the other chimed in. “hair, nails, those dinners? she’s just in it for the money.”

another had laughed. “she just loves the chanel.”

the words striked you like a blow. was that really how people saw you? you’d never thought of yourself as someone who’d take advantage of him, but now, doubt crept in, wrapping around your chest like a vise.

their words kept echoeing in your head as rafe entered the room, his usual confident swagger softened by the adoration in his eyes. he set a bag from your favorite boutique on the dresser—a clear sign that he’d picked up yet another surprise for you.

“hey, sweet girl,” he said, crossing the room to kiss your temple. “i got you something.”

your chest tightened, guilt swarming you.

“baby,” you started, forcing a smile as you turned to face him. “you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” he interrupted, his brows knitting together. “what’s mine is yours, sweet girl. you know that.”

you hesitated, the nagging doubts pulling at your resolve. if the people at the club thought you were a gold digger, you couldn’t stand the idea of him believing it too.

so, that’s when you decided: no more gifts, no more dates entirely on his dime. you were going to prove that you loved him for him.

the next week, your new approach to things began to show.

at your usual dinner spot, when the waiter brought the check, you quickly grabbed it before rafe could.

“what are you doing?” Rafe asked, blinking at you in confusion.

“splitting it,” you said firmly, pulling out your card.

“splitting?” He looked at you like you’d spoken a foreign language. “babe, no, put that away.”

“rafe,” you insisted, your tone leaving no room for argument. “i’m paying for my half.”

he frowned, but he let you do it. that frown deepened over the next few days as he noticed more changes: no more nail or hair appointments showing up on his credit card statement, no impromptu shopping trips with bags of chanel or prada waiting at your apartment.

by the time your next date rolled around, he’d had enough.

“okay,” he said, sliding into the booth across from you at the diner. “spill.”

“spill what?” you asked innocently, focusing intently on your menu.

“don’t play coy, sweet girl. i know you. you’ve been acting weird all week. no more letting me pay, no more gifts—what’s going on?”

you sighed, setting the menu down. “i just… i overheard some people at the club. they think i’m using you just for your money. and i don’t want you to ever think that too.”

his expression softened instantly, and he reached across the table, taking your hand in his.

“baby,” he murmured, his voice low and full of affection. “that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard.”

you looked at him, surprised by his reaction. “rafe—”

“no, listen to me,” he said firmly. “i don’t care what those people say. they don’t know you. i know you. you’ve been there for me when no one else has. you’ve stuck around through my worst. you think i’m dumb enough to think it’s about the money?”

you blinked, his words sinking in.

“i buy you things because i can and want to,” he continued. “because you deserve the world, and i want to give it to you. not because i think you need it, or because i think it’s the only way to keep you around. got it?”

tears pricked at your eyes, and you nodded. “i just… i didn’t want you to feel like i was taking advantage of you.”

he chuckled softly, standing up to slide into the booth beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“sweet girl,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. don’t let some jealous nobodies make you think otherwise.”

you leaned into him, a small smile creeping onto your face.

“okay,” you whispered.

“good,” he said, pulling out his card as the waiter approached. “now let me pay for dinner, and stop being weird.”

you laughed, swatting at his chest. “fine, rafe. you win.”

and as you sat there, wrapped in his arms, you finally let yourself believe it—rafe cameron loved you for you as you loved rafe cameron for rafe cameron.

and that was more valuable than anything money could buy.

[gravegoer]

sevika, grayson and ambessa cuddling hcs 🥹🥹 i love them

Cuddling the butches -`✮´-

thank you for the ask, anon. heres some sevika , grayson , and ambessa because the last fic a while ago got a lot of love (rightfully so) <3 !!!

more of them , masterlist

Ambessa loves being the big spoon, pressed up behind you with one of her thick arms under your head, the other grabbing at your torso.

It's calming for you both when you trace over the scars on her arm under your head, leaving small kisses trailing after your fingers. She shows her appreciation by returning the favor and running her hands under your shirt to trail up your stomach.

If you grew ticklish at your touch, she would reluctantly stop, punctuating her actions with a kiss to the shell of your ear.

Sometimes, you would roll over to lay on her chest, her back now against the bed and her arm over your shoulders.

This way, she could see your face and admire your features with a smirk. Loving the way you look up at her with sleepy eyes and a smile gracing your lips.

Her chest was thick and comfortable to lay on, hearing her heavy heartbeat in your ear. This was one of your favorite sounds, and did its job at lulling you to sleep.

These were just your activities before you fell asleep, but once you do thats when the fun begins..

She was unusually hot when she slept (not just temperature wise). Sometimes, you'd have to throw the blankets off you both in the middle of the night just for some freedom.

And the fact that she is as close as possible to you doesn't help either. But on cold nights, you appreciated it, snuggling your face closer into her arms to feel the heat.

Her snores were deep and loud. That woman is always in a deep DEEP sleep. Sometimes, it woke you up, but you didn't mind. It just gave you more time to relish being in her arms.

Sevika is just a big softie, she wont admit it in words, but she loves being little spoon.

You definitely have to stretch your limbs a bit to wrap around her frame, but it's okay. it's for her. Usually, you can wrap your legs around her waist and hold her shoulders. She feels safe.

Sometimes she will turn around and put her face in your chest so that she doesnt have to face the world (just your tits).

She likes to inhale your scent and hear your heartbeat, and it makes it easier for you to stroke her hair and hum to her.

In that position she has her thick arm wrapped around your waist, holding you to the bed. (God knows she only needs one thats why she was nerfed)

She doesn't wear her mechanical arm to bed most of the time in fear of hurting you or crushing you with it.

But sometimes she will be lazy and just throw a pillow around her metal arm so that she can hold you still.

If you had a bad day, she insists you lay in her lap, face in her stomach while she smokes a cigarillo.

To add to that, have you seen her thighs? You fall asleep instantly due to comfort. And shes not complaining.

And if you are really sleepy, she will carry you around the house with one arm whilst doing her daily tasks. (Have you seen her wrangle isha with one arm?)

If she needs to step away for a second, she sits you on the counter, leaving you to huff at her absence before immediately picking you back up again.

Grayson is definitely the type of person to like the weight of someone's body on top of hers.

Just lay on her, legs on both sides of her hips and arms around her neck. She doesn't need a weighted blanket while you're sleeping over.

It's also easy to plant kisses on her neck and jaw, soothing her to sleep.

She also has a bunch of pillows, and you both wake up with them all over the floor (you might also be on the floor)

She is tossing in turning in her sleep every night. She was born this way, and if you do it too then you might be kick boxing eachother in your sleep.

Also, she will let you sit on her back while she lies on her stomach, pressing at her tense muscles and running your fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck.

When you are having a hard time falling asleep, she will soothe you with her husky/gravelly voice right in your ear. You can feel her hot breath on the side of your face while she whispers sweet nothings to you.

I know she's a dream to wake up to, her hair sprawled out all over the pillow and skin illuminated by the sun rise (NEED THAT).

When you wear her clothes to sleep, beware because you might not be sleeping for the next hour (that probably goes for everyone on this list..)

And her gun is always at her bedside. She is strapped and ready to protect you.

i know i said im on hiatus but shh...im posting drafts... i swear

[sturnsdarling]

'Chris likes girls who don't like him back'

Late night streaming with your best friends turns to a conversation about the boys' type, and Chris gets called out

vibe check: flirty fluffy fun, 3/4 of my favourite f words

1.4k words

A/N: i had this idea literally straight away after what Matt said about Chris' type.........the idea of being Chris' best friend that he openly fancies but you're 'not interested' makes MY TOES CURL BRO LIKE ARE YOU KIDDING anyway I hope you love this. PART TWO IS INCOMING…

love and cigs, merc

"Matt he's right there what the fuck are you doing?!" you scream down the mic, nearly throwing your controller across the room as you jolt back in your chair.

You watch as Matt gets sniped in the head from the back, laughing as he wails on this desk, making the whole stream glitch and nearly crash. Chris is laughing along with you, trying not to make it obvious that he's watching you, and not Matt.

"Matt, bro you need to fuckin' up your game, y/n/n is actually carrying us right now." Chris says as Matt picks his chair up off the floor and sits back down in a huff.

"I always carry when I come on with you boys" you smirk, looking at the tiny square of Chris on your screen.

"yeah because you're a little sweat" Matt chuckles.

The boys had been streaming everyday for over a week now and, after some convincing, they managed to get you to join in on one of their games. At first you were apprehensive, obviously, but they explained that they were trying to diversify their platform and find a more mature audience so, actually interacting with girls on the internet was their first step.

You and the boys had been friends for forever, you met them through Nick in elementary school and had basically all been inseparable ever since, you'd been in some earlier videos but the fans back then made it very difficult to just exist around them so, you took it upon yourself to only exist in their real life, not their online one.

Cut to right now, you're nearly two hours deep in fortnite trios with the boys on stream, everyone was super excited to see you when they announced that they'd be joining and, other than a couple comments that you all ignored, it was going really well.

"Matt, someone asked what our types are" Chris laughed, reading the chat.

"I'm not answering that" Matt dead panned, screwing his face up at the camera

"I can answer it for you both, for sure" you chuckle, "chat do you want me to answer it?"

"yes, yes, yes, yes, omg yes" Chris was reeling off the answers in chat, "everyone wants y/n/n to answer, Matt should we let her?" Chris asked.

Matt rolled his eyes with a smile, "g'head, y/n/n, expose us" He chuckled.

"okay, so" you said, in your best girly gossip voice, "Matt likes nerdy, reader, soft girls" you begin to explain, your train of thought is interrupted by Chris erupting into laughter.

"dude she's so right! you love a girl that looks like she's always buried in a book" Chris wails.

"what are you guys even saying?" Matt complains, the smile etched across his face giving his tone a lot less power.

"you definitely want a girl who will go on a hike with you or some shit, Matt" You say, enjoying this whole interaction a bit too much.

Chris was keeled over in laughter, loving finally being able to talk about this kind of stuff on the internet without everyone going insane.

"I dunno why you're laughing so much, Chris, you're next" Matt states, Chris shrugs in reply.

"i don't give a fuck, call me out y/n/n, gimme the best you got" Chris sits back in his chair, arms folded over his chest.

"hmmmm" you say, exaggerating your thinking, "what is the famous Christopher Sturniolos type" you rub your chin, pretending to be thinking deeply.

A knowing smirk is spread wide across Chris' face as he stares at your face on his screen, tongue prodding the side of his cheek.

"I know Chris' type" Matt adds, a menacing smile on his face.

"g'head matt, you take this one" you gesture to the boy on your screen.

"Chris likes girls who don't like him back" Matts brows raise in accusation towards Chris.

You try and hide the smile forming on your face, attempting to look as focused on the game as possible as your tongue prods at your teeth. Neither of the boys say anything, both of them cheesing, Matt in a teasing and knowing kind of way and Chris more so in a 'I cant say what I wanna say' kind of way.

"damn, Matt, you just called me the fuck out" Chris shakes his head, looking to the tiny version of you on his screen.

You're still quiet, trying to fight the smile on your face and look as focused as possible, you catch Chris looking as if he's looking at you on his screen and shake your head with a chuckle.

"what you grinnin' at, kid?" Chris smirks.

You raise your brows, shaking your head with a downwards smile, "no, nothin', nothin" you say, returning your focus back to the game.

All of the viewers watched the interaction and were blowing up the chat with comments about how Chris definitely likes you, saying things like 'did you guys see that?!', and 'think they're slick look at how they're both smiling!!!!!'. Chris was reading the comments and trying to hide the red blush crawling its way onto his cheeks, Matt was relishing in the fact that Chris was so obviously nervous, and you were just trying not to react.

"Chris, dude, you better wipe that smile off your face, chat's onto you" Matt pokes the bear.

"chat ain't onto shit, Matt, shut the fuck up" Chris says, trying to be serious but unable to push his smile down.

"you know i'm right though, you do like girls who don't want you" Matt pushed on with his joke.

"Matt, shut your fuckin' mouth, dude" Chris rolled his eyes and shook his head, his smile still prevalent.

You couldn't help but laugh, still pretending to not care about the situation unfolding. In hindsight, it probably made it all the more obvious that you knew exactly what Matt was referring to.

"you're awful quiet, y/n/n, you got nothing to say on Chris' type?" Matt extends his joke over to you and your attention is immediately on him.

"nah, you hit the nail on the head, I think" you shrug, stretching back in your chair and adjusting your headset.

"oh really?" Chris replies, brows raised in accusation.

"mhm" you nod, faux innocently.

Chris kisses his teeth, nodding and trying to hide the smile on his face once again.

"yeah, chat, Matts right, I like pretty girls, who don't like me back" Chris says, subtly turning his attention to you and then back to chat.

You roll your eyes with a smile, leaning forward once more to lock into the game.

"you're ridiculous, Chris" Matt chuckles into the mic, watching you shift in your seat, trying not to blush.

The rest of the game went off without a hitch, you guys went on to win multiple times and all the viewers eventually stopped trying to get the conversation back to Chris' obvious crush on you. You played until the early hours of the morning, joking and laughing with the boys' just like old times and relishing in the fact that you were finally able to be a part of their online presence again. When it hit around three a.m you told them you had to sign off, explaining that you had to be up early for college that morning.

"guys, I gotta go, but I'll text you when I wake up" you said, pulling off your headset, and brushing your hair back with your hand.

"alright, y/n/n, thanks for helping us bury kids, its always a treat" Matt grinned at you, shooting you his token boyish smile.

"you know I live to humble kids on fort, Matt" You shrugged, putting on your best boyish persona, earning a laugh from Matt

"okay seriously, I gotta go, bye chat!" you smile, "bye boys" you go to switch off your computer but you're stopped by Chris booming voice.

"bye, beautiful" he says, a cheesy grin on his face.

your eyes roll to the back of your head as an uncontrollable smile finds your lips, "bye, Chris" you reply, switching off your computer.

The whole chat erupts with people losing their minds over Chris calling you beautiful, the boys say nothing, Matt just shakes his head, laughing at the chat as he watches Chris, grinning with pride and completely unashamed of his very obvious crush on you.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10

[zylev-blog]

Batman opened the door, catching the falling body that had come out of the tube. Glowing green Lazarus water flowed around his feet, but he didn’t care. He gently laid the boy onto the ground, listening for breathing sounds. But he wasn’t even sure if his species could breathe. The boy was no older than Tim, with stark-white hair, and pale green skin. The boy wasn’t human, that was for sure, but as to what species he was, Batman had no clue. The teenager hadn’t even opened his eyes since being removed from the tube.

The Lazarus water didn’t smell quite like the pits he was used to. The water smelled cleaner, stronger. Less like battery acid and more like a strong-scented cleaner that he couldn’t give a name to.

He grasped the boy by the shoulders as he picked him up bridal style. He needed to take the boy to the cave, and figure out if he was even alive. A regular hospital wouldn’t be able to do anything for him.

“Batman, we’ve apprehended the last of the men in white suits.” Red Robin said over the comms.

“Good,” His voice was gruff, “Make sure they don’t escape before police arrive.”

Tim didn’t bother saying anything else to him. Neither of them were in the mood for jokes. Not after what they had seen tonight. They had stumbled across a lab in Gotham in an abandoned warehouse. They had thought that it was a Joker hideout when they first arrived, but they had quickly found out that wasn’t the case. After they had began to investigate, they had found corpses of many people that had been thrown into a pit. The bodies had evidence of vivisection, torture, and experimentation. The bodies had ranged from children to adults, but the results were all the same. They were all dead.

They had found tubes like the ones used at Cadmus. They held a few humanoid-species, but most of them looked like they were in varying stages of death. The only tube that looked like it held someone living had been the teenage boy he now held in his arms.

The worst thing about all of this were that they had no idea what this place was, what they were doing, or why they were in Gotham. They had stumbled in by mistake.

He had a lot of work to do.

“No survivors.” Nightwing’s voice sounded. Not even Dick was in a good mood anymore, and he had been joking around for the last few hours.

Batman looked down at the boy in his arms. The boy hadn’t stirred once, hadn’t moved, and hadn’t breathed. He might be carrying a corpse for all he knew.

“And the files?” He prompted.

“Downloading.” Red Robin’s voice was grim. “You’re not going to like it.”

He didn’t like anything about this situation already. How could it get any worse?

“From what I can tell from skimming through the files,” Red Robin continued, “They were experimenting with people’s souls. They killed all of these people because they wanted to catch their ghost.”

“Hrrn.” He looked away from the teenager in his arms. Maybe he didn’t have a corpse in his arms—but a ghost. A ghost of a teenager he failed to save.

What if it had been Tim lying in his arms? Dick? Jason? Damian? Did this teenager have parents before he died, or were his parents in the pit?

The boy stirred, whipping Bruce’s attention back to him. The boy moaned in pain, starting to writhe in his arms.

“You’re safe now.” He said to the boy. “You’re saved.”

“Nnnngh.” The boy opened Lazarus green eyes to look at him. The eyes were hazy, as if exhaustion plagued them. “Batman?”

“They won’t hurt you ever again.” He promised.

“Where is my sister?” The boy asked. “They took her.”

Dick’s words played on repeat in his mind. No survivors. But the boy didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

“We’re still searching the base. She’ll be here somewhere.” He lied.

The boy closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. But even with Bruce watching him, the boy did not breathe. Maybe he didn’t need to anymore. Tears leaked down the boy’s cheeks, as if he knew Bruce’s lie.

[meelusinee]

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

word count \ 3.7k | fluff & stuff | slash / mattheo riddle x reader

in which mattheo is absolutely in love with you before you two even talk for the first time (part one to lovesick!mattheo) author's note at the end!

SECOND PART HERE - lovesick!mattheo christmas edition

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

Mattheo didn’t know much about love. 

Between being raised by a dictator and his craziest follower, he already didn’t have a very good start. Especially whenever he would get in trouble, the Cruciatus Curse was definitely no joke. Not to mention everyone pestering him about the legacy he led. News flash to the Gryffindors who would try to pick on him, he found it quite obvious that he was Voldemort’s son.

Suffice to say that he didn’t know much about love. He never had a true showcase of it, never had an example of it to compare to anything. The closest he ever had being another stunted teenager by the name of Theodore that considered him his brother, but even then there was still distance.

That was until he met you.

You, the most beautiful person he had ever met in his entire existence on this Earth. Anything he  lol looked at on you he would find absolutely perfect, from the color of your eyes to the way your hair bounced in the sunlight.

That alone made it hard to approach you. Your nice demeanor seemed to make it even harder.

So, he settled with admiring from afar. Mattheo knew your schedule, the classes that you would take and every time that it varied. He would subtly watch you in classes, hang around the same areas you did during your break periods, or even where you went for fun. And, to the best of his ability, he tried to avoid things that looked bad. No more fights or cursing, not unless he was truly provoked.

His mind also got its grubby hands on the idea of a journal. A place he could write about you freely, one he charmed so only he could read it. Entries, song ideas, anything he could think of. You made him an artist, you as his perfect muse.

And it all got even better when you two finally met.

You had just walked down to the courtyard, Mary Janes clacking along the rocks as you made your way over to a small pillar.

Recently, you noticed someone sitting by the pillars a lot more than usual. He was tall, his face usually covered by his brown curls as he wrote inna small journal he always carried with him. Said tall man with a face covered by his brown curls was your current potions partner, you had both been assigned to create a Liquid Luck potion.

“Hello?” you called out gently. face tilted down just a bit as you looked down at him. His eyes locked with yours when he looked up, the most beautiful shade of molten honey you had ever seen meeting your eyes. “Hi there, stranger.”

“Hello?” he whispered back at you, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. His face looked rather cute when it was all scrunched up like that, a light blush covering his cheeks.

“I’m your Potions partner.” you said with a smile, flattening your skirt before moving to sit down next to him. “For the Liquid Luck project.”

“Oh,” he whispered, nodding as he closed his journal. It had a rather pretty leather cover, the pages aged and covered in ink from what you could tell. “Yeah, I remember. Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding. “And you’re Mattheo.”

“Yes I am.” he said, a soft smile coming on his face as he heard that. He looked at you with something special in his eyes, eyes that carved themselves deep into your soul with the most intricate patterns you could think of.

The trance both of you seemed to be stuck in was broken when he cleared his throat, fingers tapping on his journal. “Did you have any ideas for the project?”

“Oh,” you whispered, nodding. “Yes, yes I do. I was thinking that we head to the library and research different potion methods and whatnot. Based on Slughorn’s instructions, I’m assuming that the instructions in the books won’t help much.”

“You’re a genius.” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“What was that?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat as he began to sit up. “Do you want to go now?”

Mattheo thought that he was dreaming, if he was being honest.

The girl of his dreams, the girl that he had wrote almost obsessively day and night about for almost six years, that same girl was currently sitting across from him. Laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiled at his joke, her voice sweet like a piece of cotton candy melting on your tongue. He didn’t even remember what he had joked about at this point, his mind turning to mush the moment he heard that sound pass your lips.

Those lips that haunted his dreams every single night, the image of them so plush and pure he wanted to worship them like one would a holy angel. They looked absolutely perfect.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling softly as he rested his chin on his hand. He probably looked like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t mind. 

“I found something really interesting in this book  by the way,” you said, Mattheo’s eyes instantly darting to where your hands were resting on the page. “It says in the recipe that we need to juice a squill bulb, which most people just cut it for. But this recipe here notes that squeezing ingredients over a funnel gets more juice out.”

“That’s really interesting.” he whispered, his gaze looking at your face as you spoke. 

“Isn’t it?” you asked with a smile. “And here it says that adding the entire Murtlap makes the potion last longer, rather than just growth.”

“That’s also really interesting.” he whispered again, gaze still stuck on your face. You looked so pretty whenever you were concentrating on things, the way your eyebrows furrowed making him think of a million different songs and rhythms. 

“Is it?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered, looking at you with a small smile on his face. “I always found Potions an interesting topic.”

“Always is not a word. It’s more of a concept.” you said, humming as you continued reading the pages. Mattheo chuckled softly, looking at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. 

Theo was sitting in his bed reading a book, his curtains almost completely closed as he flipped between page to page. At least, he pretended to.

Recently, he had noticed Mattheo’s obsessive journaling habits. How his hands would be covered in ink by the time he was finished, or how he’d write until his new candle burnt out. Sometimes Mattheo would write even when the candle burnt out, instead opting for yet another one.

It was rather concerning to Theo, to say the least. Out of all of the things Mattheo could do, he was changing who he was. Self-improvement was one thing, but it seemed like he changed an obsession from fighting to writing.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Mattheo mumbled, looking back over at where Theo was sitting.

“I’m surprised you can,” Theo said under his breath, closing his book and standing up. “With how much you’ve been writing, I’d assume you get sucked in by a black hole sometime soon.”

“Oh hush,” he whispered, looking up from the journal. His hands were stained black and red with quill ink, the candle beside him still burning brightly. “Why do you keep staring at me? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“Your journal.” Theo smirked, walking behind Mattheo and placing his hands on his Mattheo’s shoulder. “What’s inside?”

“Why would I tell you?” Mattheo grumbled, continuing to write in the journal. Theo’s eyes squinted as they tried to read whatever was on the page, but the words were too jumbled to make any sense to him. No doubt a charm.

“You charmed the journal?” Theo asked curiously, looking down at Mattheo.

“Like you care.” he whispered under his breath, the quill scratching loudly against the paper. The room was quiet other than that, nothing but the quill scratching and the candle crackling.

“I do.” Theo said, his voice a bit more stern. He pulled up a chair next to Mattheo, resting his elbow on the table. “Mattheo, you’re pushing everyone away. Even me, and it’s not healthy. All you do is write in this journal, it’s kind of worrying.”

“I just like writing,” Mattheo whispered, moving his legs to rest his knees near his chest.

“About what?” Theo asked, his voice more soft than teasing.

“You’ll judge.” Mattheo whispered again, flicking the quill back and forth as his eyes glanced over at Theo. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Theo whispered. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Mattheo sighed before turning to the journal, pressing his wand against it as the words came into view more clearly. His handwriting was a lot more cursive than Theo first remembered, no doubt changing the more he wrote. 

“It’s a journal about her,” Mattheo whispered, flipping through some of the pages. “Love letters, poems, songs and stuff.”

“Her?” Theo asked curiously. “Who’s her?”

“Her,” Mattheo muttered to Theo, picking at his fingernails as he spoke. He looked like a blushing schoolboy who found his first love, it was rather cute to watch. “It’s, like, she’s a girl I just really like. I think about her a lot, you know? And I’m just trying to improve myself for her.”

“What’s her name?” Theo asked, resting his head against his hand as he crossed his legs.

“Y/N.” Mattheo sighed, like the word itself was a part of some holy prophecy. “She’s so beautiful, you know? Like something from heaven, just beautiful. And I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“Have you ever tried talking to her?” Theo asked, a small smile on his face.

“We have this project together right now.” he said, chuckling softly as he spoke. He was so down bad. “She took me to the library to research more about potions. Merlin, she’s so smart Theo. She figured the reason why nobody could make the potion was because the instructions were wrong.”

“So you both started researching?” Theo asked.

“She researched, yeah,” Mattheo said, before chuckling again. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I kind of just sat watching her the entire time.” 

“Mattheo,” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” Mattheo protested.

“I’m not judging.” Theo chuckled, looking down at the journal. “I’m just confused on how you think you’ll get your girl if you can’t even talk to her. Journaling can only go so far.”

“I know,” Mattheo whispered, looking down at his journal again. “But it still helps.”

Theo nodded, looking down at the journal again. “What are you writing about right now?”

“Uh,” he muttered, looking at the pages. “It’s a song. She said something at the library that made me think of a song, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”  

“What’s it sound like.” Theo asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Uhm,” he whispered, picking at his nails again as he pushed the journal towards Theo. He hummed softly as he picked it up, eyes squinting as he tried to read his handwriting.

Darling, just calm with your voice

Let your heart sing, how I always enjoy 

When you say “always” is not a word

You think love is a bit absurd.

“That’s really nice,” Theo said, looking up at Mattheo with a small smirk. “This is a lot better than I thought it’d be, to be honest.”

“What did you think I was writing about?” Mattheo asked confusedly.

“Dark magic or something.” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Like you were possessed by a ghost to figure out how to resurrect themselves.”

Mattheo chuckled at that, taking his journal back. “I think you’ll find someone like this, you know. It makes life really nice.”

“Being in love?” Theo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Mattheo whispered. “In love.”

“Well, there’s always an opportunity for that. And when it happens, it’ll happen.” Theo said, patting his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “But until then, there’s cigarettes.”

“You know the way to my heart, don’t you?” Mattheo snickered at that, using the lit candle to light his own cigarette.

It had been a couple of weeks since you and Mattheo had started working on your project. You had figured out how to maximize the efficiency of your potion brewing, including changing methods of brewing and preparing ingredients. After about three different trials, you had finally found the perfect way to brew the potion. 

“That’s perfect.” Mattheo smiled softly at you, chuckling softly as he scratched the back of his neck. In all honesty, it looked like a regular potion to him. “I think that’s perfect, right?”

“That is perfect.” you said, giggling softly as his reaction You found it rather cute, if you were being honest. He seemed rather nervous around you. “Thank you for doing all of this with me, the potion work and all. Most people would probably just leave it to me, you know?”

“Why would they leave?” Mattheo asked, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrugged, looking down at the potion still set in the cauldron as you spoke. “I don’t really know. I guess people consider me weird or something like that. Someone said that I was whimsical once, I don’t think it was a nice way though.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” Mattheo spat. He couldn’t understand the logic of that. In his eyes, you were absolutely perfect. He would give anything in the world to hang out with you more often than he got too, and people gave that up for free? The thought was absolutely ridiculous.

You chuckled quietly at that, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I mean,” he paused, looking up at you like that was the most absurd thing in the entire world. He had a small flush on his face, no doubt questioning what he was going to say. “I mean, you’re such a nice person. And I think that hanging around you is comforting.”

“And I think that you’re rather sweet.” you chuckled, looking at him with a soft smile.

“I’m being serious!” Mattheo said, looking you in the eyes. You hadn’t heard him talk this much in the entire time that you had been working with him, and you especially didn’t expect it to be him defending you. “You’re just, like, you. Which is really sweet, you know? I really like you and your whimsy, or whatever they try to call you.”

You giggled again, smiling softly at him as you scooted a bit closer. “You’re rather nice yourself, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice raising a pitch as he looked at the potion. “Do we need to test this?”

“I think so.” she nodded. “Do you want to do it?”

Mattheo looked at the potion, a small frown coming on her face. If anything went wrong with the podcast, he wouldn’t want you to be hurt by it. Which led to him nodding, the best option for him obviously being him taking the potion himself. 

“I’ll bottle it for you.” you said, grabbing the small ladle and pouring it inside the potion vial. “Here, one vial of Liquid Luck for you.”

Mattheo smiled softly as he took a sniff of it. “Is it meant to smell like something?”

“No, just air. I mean, clean air. Not like toxic air or anything.” you said, before ending your small speel. “It doesn’t smell like anything.”

Mattheo nodded again, taking a swig of it before coughing. “That’s definitely hot.”

“It did just come off the cauldron.” you chuckled, fingers fidgeting slightly. “Do you feel lucky?”

Mattheo looked up at you with a look you could only describe as a lovesick puppy, a small flush covering his face as he admired you. You could only assume the amount of thoughts running through his mind were plenty, some very hard to sort through. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he looked at you. “Very lucky.”

You chuckled softly at that, your face flushing as you watched his eyes lock onto your lips. “Do I have something on my lips or something?”

“No,” he whispered softly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he spoke. “No, I just,”

“Something on my teeth?” you asked, shining your teeth to him.

“I want to kiss you.” he whispered. 

Your mouth closed again as you heard that, eyes locking onto his after he spoke. That didn’t last long though, as his eyes focused back on your lips again. “You what?”

“I want to kiss you.” he said a bit more clearly, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. But I really want to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me.” you whispered softly to him, scooting a bit closer to him in return. 

Mattheo blinked for a couple of seconds, the shock of your answer plastered on his face. It filled you with a small sense of confidence, the blush on his face fueling your own. “I can?”

“You can.” you smiled.

Mattheo smiled brightly at that, the burn of it brighter than the sun sucking his lips in like a blackhole would. His lips immediately met yours, burning like fireworks against his skin. It was absolute bliss to him, burning through his skin and turning him into nothing but lovesick ash.

“Your lips are absolutely perfect, my love.” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours with a gaze full of adoration. “So perfect.”

“Was your luck to try and kiss me, Riddle?” you chuckled softly at him. 

“This is the luckiest moment of my life.” he whispered. 

“Theo!” Mattheo spat out, opening the dorm room door as he stormed in. His palms looked sweaty, and his face was absolutely covered in a bright blush. 

“Mattheo.” Theo said his name back, closing his book as he looked at where Mattheo had stormed in. He looked absolutely wrecked, almost drenched in sweat. “You look like you just got your ass kicked on the Quidditch field.”

“I just,” he whispered, walking closer to Theo as he paced around the room. “I just kissed her.”

“Y/N?” Theo asked, a small smile crossing her face. “You kissed her?”

“It was so perfect.” he whispered, laying down on Theo’s bed. “Like, it was like her lips had a magnetic pull on me. I couldn’t stop for the next hour. A whole hour!”

“That’s wild, mate.” he chuckled softly, patting Mattheo on the head.

“It was just perfect,” he whispered under his breath, sighing softly. “Like, I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe like looking at a supernova for the first time.”

“You are down bad, Mattheo.” he chuckled softly at that, continuing to pat his friend on the head.

“And then we, after that right?” he said, the smile on his face only growing larger. “We snuck off to this broom closet. You know the ones. And we did, we had,” he paused, sighing in frustration as his words jumbled in his head. “You know?”

“I know.” Theo chuckled.

“I have a song idea again.” Mattheo said, sitting up again as he rushed to the journal he kept so dearly to his heart. “I will be dead to the world for the next few hours.”

“You want me to go tell Y/N that, lover boy?” Theo smirked.

“She can come in whenever.” Mattheo said, dipping his quill in black ink. “I already gave her our dormitory password.”

“You what?”

“I have a present for you.” Mattheo whispered under his breath, a small smile on his face as he walked towards you.

It was the 6 month anniversary of one of the happiest relationships you had ever been in. There was communication and there was love. Small dates near the Black Lake at midnight, with breakfast you stole from the Great Hall earlier. Times where he’d take you into town and let you dress up however you wanted, all on the cards he stole from Malfoy. Or small get-togethers like this, hangouts at the top of the Astronomy Tower. 

And the presents were always lovely. Small poems that he wrote for you, or love letters that he hand wrapped himself. A small blush or dress you had been eyeing for more than two seconds, or room decor that went with your forever indecisive aesthetics. 

“You do?” you giggled softly, gasping softly as he pulled out a small guitar. “A song?”

“I’ve written a couple for you,” he whispered. “And I wanted to sing them to you. For our anniversary.”

“I love you.” you giggled, smiling as he sat down.

He cleared his throat as he made sure the guitar was in tune, strumming a few chords before eventually developing a melody. It seemed almost hypnotic the way his hands moved, his voice humming along as he figured out the rhythm.

“Yesterday, I was a word. Left with no voice to speak it,” he hummed softly, his voice and the guitar both vibrating through the walls. You smiled brightly as you heard his voice, not realizing how pretty his voice actually sounded.

“Now I am a happy song, placed on the lips of a woman.” he sang, winking at you. He continued for a few lines, a small smirk growing on his lips as he got to the instrumental part.

“What are you going to sing next?” you asked, watching him giggle softly. “Seriously!”

“Patience,” he whispered, chuckling as he strung the melody again, his eyes darting down at the guitar. “Now she has me, under her skirt,”

“Mattheo!” you flushed, slapping his arm and breaking the rhythm of his song. “My skirt?”

The both of you burst out into a laugh at that, the sound breaking through the cold night air that breezed through the alcove you sat in. Or maybe you just felt warm in his presence, a constant feeling of love rushing through your body.

“Can I finish my song now?” he smirked.

“I suppose you could.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to sing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

my second post oh my GOD this one took a hot minute to get through. beta-reading and proof reading is definitely not my jam, and there's definitely things that i missed in this. but i hope it still works out well, especially the whole lovesick angle i was going for. if you guys haven't already, please please please go check out tamino's music. it is actually so. good. if you listen to hozier or adrianne lenker, i think you'd really like his songs (my favorites are the first disciple and habibi)

if you would like to read the second part, click here!

as always, please like, comment, and reblog! it really helps out, and i really appreciate everyone who does! if you guys have any requests or something you can request in the ask box!

[rafecameronssl4t]

What's ours || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off this scene in s4 ep6!!!!

Warnings: angst!!!

Word count: 2, 458

A/n: HAD to write abt this scene

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Rafey?" your voice rings out as you step out of the shared bedroom, the soft sound of your bare feet padding against the wooden floor. "'M out here on the porch," his voice calls back, low and calm, carrying just a hint of warmth. A smile spreads across your lips as you pick up your pace, excitement bubbling in your chest. Sliding the glass door, you step onto the porch, the late afternoon sunlight casting a golden glow across everything it touches.

There he is, lounging casually on the couch, his polo clinging to his broad shoulders and biceps in a way that makes your stomach flutter. "Hey, baby," Rafe greets, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that always has a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room. "Hey," you murmur, your eyes locking with his. You pause for a moment, giving him the chance to drink in the sight of you.

With a playful glint in your eye, you do a small twirl, letting the flow of your new dress spin out around you, the fabric catching the evening light. You watch Rafe’s reaction carefully, feeling a thrill at how his gaze moves down your figure. "What do you think?" You ask, the words soft but full of a quiet confidence. "It looks good," Rafe says after a beat, his eyes lingering on you for a fraction longer than you expect.

There’s a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and when he leans back against the cushions of the couch, his eyes never leave you. "You look good," he adds, his voice deeper now, like the words are heavy with more than just praise. You beam at his words, crossing the porch to close the distance between you. "Where you going lookin’ all pretty?" he teases, spreading his legs slightly as he pats his thighs, his grin turning sly.

The gesture is an open invitation, and you happily accept, settling onto his lap. Your arm slides naturally around his shoulders, and his hands find their place on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "Just shopping with the girls," you explain, playing with the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. "There's this new boutique that just opened up—" You’re cut off by the sound of the front door creaking open and a hesitant voice calling out, "Hello?"

Your brows furrow as you glance at Rafe. "Were you expecting someone?" you ask, your voice laced with curiosity. Rafe exhales a sharp breath, "Yeah," he admits nonchalantly. "Sarah." Your surprise is instant, and your voice reflects it. "Sarah? She agreed to meet up with you?" He chuckles, the sound warm and a little cynical. "Yeah, well… desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess." Before you can process his words, Sarah’s footsteps sound on the porch, slow but deliberate.

Your eyes shift to the doorway, and soon enough, her figure appears. She glances at you briefly as you move to sit beside Rafe, her gaze cool but not unfriendly, before turning her attention to Rafe. "Hey," he greets her with exaggerated enthusiasm, clapping his hands together with theatrical flair. "Thanks for showing up. Good work." Sarah doesn’t miss a beat, rolling her eyes as if she’s heard this act too many times. "Please, stop," she says flatly.

Rafe grins even wider, running a hand through his buzzed hair, clearly enjoying the reaction. You shift slightly, about to stand to give them space, but Rafe’s hand tightens gently on your waist, silently urging you to stay. "I don’t want to argue, Rafe," Sarah sighs, crossing her arms as she looks at him. Her tone is exasperated, but there’s something softer beneath it. "We already have enough people against us."

An awkward silence settles over the porch, the only sound being the occasional chirping of birds in the trees. The air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken things, a tension that seems to hum between them. You clear your throat, trying to ease the tension. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea, maybe?" you offer, your voice polite, even as your eyes flicker between Sarah and Rafe, sensing the undercurrent of frustration.

Sarah’s eyes meet yours, her gaze flicking over the space with an almost detached interest before she shakes her head. "No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying long." You nod, the smile on your lips soft but understanding. There’s something about the way she holds herself—tired, wary—that makes you feel a strange sense of empathy. It’s clear she’s not here for pleasantries.

"Kiara mentioned…" Sarah starts, her voice uncertain as she scans the porch, her eyes flitting from the furniture to the surroundings, clearly uncomfortable. "That you might be able to help." She directs the latter half of her sentence at Rafe, her gaze lingering on him, but there’s a hesitation in her tone, a quiet pleading buried beneath the words. Rafe pulls at the sleeve of his polo, his fingers tugging at the fabric.

He doesn’t look up immediately but instead turns his attention to the ground in front of him, gathering his thoughts. "Uh, no. No, not with the land stuff. You guys are on your own with that," he responds firmly, his gaze briefly flicking up to meet Sarah's. There's an almost apologetic edge to his words, but it's clear that he's drawing a hard line in the sand. Sarah’s expression falls, disappointment flashing across her face, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of unspoken words is pulling her down.

"Right," she mutters softly, the edge of frustration in her voice barely concealed. She pauses, taking a breath before looking back at Rafe. "Sorry," Rafe adds, his voice quieter, almost regretful, but the frustration is still evident. "But…" He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the papers scattered across the table before him, the flicker of something heavier passing through his eyes.

"But there's… there's something else I wanted to talk to you about," he says, his tone shifting. It’s not just business now—there’s a vulnerability that creeps in, something raw beneath the surface. You watch him, your eyes tracing the subtle movements of his hand as he runs his fingers across his lips, trying to gather the right words. You stay silent, your own gaze fixed on his profile, your heart picking up pace as you sense the shift in the air.

This is no longer just a casual conversation—it feels more like a breaking point, something much deeper. "So when…" Rafe starts, his voice faltering slightly, the words coming out with an almost painful deliberation. He takes a moment, his eyes lingering on the papers again, then he looks down at your left hand resting on his shoulder, his gaze momentarily softening when it lands on the ring you wear—the one his mother gave him.

"Dad died," he finally says, the words coming out like a slow exhale, as if speaking them is harder than he’d like to admit. You feel the change in his tone immediately, the sadness in his voice gripping you, and you instinctively start rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder with your thumb, your mind connecting the dots, knowing how touchy the subject of Ward’s death always is for Rafe.

"...the first time," Rafe adds, his voice quiet, as though even acknowledging that death was not the final one is too painful to process fully. "um, he said I got a quarter of what he had," Rafe continues, his voice distant now, lost in the past as he leans forward, flicking through the papers with a focus that feels almost obsessive. "Yeah, he said I got a quarter too," Sarah chimes in, nodding slowly.

There’s something tired in her voice, a recognition of the weight of their father’s legacy that neither of them ever truly asked for. "But you didn’t get it, did you?" Rafe’s words are sharp, his gaze intense as it locks onto Sarah. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a quiet demand for the truth. Sarah hesitates for a moment, the silence stretching longer than it should. You can see her thinking, weighing her words carefully before answering.

"No," Sarah says finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Yeah, well, good luck trying to get that from Rose's greedy paws," Rafe scoffs, the bitterness dripping from his words. "She's got that money locked down tight." Sarah’s brows knit together, "well, I keep trying to call," she retorts, her tone sharp. "She won’t even let me talk to Wheezie." She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering away as if saying it out loud makes the situation even more real.

Rafe leans forward, his elbows digging into his knees as his expression hardens. "Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying," he says, his voice rising slightly. He locks eyes with Sarah, a fiery determination in his blue gaze. "We’re a family, and I’m not—" He cuts himself off, inhaling deeply as he shakes his head. "I’m not even allowed to talk to my own sister? That’s not fair, Sarah. You know that."

Sarah’s jaw tightens, and she slowly nods, her lips pressed together as she looks down. "And then Rose," Rafe continues, his arm gesturing wide as his frustration boils over. "She just gets to keep all that gold for herself? What gives her the right? That’s not what Dad intended." His fist slams into the wooden coffee table with a resounding thud, causing Sarah to flinch in her seat. The tension spikes in the air, and you instinctively place your hand on his shoulder, your touch firm yet gentle, hoping to ground him.

"That’s not what Dad wanted," Rafe repeats, his voice cracking slightly as he pounds the table again. Sarah visibly recoils this time, her discomfort palpable. "And it pisses me off!" Rafe’s voice rises, his anger spilling out unchecked. But before his hand can connect with the table a third time, you reach forward and grab it, your fingers curling around his. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice calm but firm. His eyes dart to you, and for a moment, the fire in them dims.

He exhales sharply, leaning back slightly as he glances at Sarah, who keeps her gaze down, avoiding his. "That’s our money, okay?" Rafe insists, his tone quieter but still edged with frustration. Sarah lets out a shaky exhale, her hands fidgeting in her lap as Rafe sighs heavily, running a hand over his buzzed hair. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until you place your palm on Rafe’s thigh, your thumb brushing soothingly against the fabric of his shorts.

He glances at you, and you offer him a small, reassuring smile. He manages a faint one in return before looking back at Sarah. "I don’t know about you, but I really—I need that money," Rafe admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability. Sarah’s gaze snaps to him, her expression hardening. "And what about the gold cross you stole?" she counters, her tone sharp and accusatory.

"It was gold-plated," Rafe shoots back with a shrug, rubbing his eyes as if the conversation is draining him. "It was a good score. It’s not endless. It’s not like the Merchant gold, so..." His voice trails off, exhaustion creeping in. "I’m so sorry to hear that," Sarah says, her words laced with sarcasm. Rafe exhales through his nose, standing abruptly, "I don't know. I was just thinking, um." Both you and Sarah track his movements as he walks to the porch railing, gripping it tightly before turning to face her.

"You know, you and me," he starts, gesturing between them, "we try to get Wheezie back." Sarah’s eyes narrow in disbelief. "How?" she asks, her voice flat, as if she’s waiting for him to say something ridiculous. "I don’t know, but..." Rafe admits, pacing back to the table. He moves the glass in front of him before perching on the edge, leaning closer to Sarah. His proximity makes her shift uncomfortably, but she doesn’t move away.

"And then we try to get the money back," Rafe continues, his voice steady and resolute. You can see the determination etched into his features, the way his jaw sets and his eyes gleam with a fervour you know all too well. He pauses, his gaze fixed on Sarah. "Which is why we need to work together," he says, his tone almost pleading now. "Just like Dad taught us. We align our interests." Sarah’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the table as Rafe quietly watches.

"I just thought, you and me," Rafe begins again, his voice softer. "We can get back what’s ours." There’s a beat of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Sarah bites her lip, her gaze darting to Rafe, then away again. "Look, I’m trying here—" Rafe says, but Sarah cuts him off, rising to her feet abruptly. "No," she says firmly, shaking her head. "I’m sorry."

She turns and strides off the deck, the sound of the front door slamming shut echoing behind her. You stand, moving to where Rafe is still perched on the table, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing gently as he lets out a frustrated groan. "Can’t she see that I’m trying?" he mutters, his voice laced with annoyance. "Like seriously—" "Shh," you murmur, your thumbs massaging the tense muscles in his shoulders.

"I know, baby. I know you’re trying." You move to stand in front of him, slotting yourself between his legs as he rests his forehead against your stomach. Your manicured fingers run through his buzzed hair, the rhythmic motion calming him as he exhales deeply. "When will she realise that we’re on her side here?" he whispers, his voice tinged with despair.

"You just have to give her time," you reply softly, your fingers stilling for a moment. "She wants to trust you, but she can’t just yet, Rafe." He tilts his head to look up at you, his blue eyes glassy. "I’ve already lost Dad," he says quietly, his voice cracking. "I don’t want to lose her—I don’t want our family to fall apart." Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in his tone. You cradle his face gently, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you hold his gaze.

"Listen to me, Rafe," you say, your voice steady and full of conviction. "You won’t lose Sarah, and your family won’t fall apart." His lips press into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "How can you be so sure?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just know," you reply softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Because I believe in you."

[formulawolff]

nothing else matters — m.v.

pairing: max verstappen x wag!reader

word count: (idek tbh)

warnings: mentions of menstrual cycle, reader is on her period, some cursing, max being tender, bf mode to the max (i think i’m hilarious), tooth-rotting fluff

a/n -> i’m on my period (for the second time this month!) and im miserable rn. (+ fried) so i apologize if this is terrible (i typed it on my phone) i just wanted to write something self-indulgent af.

euphoria radiates off of him, the energy so contagious it brings an entire crew to their feet.

his cheeks are flushed, tinged a rosy hue from the rush of it all. his eyes are bright, shining as the team surrounds him, jostling him back and forth. you can hear his laughter, the way it rings so wonderfully in your ears as they shout his name.

“max! max! max! max! max!”

“all right, all right,” he catches his breath, “let’s not get too excited. it’s only pole.”

“only pole?” you find yourself scoffing as another familiar voice fills the air, “max, this is huge for us!”

“well the race isn’t won yet,” the corners of your lips twitch, a smile forming as max clears his throat, “we can celebrate when we finally win a fucking race.”

christian horner exhales, the remark from max clearly striking a chord, “well, i can’t disagree with you there. all right everyone, let’s get to it. we have a lot to do before the race tomorrow if we want to remind everyone of who we are.”

you remain in the corner of the space, arms folded across your chest as the crew disperses. you take in the way max’s jaw clenches as people flurry around, his gaze brimmed with desperation.

he was looking for someone.

and that someone was you.

however, you don’t move a muscle, sitting as still as possible. another ripple of pain courses through you, yet you clamp down on your tongue. the cramping sensation originates from your lower abdomen, this wave far worse than the last.

hanging your head, tears well up in your eyes. the cramps started just this morning, right around nine. now, the austin sun was dipping below the horizon, promising of dusk.

your hands ball up, squeezing into fists as the pain intensifies. the adrenaline from qualifying was wearing off, and fuck, was it wearing off quicker than you expected.

“hey,” there’s a figure in front of you, his voice soft as he kneels, “baby, what’s going on? do i need to get a medi—“

“no,” you hiss, “i’m fine.”

“come on,” hands envelop yours, “follow me.”

you want to protest, yet he’s already helping you to your feet, wrapping an arm around your waist. you instinctively lean into him, grateful for his touch. a few members of the crew pause from their work, murmuring among themselves. you shrink a little, shame burning within as max practically allows you to lean against him.

fuck, was this utterly embarrassing.

oh, how the rumors were going to fly.

max verstappen’s girlfriend was so drunk at qualifying that he had to practically carry her out.

what. a. headline.

the walk from the garage to the motorhome is a blur.

before you know it, max has you in bed, prompting you to lay down. you obey, pulling the cover over you as he follows, bringing you in against his chest.

he hasn’t showered yet, and you pick up traces of his cologne mixed with perspiration. his hair is a haphazard mess, ruffled from the gear and his cap. his clothes cling to his body, more than likely from the sweat and heat of the suit.

lips graze your temple, fingers tenderly massaging your scalp.

“what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you shrug, “i’m okay.”

“bullshit,” he tuts. fingers grasp your chin, forcing you to look upward, “what. is. going. on?”

“i started my period,” your lower lip trembles, “and i’ve been dealing with cramps all day.”

“and you didn’t say anything?” concern dances in his intense gaze, “baby, there are medical staff on site who would be happy to provide you with anything you need. i’m sure asking for a couple of pain relievers wouldn’t have been an issue. you’ve been suffering like this all day?”

“it wasn’t a big deal,” you retort, warmth flooding your cheeks as tears overflow, “i wasn’t suffering. it’s just my period. i was fi—“

“don’t say that shit,” he cuts in, “when i saw you, you looked miserable. absolutely fucking miserable. you were nearly curled up in the fetal position in that chair.”

“maybe i just didn’t want to draw any attention to myself,” you mutter, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “i didn’t want to seem like i was high maintenance.”

“baby,” a chuckle rumbles in his chest, “asking someone for some medication or somewhere to lay down is not high maintenance.”

tears splatter against his shirt, your eyes squeezing shut, “now i just feel fucking worse because i took you away from you job. you’re going to get into some shit with the fia and it’s my fault.”

“listen to me,” his arms pull you in even tighter, his mouth planting gentle kisses along your forehead, “are you listening to me?”

“yes,” you nod, sniffling, “i’m listening.”

“when it comes to you, nothing else matters. you are my only priority. ensuring that you’re safe and sound comes first. taking care of you is what’s important to me. i would much rather make sure you’re feeling better than attend a press conference. i’ll deal with the repercussions in the morning.”

“are you sure?” your voice shakes, threatening to crescendo into a sob.

“yes,” he murmurs, “i’m sure. i love you.”

“i love you,” the words are a strangled cry, the fabric now soaked as the tears spill, “i love you so much, max.”

“i love you more,” heated hands find your back, kneading, “what do you need from me baby? say it and it’s yours.”

“i just want you.”

a laugh bubbles up in his throat, “you can have me, but you’re going to get a hot shower. then we’re going to go to hospitality to get you some food. after that, you can have me as much as you want. deal?”

“deal,” you shake your head, “can we get something sweet too?”

“we’ll get all the sweet things,” the words are tender, just what you needed to hear, “and we can pick you up a stuffy from the airport on our way home. we can even look for a trinket or two. the ones i know you like, the sonny angels or calico critters. how does that sound?”

“that sounds perfect,” the tears have ceased, a sense of relief rippling within max, “i would love that, max. thank you for being the best boyfriend ever.”

at that, he can’t help but melt a little at the sincerity laced within your tone, “of course, baby. anything for you. i can’t bear the thought of you in pain or uncomfortable. i’ll do anything to help you feel better.”

“even if it interferes with your job?”

“even if i have to pull out of the race tomorrow.”

“you’re ridiculous,” a light giggle fills the space, max’s lips forming a wide grin, “you wouldn’t do that.”

oh but for you, max verstappen would.